Shelby glances at me and I nod. The shortbreads are a family recipe and baked only during the holidays. Clementine loves them.
“The boss says yes! Lucky us!” Shelby stands, holding out a hand. “Let’s go choose one each.”
“Bring me one too, okay?” Wyatt says.
Clementine says she will as she scrambles to her feet, hand in hand with Shelby. In the kitchen she’s debating which cookie to pick. (“I think the Christmas tree one is taller, but the sleigh is wider…which one do you want, Nana?”)
“She has such a sweet tooth,” I say, laughing.
“Takes after her dad.” Wyatt steps back from the tree, checking his work.
“Great job with the lights, hon.”
Wyatt comes behind me, wrapping his arms around my midsection. With his hands clasped across my stomach, it becomes clear how much I’ve popped recently.
“We have so much to look forward to this year.” Wyatt rests his chin between my shoulder and neck, and I lean back into him.
“By next Christmas we’ll be five, including Shelby,” I murmur. A pulse of joy moves through me. “And Clementine will have a sibling.”
“I know. I can’t wait, babe.”
“Me neither.” I twist my head to kiss him. The moment lingers, a stirring beginning in my body. But it’s soon dashed by Clementine, who returns with a cookie in each hand.
“Here you go, Daddy. I brought you a Christmas tree.” She has a sleigh-shaped cookie in her other hand.
“Thanks, Clem. Good choice.” He takes a big bite of the cookie and groans. “Mom, as delicious as ever.”
Shelby smiles, looking pleased.
I’m basking in these happy moments with my family, so the tickle on my arm barely registers. At first. But soon the itching can’t be ignored. I scratch lightly at the underside of my wrist.
Wyatt offers his last bite of cookie to Stanley, who has been waiting patiently at his feet for a morsel. “Good boy,” he says, scratching Stanley under his white-whiskered chin.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.I itch my arm in time with Wyatt’s scratches on Stanley’s chin.
There’s a slightly raised red circle around the tattoo, though the dots remain clear and glossy. Not darkened, like before. Maybe a reaction to the new laundry detergent I bought recently? Or dry skin? I used the last of my lotion yesterday, am waiting to buy more in case a bottle ends up in my stocking.
Either way, likely nothing to be alarmed by.
My arm—specifically the skin around my MotherWise tattoo—has been itching on and off for more than a week. Ever since we put the tree up. I’ve still not mentioned it to anyone but did a search on EduNet, which was largely unhelpful, most advice nonspecific and anecdotal. But aside from that and the occasional mild redness, there’s nothing else to report. No pain, no ache. The tattoo itself is unchanged—the dots clear against my skin. Calling Dr. Rice or MotherWise so close to the holidays seems pointless, as offices are emptying out for the break.
It’s Christmas Eve. Wyatt, Clementine, Shelby, who has Stanley—sporting a holiday-themed sweater—on a leash, and I attend our community’s annual gathering. It’s cool tonight, so I’m wearing a long-sleeved dress, which clings enough to show I’m pregnant. Every now and then I touch my necklace, safely hidden under the turtleneck of the dress.
Poppy’s ring is on the chain tonight. It felt wrong to leave her behind in the drawer on this family-oriented, celebratory evening.
“Momma, there’s Briar! Can I go say hi?”
I look to where Clementine points—Dawn; her husband, Robbie;and their daughter, Briar, stand near someone in a red-and-white-striped candy cane costume who hands out holiday greeting cards and hot chocolate to passersby.
“Go ahead, Clem. But only one hot chocolate, please.”
“Yes, Momma. Promise.” She darts off, careful not to bump into anyone as she makes her way to her friend (and, as important, the hot chocolate). There’s a hurried urgency to her pace, as though she’s trying to win a race.
Wyatt laughs. “I miss that.”
“Which part?” I ask. “Sugary hot chocolate, or being a kid at Christmastime?”
“Both,” he says. I watch him watching Clementine. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile. This is what no one prepares you for when you become a parent. The sheer delight of observing your child participate in this thing called life. It’s magical and mesmerizing. With a rush of happiness I realize we’re about to get to do it all over again.
