For the past few days, I’ve been a little bit depressed. I’ve been looking at my husband and thinking about making babies with him. I’ve been afraid that he had changed his mind, that he wasn’t ready, that somehow, we weren’t on the same page about the subject anymore. I was wrong.
This morning, he was going on about my breasts in the usual way, and then he said something about their real purpose, anatomically speaking, and he asked me how pregnant five months is. Out of nowhere, almost. I told him that, from what I’ve heard, the second trimester is the one where the woman feels her best. Top of the world. He responded that maybe it would be a good idea to stop… stopping. I said, “Really?” with a big goofy grin on my face. And he said that the only reason he’d been hesitating was he didn’t want me too pregnant and uncomfortable as I was finishing my degree. He’s still concerned about the money, but we both agree that we’ll be okay on that front, too.
It’s funny, because I thought that I was the excited one after this morning’s decision. But he kept going on about it, it was so cute. He sang a little song and danced around, which is something I shouldn’t write in public because nobody’s supposed to see his goofy side but me. But I was just so in love with him then, I wanted to make a little note, even if I keep this entry private. I wanted to remember this day. Because it’s a day that’s going to lead to something amazing. Whatever happens.
It’s going to be a good year.