[WARNING! Dont Buy! Unedited!]
The weeks that followed were a strange mix of cozy chaos and overwhelming quiet. As I neared the final stretch of pregnancy, everything seemed to slow down, and at the same time, speed up. My belly had grown impossibly round. Bean no longer fluttered inside me—they rolled, they kicked, they announced their presence like a future Olympic gymnast.
And my family? They had reached peak protectiveness.
Dean no longer allowed me to open doors.
"I got it!" he'd shout, even if I was already halfway through.
Damien began tracking my Braxton Hicks contractions like a meteorologist watching storm patterns.
Dante had built a homemade fetal monitor from spare tech parts. He brought it out during meals and pointed it at my stomach like a scanner.
"Still breathing," he'd declare.
"I should hope so," I'd reply with a smile.
