Forever Yours: Mini Sequel

The Husband That Fretted

We told everyone a few weeks later at my parents' house over Thanksgiving dinner.  I'd told my parents a little while before, in the privacy of their bedroom, and Ryan told his mother, but the rest – all my siblings and little Lacey – had no idea.

I let Ryan announce it. The family broke out cheering the minute "baby" escaped his lips and I was suddenly being hugged and kissed and cried over by twenty people. Everyone insisted on seeing my stomach and when I protested that I was barely three months, my siblings waved it away and asked if I knew whether it was a boy or girl. Only my mother, Lauren, and Diane shook their heads, knowing it was too early to tell. My father kept his arm around me throughout the majority of the night and in between recounts of past births (my mother had a treasure trove) and Diane's hilarious tale of Ryan's, I caught him staring at me, his eyes red and watery, and when I'd look back at him, smiling, he'd kiss my forehead and call me "his little girl turned woman." And I'd hug him back tightly and kiss his cheek and promise him that I was no longer a little girl, I'd always be his little woman.

~  *  ~

"Ryan..." I eyed my husband bemusedly as he hovered over me, adjusting my pillows, checking (and re-checking) the thermostat, taking my socked feet from the floor and settling them onto a couch cushion – and then deciding that was too high, and removing the cushion and putting a different one into place. I tried not to laugh – honest. "Sweetie?"

"Yes, my princess?" he asked, leaning down to press his lips to mine. "Did I tell you how beautiful you look today? You're glowing."

I barely resisted rolling my eyes. Cara had bought some sort of jokey new fathers-to-be book as a Christmas present for him, and in it, the writer said to make sure your pregnant, often-times fat, waddling, hormonal, weepy, hungry wife knows that you still think she's the most gorgeous girl in the world and never, under any circumstances, let on to the fact that you may be frightened to stay in the same room as her as she won't stop crying or eating or sweating or throwing things, and never compare her to a younger, female version of Santa Claus with the bulging stomach and penchant for cookies unless you wanted to die.

I didn't think Ryan quite got the fact that the book was meant as a joke (and I was so going to make Cara pay for getting it). Because ever since reading it, he'd made it a point to shower me with compliments multiple times of the day, remarking how perfectly pregnancy became me and how I was the most enticing mother-to-be he'd ever seen. I didn't mind, at first. But the words "you're glowing" had long since lost their meaning on me and now I just wished he'd sit down and watch a movie with me and stop freaking out over the thermostat.

"Baby?" I said softly as he went to move away, getting me a water bottle from the cooler he had stocked at the end of the couch.

"Thirsty?" He asked quickly.

"No, I-"

"Hungry? You haven't eaten in like an hour, right? Let me get you something." He disappeared out the door and I slumped back on the couch, sighing. My belly shifted with the movement and I winced. I was starting to feel like this kid liked sitting on my bladder simply to torture me.

"Here, Maureen." He'd come back in the room, a banana in hand, and I smiled wearily.

"Thanks, Ryan, I'll eat it in a little while."

"You sure?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Okay." He put it in the cooler and then stood over me, his expression all twisted into that thoughtfully anxious look he always wore of late and I lifted my hand to him, wishing he'd sit next to me, and he was instantly on his knees next to the couch, my hand in both of his, rubbing it gently, mistaking my gesture, I suppose, for a request that he massage it.

"Ryan?"

"Yes?" He looked up, eyes expectant. He was wearing a sweater and coat (because he had the air conditioning turned on high, convinced, it would seem, that if I got too hot, I would melt) and I shook my head, wanting to slap him and kiss him all at once.

"I need you to do something."

"Yes?" He was all anxious ears, his brow instantly furrowing. "Anything. Are you craving something? Is it too cold? Do you want that sweater with the hood –"

I dropped my chin to my chest. "Ryan."

"Yes?"

"I love you but shut up."

"Wha-" He stopped, confused, and I leaned forward to kiss him.

"I want you to sit on this couch next to me and watch this movie with me and no-" he tried to interrupt me but I pressed my finger to his lips. "No fretting over the thermostat and worrying if I'm going to melt or alternately freeze, and no forcing gallons of water down my throat, and no asking if I need another pillow or not. Just sit here-" I took his shoulders, pulling him forward and he got up, letting me guide him into the seat next to me, his lips pressed tightly together in a pensive way, "just so," and I pulled his arm around my shoulders and then leaned my head against him, "and watch this movie." I picked up the remote and the TV came on and Ryan's chest deflated as he sighed.

"Better?" I asked after a while and Ryan laughed quietly.

"I should be asking you that. Have I been driving you crazy?"

"Just a little," I smiled, reaching up to kiss his cheek. He smiled down at me then reached up to rub his eyes; I noted worriedly that he looked tired. He was working for Dad, taking evening classes, and whenever he was home with me, he was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, serving me hand and foot, anxious that I wouldn't over-exert myself. No amount of protesting seemed to work. He was doing it all – too much – and I figured now was about time we had a talk about it so he could slow the heck down and take a breather every once in a while.

I clicked off the television and Ryan gave me a curious look. I turned slightly to face him.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you... and I know you just want to keep me and the baby healthy and happy... but you have to relax a little bit. I'm not going to break if I take a ten minute walk around the neighborhood, and the baby isn't going to die if I don't have my feet elevated on cushions twenty-four seven. You know that, don't you? Women have been carrying babies around like this since the beginning of time, and millions of them survived the experience. I will, too. My body's healthy. I have the world's most wonderful, loving husband. Really, what more do I need?"

"I guess I have been taking it a little far..."

A little?  I tried not to show my incredulity. "Yeah. Just a bit..." I agreed, hiding my smile. He sighed heavily.

"Okay..." He was quiet for a long minute and then he looked down at me, smiling softly, caressing my cheek. "So what do you want me to do?"

I smiled, snuggling closer. "This right here... You're always working or studying... I miss you. And when you're home, I just want you to be here, right by my side, holding me close, while we gorge ourselves on chocolates and get fat together-" Ryan snorted with laughter, "and that's it... no worrying, no freaking out. Just you and me... and little bambino."

"Mmm..." his hand went to my belly. A smile played across his face as he stared down at my six month stomach. "That sounds like heaven right there," he said softly and I smiled, relaxing against him again, pleased he'd finally relented.

"Hey, don't you think your belly should be just a little bit bigger at this point?" he asked, worry suddenly sparking in his eyes and I groaned in exasperation.

 "RYAN!"