I’ve been awake for at least an hour, watching her sleep. When she snuggles against my chest and whispers in a scratchy voice, “Morning, love” I pull her tightly to me, and sit up enough that I can kiss her shiny, caramel hair. She smells like us, and it’s enough that my dick takes notice.
“How did you sleep?” I kiss her full cherry lips and begin to rub my hand over her baby bump. She’s had a tough time getting comfortable lately. Her protruding stomach is noticeable in clothes, so she’s in maternity jeans that she swears are so comfortable that they may hang around after the baby is born.
“Better.” She plants a kiss on my chest that makes me love her that much more. “I finally threw my leg over your thigh, and I was able to get comfy.”
“At your service Mrs. McKinney,” I say in a goofy accent. Yes. I’m an idiot.
She rolls onto her back. “Let’s see if I can wake up our baby this morning.” She does this thing where she runs her hands quickly back and forth over her stomach. Sometimes she can get the baby to move. Charlie has been the only one able to feel the action. I desperately want to feel the baby kick.
I can physically look at her and know that she’s pregnant. God knows, we’ve been through the hormonal swings of having a baby, but as the dad, I don’t get to do shit. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I want to feel our son or daughter kick my hand. I want the baby to respond to my voice. Every night I sing to Charlie’s stomach, hoping that the little guy is learning who I am.
This baby needs to know that I’m the daddy, and I already love our bean with everything that I’ve got.
As Charlie moves her hands, I start talking to the bump. “Hey, kid. It’s your old man. Today, I’ve got a big football game. Your mommy’s bringing you. I hope you’ll cheer me on.” Then I pause, and kiss Charlie’s belly button. “Tomorrow, we’re going to celebrate an early Thanksgiving, because Daddy’s playing an away game. You’re going to get to enjoy some great food that Mommy and all your crazy aunts and grandmothers are preparing.”
Charlie grabs my hand with a squeeze. “Keep talking,” she instructs as she places my palm on the right side of her body, about two inches from her center. I hold my breath, waiting, hoping to feel the kick.
“Feel that?” she asks with hope dancing in her gorgeous lavender eyes.
I shake my head no, feeling deflated.
“Keep talking,” she encourages.
I pick up where I left off. “Then, I’m hoping that I can take Mommy shopping for a new car, because last time I checked, babies can’t ride in a two-seater.”
Then I feel a slight flutter against my fingers. It’s like butterfly wings dancing beneath my fingertips.
“Did you feel that?” she shrieks, with a gigantic smile on her face. “Keep talking.”
“Mommy’s going to have to get a big, safe car for the two most important people in the world to ride in. What do you think, sweetie? An Audi SUV? A Lexus?” I feel the flutter of movement again.
It’s magical. PFM. It’s an acronym that the guys use on the team when they pull off a play that is out of the realm of possibility. It’s PFM… Pure Fucking Magic.
I kiss Charlie’s full lips, and taste her morning breath. She normally slaps me away until she’s brushed her teeth, but she’s not pulling that off today. I got to experience PFM. Once I’m done making love to her mouth, I pull back and look into her twinkling eyes.
“Thank you,” I can feel the smile on my face stretching from ear to ear, “For sharing this with me. I’ll never forget feeling our baby for the first time.”
“You have a new job. Every morning, you need to wake our baby up,” she says in her know-it-all voice.
“Almost as good of a job as waking up the baby’s mother,” I say, giving her boob a squeeze.
She laughs and rolls out of bed, heading towards the bathroom. Over her shoulder, she tosses out just before she disappears into the next room, “Don’t think for a second that you’re getting rid of my car for some slow-moving military-owned tank.”
I don’t bother to respond. We both know that I’m going to get my way. Plus, I’ve had the new car, which does look like a tank, on order since the day after she showed me those baby Nike shoes.
I lie back down and stare up at the ceiling. Yup! No matter what the anniversary is, today is going to be a PFM kind of day.
Chapter Four
Charlie
“You look great,” Doctor Starr reassures me. “I know that you’re experiencing some tightening across your abdomen, but they aren’t contractions. They’re preparing your body for the birth of your baby. Let me reiterate. You are not in labor. This is perfectly normal for thirty-five weeks into your pregnancy.”