Page 91 of Ho Ho Oh No

Part of me wants to scold him to keep his voice down and stop kicking, but he’s got me wrapped around his little finger.He’sso excited he can’t contain his energy. It’s a common problem for him.

Archer throws a stern look over his shoulder at his son. “Ethan, you know better than to yell in the car. And stop kicking Mama’s seat.”

“Make him sit in the way back row,” his twin Emma sasses.

Lily chuckles. “Then he’ll kickyourseat instead of Mama CJ’s.”

“I take it back. He should stay where he is,” Emma quips.

I peek into the rearview, spotting Ethan dragging his splayed palms over his cheeks, contorting his entire face. “I can’t help it, Daddy. I’m fwippin’ out.”

Occasionally, his speech reverts to how it was a few years ago when I met him and his lisp was so prevalent. I miss the way he used to talk. I suppose it’s because I don’t want him to grow up. I wish I could keep him as my squishy little guy forever. He’s getting so big I can barely catch him when he sails off the couch into my arms.

Side note: He still does that without any warning. One second, I’m walking through the living room, and the next, a nine-year-old is flying through the air toward my chest.

“Oh no. He’s punning again,” Emma huffs.

Flipping.Ha.

He gets it from me. As a marine biologist, punny ocean humor is a way of life.

Naturally, I join in.“You’reflippingexcited, huh? Well, I’motter-ly losing my mind.”

“Here we go,” Archer mutters with a shake of his head.

“Don’t be crabby,” Ethan chides his dad.

“Ocean puns always come in waves,” Lily jokes. “Even my father can’t stop the rising tide.”

Everyone busts out in laughter at her unexpected addition.Clearly her excitement over the new Bliss baby has rendered her unable to resist the pun life.

After the hilarity settles, Archer makes an announcement. “When we get to the hospital, we need to be on our best behavior, okay? I know we’re all excited, but we don’t want to startle the baby with loud voices. Do we, Ethan?” He looks pointedly at his son, brows raised in warning.

In response, the little cutie swirls his finger over the top of his head in a circle, miming drawing an imaginary halo. We’ll see how long that lasts.

I’m ready to bolt out of the car as soon as we park. Archer stops me before I can get out, grabbing my wrist.

His rugged face is waxed over with seriousness. “CJ?”

“Yeah, babe?”

He doesn’t say what he’s thinking. And I don’t force him to explain.With Archer, words aren’t always necessary. We’ve always been connected this way.

In the crinkle of the skin beside his left eye, he asks if I’m ready for this.

The way my lips thin with the slightest hint of a smile tells him yes.

The pulse of his hand around mine, combined with the downturn of his lips, says he’s sorry he didn’t meet me sooner so we could have had a baby the old-fashioned way.

I shake my head, raising my brows to remind him I wouldn’t change a single thing about our lives.

He nods, eyes warming, conceding the point.

With words, we’ve talked the topic to death over the last two years. I could have tried to get pregnant. It worked for my sister Chloe when she was my age. But with three beautiful children already—even if they aren’t mine by blood—why take a chance with a high-risk pregnancy?

Almost immediately after I set sail to the idea of getting pregnant, this little miracle blew into our lives on the winds of fate.

My sister-in-law, Amber, funds a women’s domestic violence shelter and makes regular appearances to connect with the residents. One of the women was pregnant, and she asked Amber to adopt her baby after deciding she wasn’t stable enough after years of emotional and physical abuse.

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