Richard pov.The morning was off to a slow start, but I didn’t mind. Sarah looked like she needed the extra few minutes in bed. I watched her for a moment, her hand resting on her growing belly, her hair messy from sleep. It hit me again, like it had been hitting me every day for months now: I was going to be a dad. “Richard,” she mumbled, her eyes barely open. “Don’t stare. It’s creepy.” I chuckled, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “It’s not staring, it’s admiring. Totally different.” She groaned, throwing the blanket over her head. “Go admire the coffee machine.” She wasn’t wrong. We had a hospital pre-registration appointment later, and I figured a cup of coffee might help me face the mountain of paperwork that probably awaited us. The hospital was about as inviting as hospitals could be—sterile, bright, and slightly intimidating. We sat in a small office, and a nurse handed us a clipboard full of forms. I took one look at the stack and whistled. “Looks like they wa
Sarah pov.The house smelled like roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread, and the faint sound of laughter filled the air. I was setting up the dining table when the doorbell rang. My friends had promised to come over for a small lunch, and even though I had planned everything carefully, I couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in my stomach. Hosting anything felt like a big deal these days—I got tired so easily. But I missed my girls, and today felt like the perfect excuse to catch up. “Coming!” I called out, adjusting a plate before hurrying to the door. When I opened it, Tanya stood there with a big grin and an even bigger box wrapped in shiny paper. Behind her were Nina and Claire, both carrying smaller gift bags. “Baby shower came early!” Tanya announced, stepping inside and kissing me on the cheek. “Oh, come on,” I said, laughing. “It’s just lunch. No gifts necessary.” “Yeah, well, too late,” Nina chimed in, holding up a bag decorated with tiny rattles and pacifiers.
Richard pov Joining Sarah for a prenatal fitness class wasn’t exactly what I’d pictured when I thought about preparing for fatherhood. In my mind, getting ready meant assembling cribs, reading a few books, and maybe practicing how to swaddle a baby without them looking like a crumpled burrito. But when Sarah brought it up, I saw the glint of hope in her eyes, the one that made it impossible to say no. “Are you sure you want me there?” I’d asked the night before, already mentally rehearsing my excuses for backing out. “Of course,” she replied, her voice soft but firm. “It’ll be good for us. And honestly, I think you’ll enjoy it more than you expect.” Enjoy it? That was a stretch, but I didn’t argue. I wanted to be the kind of partner who showed up, even when it meant stepping into unfamiliar territory. The studio was bright and cheerful, with soft instrumental music playing in the background. It smelled faintly of lavender, the kind of scent that screamed calm, though my ne
Sarah pov.My second trimester.The nursery had become my personal Everest. Every time I walked by that half-finished room, I felt it mocking me—chaotic and incomplete, just like my confidence.The crib was still in its box, the curtains were too short, and the tiny clothes Richard had folded with so much care looked lost in the clutter. I stood in the doorway that morning, holding a paint swatch in one hand and a baby blanket in the other. “Alright,” I muttered to myself. “Today’s the day.” But where to begin? The mountain of choices loomed in front of me, each decision feeling like it carried the weight of the world. Should I pick a light color? A dark one? A theme? Should I do the walls in stripes or leave it neutral? Everything felt like a big deal, even though logically, I knew it probably wasn’t. Was I overthinking it? Probably. I took a deep breath and stood still for a moment. I felt like a million thoughts were swirling around my head at once, and none of them were he
Richard pov.That morning, I woke up with a grand idea, one of those plans that felt brilliant in my head but had the potential to crash and burn in execution. I was going to cook. Not just toast or scrambled eggs—no, I had my sights set higher. A real meal, one Sarah could enjoy without lifting a finger. Lately, she'd been doing so much, and it didn’t sit right with me. She was growing a human being inside her, for crying out loud, and still, she found time to organize the nursery, plan meals, and somehow keep the house running. The least I could do was take some of that load off her shoulders. “Today, I'm a chef for a day,” I declared to myself, pulling on an apron I’d found shoved at the back of a drawer. It had some cheesy slogan about grilling on it, but it would do. Sarah was still upstairs, so I figured I had a solid hour before she’d come down. Enough time to whip up a feast. Or so I thought. The first challenge was deciding what to make. My initial thought was somet
Sarah pov. I woke up that morning with an idea buzzing in my mind like a persistent fly. It wasn’t about reorganizing the nursery or tackling the endless list of baby-related tasks. No, this was different. I wanted to create something lasting, something that could capture the whirlwind of emotions, changes, and funny little moments we’d experienced during this pregnancy. A photo album. It seemed simple enough, but as I sat at the dining table with my laptop, scrolling through photos, I realized this was about more than just pictures. It was about preserving memories, the kind we might laugh at or cry over years from now. The first snapshot I found was of me holding a pickle jar in one hand and a tub of ice cream in the other, grinning like a lunatic. “I forgot about that night,” I murmured to myself, smiling. Richard had taken the picture after catching me sneaking into the kitchen at midnight. I remembered how he’d teased me for days, calling me his “sweet-and-sour queen.” “
Richard pov.The idea for the day trip had been brewing in my mind for a while. Sarah had been carrying so much—literally and figuratively—during the past few months. She deserved a break. Honestly, I figured I could use one, too. With everything going on, we hadn’t had much time to just enjoy each other’s company. “I thought we could check out that little town near the lake,” I suggested over breakfast. She was halfway through her toast, her hair a mess from sleeping in, and I thought she looked absolutely beautiful. “A day trip?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, just you, me, and the open road. No baby books, no nursery planning, no thinking about anything except having fun.” Sarah tilted her head, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I like it. But only if you let me pick the music.” “Deal,” I said, though I instantly regretted it when I remembered her obsession with those slow, weepy love songs. By mid-morning, we were cruising down the highway, her playlist
Sarah pov.The morning of our ultrasound appointment was buzzing with a mix of nerves and excitement. I woke up before the alarm, staring at the ceiling as the baby flutters danced faintly in my belly. Was today the day we’d learn more about who this little person was going to be?Richard stirred beside me, groaning softly as he flung an arm over his face. “Do we have to wake up this early for a jelly-belly appointment?” he muttered groggily, and I chuckled, nudging him with my elbow.“It’s not that early,” I teased. “And don’t call it a jelly-belly appointment. You make it sound like dessert.”He cracked one eye open and grinned. “Fine. Let’s go meet the little jellybean, then.”At the clinic, the waiting room was bustling with expectant mothers and their partners. Some were chatting excitedly, while others sat quietly, hands resting on their bumps like they were protecting the world’s greatest secret. I couldn’t help but feel a rush of solidarity—we were all in this together, even
Richard pov.I couldn’t stop smiling. Even the next morning, as I stumbled into the kitchen half-awake and with Sarah’s cheery “Good morning!” ringing in my ears, the grin stayed plastered on my face.“A girl,” I muttered, grabbing the coffee pot. The words still felt unreal. A little girl who would someday wrap me around her tiny finger before I even saw it coming. “We’re having a girl.”Sarah sat at the table, humming as she flipped through a baby catalog, her plate of toast forgotten. Every so often, she’d point to a random page and say something like, “Do you like this crib better?” or “What do you think of lavender walls?”I nodded along, still more focused on my coffee than cribs. Truthfully, she could pick anything, and I’d agree. How could I argue with someone who already seemed to know what this kid needed? I just hoped I could measure up to that.“You’re quiet this morning,” Sarah said, looking up from her catalog.“Just thinking,” I replied.“About what?”I hesitated, swi
Sarah pov.The morning of our ultrasound appointment was buzzing with a mix of nerves and excitement. I woke up before the alarm, staring at the ceiling as the baby flutters danced faintly in my belly. Was today the day we’d learn more about who this little person was going to be?Richard stirred beside me, groaning softly as he flung an arm over his face. “Do we have to wake up this early for a jelly-belly appointment?” he muttered groggily, and I chuckled, nudging him with my elbow.“It’s not that early,” I teased. “And don’t call it a jelly-belly appointment. You make it sound like dessert.”He cracked one eye open and grinned. “Fine. Let’s go meet the little jellybean, then.”At the clinic, the waiting room was bustling with expectant mothers and their partners. Some were chatting excitedly, while others sat quietly, hands resting on their bumps like they were protecting the world’s greatest secret. I couldn’t help but feel a rush of solidarity—we were all in this together, even
Richard pov.The idea for the day trip had been brewing in my mind for a while. Sarah had been carrying so much—literally and figuratively—during the past few months. She deserved a break. Honestly, I figured I could use one, too. With everything going on, we hadn’t had much time to just enjoy each other’s company. “I thought we could check out that little town near the lake,” I suggested over breakfast. She was halfway through her toast, her hair a mess from sleeping in, and I thought she looked absolutely beautiful. “A day trip?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, just you, me, and the open road. No baby books, no nursery planning, no thinking about anything except having fun.” Sarah tilted her head, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I like it. But only if you let me pick the music.” “Deal,” I said, though I instantly regretted it when I remembered her obsession with those slow, weepy love songs. By mid-morning, we were cruising down the highway, her playlist
Sarah pov. I woke up that morning with an idea buzzing in my mind like a persistent fly. It wasn’t about reorganizing the nursery or tackling the endless list of baby-related tasks. No, this was different. I wanted to create something lasting, something that could capture the whirlwind of emotions, changes, and funny little moments we’d experienced during this pregnancy. A photo album. It seemed simple enough, but as I sat at the dining table with my laptop, scrolling through photos, I realized this was about more than just pictures. It was about preserving memories, the kind we might laugh at or cry over years from now. The first snapshot I found was of me holding a pickle jar in one hand and a tub of ice cream in the other, grinning like a lunatic. “I forgot about that night,” I murmured to myself, smiling. Richard had taken the picture after catching me sneaking into the kitchen at midnight. I remembered how he’d teased me for days, calling me his “sweet-and-sour queen.” “
Richard pov.That morning, I woke up with a grand idea, one of those plans that felt brilliant in my head but had the potential to crash and burn in execution. I was going to cook. Not just toast or scrambled eggs—no, I had my sights set higher. A real meal, one Sarah could enjoy without lifting a finger. Lately, she'd been doing so much, and it didn’t sit right with me. She was growing a human being inside her, for crying out loud, and still, she found time to organize the nursery, plan meals, and somehow keep the house running. The least I could do was take some of that load off her shoulders. “Today, I'm a chef for a day,” I declared to myself, pulling on an apron I’d found shoved at the back of a drawer. It had some cheesy slogan about grilling on it, but it would do. Sarah was still upstairs, so I figured I had a solid hour before she’d come down. Enough time to whip up a feast. Or so I thought. The first challenge was deciding what to make. My initial thought was somet
Sarah pov.My second trimester.The nursery had become my personal Everest. Every time I walked by that half-finished room, I felt it mocking me—chaotic and incomplete, just like my confidence.The crib was still in its box, the curtains were too short, and the tiny clothes Richard had folded with so much care looked lost in the clutter. I stood in the doorway that morning, holding a paint swatch in one hand and a baby blanket in the other. “Alright,” I muttered to myself. “Today’s the day.” But where to begin? The mountain of choices loomed in front of me, each decision feeling like it carried the weight of the world. Should I pick a light color? A dark one? A theme? Should I do the walls in stripes or leave it neutral? Everything felt like a big deal, even though logically, I knew it probably wasn’t. Was I overthinking it? Probably. I took a deep breath and stood still for a moment. I felt like a million thoughts were swirling around my head at once, and none of them were he
Richard pov Joining Sarah for a prenatal fitness class wasn’t exactly what I’d pictured when I thought about preparing for fatherhood. In my mind, getting ready meant assembling cribs, reading a few books, and maybe practicing how to swaddle a baby without them looking like a crumpled burrito. But when Sarah brought it up, I saw the glint of hope in her eyes, the one that made it impossible to say no. “Are you sure you want me there?” I’d asked the night before, already mentally rehearsing my excuses for backing out. “Of course,” she replied, her voice soft but firm. “It’ll be good for us. And honestly, I think you’ll enjoy it more than you expect.” Enjoy it? That was a stretch, but I didn’t argue. I wanted to be the kind of partner who showed up, even when it meant stepping into unfamiliar territory. The studio was bright and cheerful, with soft instrumental music playing in the background. It smelled faintly of lavender, the kind of scent that screamed calm, though my ne
Sarah pov.The house smelled like roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread, and the faint sound of laughter filled the air. I was setting up the dining table when the doorbell rang. My friends had promised to come over for a small lunch, and even though I had planned everything carefully, I couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in my stomach. Hosting anything felt like a big deal these days—I got tired so easily. But I missed my girls, and today felt like the perfect excuse to catch up. “Coming!” I called out, adjusting a plate before hurrying to the door. When I opened it, Tanya stood there with a big grin and an even bigger box wrapped in shiny paper. Behind her were Nina and Claire, both carrying smaller gift bags. “Baby shower came early!” Tanya announced, stepping inside and kissing me on the cheek. “Oh, come on,” I said, laughing. “It’s just lunch. No gifts necessary.” “Yeah, well, too late,” Nina chimed in, holding up a bag decorated with tiny rattles and pacifiers.
Richard pov.The morning was off to a slow start, but I didn’t mind. Sarah looked like she needed the extra few minutes in bed. I watched her for a moment, her hand resting on her growing belly, her hair messy from sleep. It hit me again, like it had been hitting me every day for months now: I was going to be a dad. “Richard,” she mumbled, her eyes barely open. “Don’t stare. It’s creepy.” I chuckled, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “It’s not staring, it’s admiring. Totally different.” She groaned, throwing the blanket over her head. “Go admire the coffee machine.” She wasn’t wrong. We had a hospital pre-registration appointment later, and I figured a cup of coffee might help me face the mountain of paperwork that probably awaited us. The hospital was about as inviting as hospitals could be—sterile, bright, and slightly intimidating. We sat in a small office, and a nurse handed us a clipboard full of forms. I took one look at the stack and whistled. “Looks like they wa