“Baby, seriously, we’re going to be late if you don’t move your ass,” Kenton says, walking into the bathroom.

Our eyes meet in the mirror and mine narrow. “I would be ready if I didn’t puke every ten minutes and pee every five from your child. So if you want to blame anyone for my lateness, you need to look in the mirror.”

“Babe, I got you up four hours ago knowin’ you get sick in the mornings and you need time to wake up and use the bathroom a million times before we can leave the house.”

I feel my eyes narrow further and my fists start to clench at my sides.

“I wanna meet my kid, baby,” he says gently, a small smile forming on his lips as his hands come around my waist, his thumbs moving over my bump. All the annoyance I was feeling seconds ago leaves, and then tears start to fill my eyes. “What am I gonna do with you?” he asks, taking in the tears filling my eyes.

“Love me,” I say as he pulls me into his chest. These pregnancy hormones are killers. One minute, I feel like I’m on top of the world; the next, I want to kill someone. Luckily, Kenton loves me all the time.

“So today’s the big day, huh?” the nurse says, handing me a dressing gown. I look at her and smile, nodding my head. “Well, I’ll just let you get changed, and the doctor should be in in a few minutes.” She closes the door behind her, and I start to get undressed.

“Are you nervous?” Kenton asks.

I turn to look at him, my eyebrows coming together. “Why would I be nervous?”

“You know, what if it’s a girl?” He shrugs.

I smile and start to laugh. All of his cousins have girls; it seems their firsts are always girls. I don’t know what’s bringing this on now, but we’ve talked about the sex of the baby before and he’s always said that he would be happy with whatever we have as long as he or she is healthy.

“What’s bringing this on?” I ask him as I finish getting undressed and putting the gown on before hopping up on the table.

“I talked to Nico last night. He was telling me how different it feels having girls than boys and how, with the girls, he’s worried nonstop, but with his boy, his emotions have seemed to even out some.”

Nico and Sophie had a little boy a few weeks ago. I’m sure it is different having boys, but I can’t imagine it being that different. “So now you’re worried?” I guess.

“I think about you nonstop all day long,” he says softly, causing my breath to pause. “I just worry that I won’t have enough of me left over.”

I let out a breath, and my heart lightens. “You have the biggest heart of anyone I know.” I hop off the table and go to him, pushing my fingers through his hair. “No matter if we have a boy or girl, I know you will find room for all of us.”

His head tilts back and his eyes meet mine. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too.” I bend my head down and kiss him just as the door opens and the doctor walks in.

“How are you guys today?” Denise, our doctor, asks.

Kenton stands to greet her with a hug, and Denise smiles and hugs him back with a pat to his cheek. Denise is about seventy years old and should probably retire, but she told me the first time I met her that she will probably be working until the day she dies. She’s the same doctor who delivered Kenton and would be delivering our baby if everything goes as planned.

I go back to the table and hop on top, lying back before answering, “We’re really good.” I smile at her, running my hand over my stomach.

“Well, you look really good, and all the work-ups we did look perfect. I just need to check you over to make sure everything looks okay, and then we can see what you’re having.”

“Sounds good,” I say.

She smiles at me and then Kenton before proceeding with the internal exam. Then she lets me put my pants back on before having me lie back on the bed again. She tucks a paper towel under the edges of my leggings and lifts my shirt farther up, exposing the rest of my stomach before squirting lubricant there.

Kenton comes to stand next to me, wrapping his hand around mine. The loud sound of a heartbeat pulses through the room, and I watch the dark screen next to my head, trying to make out our baby. When I see the figure emerge through the black, tears start to fill my eyes as they always do when I see our child.

“Look at how big he is already,” Denise says, and my eyes go to her before my head tilts back so I can see Kenton’s face.

“We’re having a boy?” I ask when I don’t see Kenton react at all. I wonder if he even caught on to what she just said.

“You are.” I hear the smile in her voice as Kenton’s head tilts down and he looks at me.

“Well, Daddy, what do you have to say about that?” I ask him.

“Thank you.” He bends, kissing my mouth. Before he pulls his lips away, he whispers, “I want a girl too. You’re right. I have enough room for a lot more.”

I nod and lift my head slightly, pressing a kiss to his lips as I feel tears slide down my cheeks. I’m looking forward to sharing that with him.

Three years, one month, six days, twenty-two hours, six minutes, and two seconds later.

“Honey, you need to put her down,” I tell Kenton as I walk into the living room.

He’s sitting on the couch, wearing a pair of sweats and nothing else. The football game’s on the TV, the sound low in the background as our sleeping daughter lies in his arms and our son sits at his side, his head laying against his chest with his eyes closed. Half the time, I wonder if he pretends to be asleep just so he can spy on us. He knows far too much for a three-year-old.

“She just knocked out,” he says softly, looking down at her before looking at me again.

I roll my eyes and shake my head, knowing that he’s lying. If he’s home, the kids are on him. I love seeing him with them, but when he’s not home and I have our kids, when I’m alone and they both want to be held all the time, it makes it hard to get stuff done around the house.

“Your mom’s on her way over with Viv. They want to look at the backyard and measure to see if they can fit a play set back there.”

“She doesn’t give up, does she?” he gripes, looking down at Annabelle again.

I know exactly what he’s thinking. The minute his mom walks in the door, the kids are no longer ours. They are all Grandma’s, and he hates it.

“You have something in common.” I smirk.