15-05-2021-052358It-Ends-with-Us

He talks to the baby a lot. I finally felt comfortable enough to let
him feel the baby kick a couple of weeks ago and since then, he stops
by sometimes just to talk to my belly and doesn’t even say much to
me. I like it, though. I like how excited he is to be a father.
I grab the blanket Ryle slept on the couch with last night and wrap
it over me. He’s been staying here for a week now, waiting for me to
go into labor. I wasn’t sure about the arrangement at first, but it’s
actually been really helpful. I still sleep in the guest bedroom. The
third bedroom is now a nursery, which means the master bedroom is
available for him to sleep in. But for whatever reason, he chooses to
sleep on the couch. I think the memories in that bedroom plague
him just as much as they plague me, so neither of us even bothers
going in there.
The last several weeks have been really good. Aside from the fact
that there’s absolutely no physical relationship between us at this
point, things feel like they’ve kind of gone back to how they used to
be. He still works a lot, but on the evenings he’s off, I’ve started
having dinner upstairs with all of them. We never eat alone as a
couple, though. Anything that might feel like a date or a couples
thing, I avoid. I’m still trying to focus on one monumental thing at a
time, and until this baby is born and my hormones are back to
normal, I refuse to make a decision about my marriage. I’m sure I’m
just using the pregnancy as an excuse to stall the inevitable, but being
pregnant allows a person to be a little selfish.
My phone begins to ring, and I drop my head into the couch and
groan. My phone is all the way in the kitchen. That’s like fifteen feet
from here.
Ugh.
I push myself off the couch, but nothing happens.
I try it again. Still sitting.
I grab hold of the arm of my chair and pull myself up. Third time’s
the charm.
When I stand, my glass of water spills all over me. I groan... but
then I gasp.
I wasn’t holding a glass of water.
Holy shit.