Page 105 of Falling in Love with Two

I tell her I’m close to try to get her to slow down, but it just pushes her to bounce even faster. Not able to hold it anymore, I come so hard that I’m pretty sure I pull a muscle in my side.

She leans back against me as we struggle to catch our breaths.

“So…” she says. “You like the outfit, huh?”

“Love it. But I have news for you, gorgeous. It’s not the outfit turning me on. It’s all you, Leah.”

thirty-four

There’s no Way We are Naming Him Damien

Leah

Two weeks later…

19 weeks pregnant.

“You doing okay?” Dylan asks.

I adjust myself on the exam table as the paper rustles beneath me. “Well, I won’t make it to third base with the doctor this time, so I guess that’s a win.”

“I can’t believe we’re finally going to find out if it’s a boy or girl.”

“I know. Now, we can stop calling the baby it.”

He stands up and starts pacing. The man can’t sit still when he’s excited. “What do you think it’s going to be?”

“I don’t know. I go back and forth.”

“Okay, what are you hoping for?”

I think for a moment. “I really don’t care what we have. You’re going to be a great dad to either one, and hopefully, I won’t cost them too much in therapy down the road.”

He comes over to kiss me on the cheek. “You’ll be great no matter what.”

I love his optimism, and I wish I shared in it, but I have zero faith in my abilities as a mother. I mean, I can probably keep it alive, but beyond that? I’m not so sure. I’m not very nurturing.

The baby moves around in my belly. The flutters I was feeling remain, but they’ve intensified.

“What are you hoping for?” I ask.

“Number one, I just want it healthy. But I keep picturing it as a boy. I don’t know why.”

“I get it,” I tell him. “You’d like to have a son you can toss around a ball with and all that other father, son stuff.”

A knock on the door interrupts our conversation. An ultrasound tech walks in and makes a little small talk while she gets the machine set up.

She has me lift my shirt and says, “Cold,” before squeezing gel onto my belly.

I look at her. “How many babies do you see in a week?” I ask.

She makes eye contact. “A lot.”

“Any of them ugly?”

That gets her to laugh. “Of course, not,” she says with a wink.

She flips on the monitor and presses the doppler to my skin. She moves it around a little until an image of our baby appears on the screen. This time, it’s not just a tiny blob. It’s a baby. It actually looks like a baby.

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