Enjoy!
"But why sailboats?" you ask again, resting your chin on the shoulder in front of you and peering at the mobile hanging above the crib. "Neither one of us even knows how to work one of the things."
"Mmm," she leans back against you. You don't fit as well as you used to. The bump gets in the way. But she still feels warm and lovely and perfect. "I don't really know," she admits and you turn your head so you can catch her trademark smirk. "There's something a bit magical about them, don't you think?"
You don't answer because you're watching the way the afternoon sunlight, soft through the cream curtains she'd insisted upon, highlights the sharp curve of her jaw, her high cheekbone.
"Darling," she repeats. "It's just that the ocean is such a wondrous place. Terrifying. Full of possibility. And sailing. The wind. The water. The sun and the stars. Well. It's quite nearly poetry, I'd imagine." Her voice is low, as though she's trying not to disturb the peacefulness of the room. This is the final touch. The nursery is finished. It'd been the first thing she'd wanted to do once the first trimester ended, and of course you'd let her go full steam ahead. Once she got an idea in that brilliant mind of hers, there was no stopping her.
"You're stunning," you whisper in her ear. She turns towards you, and you can't help the way your heart jumps in your chest at the hint of surprise in her eyes. She still doesn't realize, after all this time, the power that she has over you. The ability to take your breath away with a glance, to make your heart beat faster from a single touch. She doesn't understand how wonderful she is. How good.
"Myka," it's a whisper. A plea. A promise. Her hand is resting, warm and protective on your stomach where your baby, your tiny human, is growing.
Sometimes you wonder if this life that you're living is just a dream. Because the fact that she is standing beside you, all softened edges and strong planes still feels surreal. There were so many nights alone. So many days spent wishing for her. And now you're together. Happy. In a room meant for a child that you already love with all your heart. A child who you can see in your mind's eye, silky brown curls, eyes that twinkle mischievously like her mother's, and a smile to match. You reach out a single hand and run it down her cheek. She leans into your touch automatically, her eyelids fluttering closed. "Like poetry," you murmur, and it's unclear as you lean in to kiss her whether you mean sailboats or the woman standing beside you, the woman that you love.