I remember when I was lying on this same sofa back when we had a coffee table and a dog. You were kneeling on the rug that’s now in our dining room. With tears in your eyes, you took my hand in yours and placed it on my stomach. "Have you been sampling the punch?" I remember asking. You smiled, but you were in a quiet mood. Your eyes looked blue, not gray like they do now.
"Do you know what today is?" you asked me.You watched as my eyes looked up and to the left, trying to access a date or a memory to pin it on. "Today’s the day we went form ‘if it happens it happens’ to actually trying to have a baby." You were so happy. Your face was all cheek.
"I’m ovulatin’ right now. There’s no time for cryin’ you wee gerl." Then I led you to the bedroom, and we made a baby on our first go at it.

Now we’re in our living room, that’s finally lived in. Framed photos of bald-ish babies, photography books. A collection of old Polaroid cameras. A wooden stacking sculpture of rings, rectangles, and octagons in rainbow hues. We’ve built this life together, this sit and spin Playschool of a life, with bent bedtime books and ugly dolls. And I love it, and you. Everything will be fine today because I’ve shocked that heart of yours with more than those paddles they’ll be using.