I do not own anything you recognize…
The first month was crazy.
It was Dean's mouth on hers and her clothes across the room with his.
It was two EPTs – both positive. It was not telling Dean until she had tried six more in the store. Then still not revealing anything until she went to the doctor.
It was his whispers in her ear after she had cooked him a nice, romantic meal: we should probably work off the calories upstairs.
It was her remark back: I would, but I'm going to get fat anyway.
It was his looking at her like she was nuts before a small look of understanding passed over his face. And still, he needed clarification: Dean, I'm pregnant.
And was his staying up all night after cleaning the dishes – because a pregnant woman shouldn't be on her feet – and whispering in her ear about names and colors for the nursery and what the baby will grow up to be.
It was her saying: hon, we have nine months. Let's give it a little while.
And it was his thinking: nine months is too long.