And two months ago we bought a house, a couple of streets over from Luke and Melissa’s. It’s got a huge backyard that will be great for our daughter, and a newly renovated kitchen. Complete with a pistachio green KitchenAid mixer.
“But Drew, everyone knows you used to be chief,” Ally says. “And you are kind of intense.”
“I’m not intense, Ally,” I scoff. “It’s normal to be concerned about your wife when she’s pregnant.”
Her blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “You know some women run marathons while they’re pregnant?”
“Ally—”
“But I’m not planning to do that,” she says. “And I’m not overdoing it with the tennis, honestly. I mostly stand in one spot and give advice, sometimes hit some easy shots. It’s pretty clear that I’m pregnant, so no one expects me to run fast.”
“Hmm,” I say, and my eyes wander to her belly. Ally is indeed clearly pregnant, and it looks spectacular on her.
And while I’m staring at it, her belly moves. Our daughter is kicking. Or punching, maybe, but probably kicking.
I walk over and put my hands on Ally’s belly, and feel little flutters under my fingers.
“She’s really active today,” Ally remarks.
“Yeah.” With Ally’s genes, our kid will probably be an athlete. And beautiful and smart, just like her mother.
Whatever she is, she’ll be loved.
“Drew, she’s not kicking up there,” Ally says with a laugh, and I realize my right hand has wandered up to her breast. “Dr. Gordon could come back?—”
“Right,” I say, reluctantly moving my hand.
I never thought pregnancy could be sexy until my wife was pregnant. At first, she just had the cutest little belly, and I couldn’t keep my hands off it. And now that she’s in her third trimester, she’s magnificent. There’s the belly, of course, and she’s a little softer everywhere else. And she’s glowing.
Sometimes I look at her and can’t believe this gorgeous woman is carrying my kid.
“You know, Drew,” Ally says, “if you’re that concerned about strenuous activity, we’ll definitely have to give up sex. It’s a lot more vigorous than teaching tennis.”
“You’re right,” I say immediately, and she looks surprised. I think she expected me to debate the point, or at least look disappointed.
But the thing is, I know my wife, and the gleam in her eye tells me this is a negotiation tactic. She doesn’t really want to give up sex.
And now she’s realizing she’s made a tactical error. “Maybe we should ask Dr. Gordon about it,” she suggests. “If I remember right, the guidelines say it’s safe in low-risk pregnancies, even in the third trimester.”
She remembers right; I’ve looked it up, obviously. I’d give up sex in a heartbeat if I thought it was best for Ally and our baby, but everything I’ve read suggests it’s fine.
“We should probably err on the safe side, though, right?” I say.
Ally chews her lip. “Let me look it up,” she says, pulling out her phone. “Seems like it’s safe,” she says a moment later.
“Hmm. Well, I guess we’re okay, then.”
“Yeah,” Ally says, looking at me a little suspiciously.
“So about the tennis?—”
“I know you’re anxious, Drew,” Ally says with a little smile. “I’m planning to stop after next week. Okay?”
I open my mouth to say I’m not anxious, then change my mind and decide to take the win. “Yeah. Thanks.”
There’s a knock on the door and Dr. Gordon reappears. She’s holding the doppler and a little bottle of ultrasound gel.
“Okay, this might be cold,” she warns. She squirts some gel on Ally’s belly and moves the probe around, searching for the heartbeat.
