You are talking to my stomach. Is that unusual? Your hands are drawing nice circles on my abdomen too. Your hair is wonderful under my fingers. My pregnant form isn't very pretty to me.

You still think I'm beautiful.

Your kisses are tickling, making me laugh, making me smile. I would tell you to stop like a good wife, but this is too much fun. You are so carefree sometimes. I can't remember how many times I thanked you when you would hold my hair a few months ago. How many times I thanked you when you would go out to buy me something I wanted.

Have I ever told you how much I love you?

I can't imagine how some of those mothers that get rid of their baby feel. I love my child more than anything on this Earth. Well, except for you. But that would be so difficult, giving up my baby. Killing my infant.

You are mine, half at least. Half of me is apart of you. Half of your daddy is apart of you. We could never hate you for being this way.

For being ours.

You, my husband, are being far too distracting. Go make me some tea, won't you? Kiss me first, like you did the first time. Very satisfying. Ahh. Yes, I will be in the kitchen soon. Just tell me when the tea is ready.

You had been afraid, because you were hurting me. Or, we were hurting me. But I had told you to go on, to exclude my pain from the equation.

Look what we ended up with.

I grow out my hair for you, buy you the ice cream you like, even wear that lingerie you love me in. But this is the best gift I can give you, isn't it? A child. A lifetime of memories. A big belly for you to tickle and kiss.

And sure, your gift will be hurting me in a few days. But it will be worth it. I will be able to give you what you want. There will be nothing more gratifying than that. You play my favourite song on the wireless, feed me my favourite food, come home with my favourite candy in your pocket. This is what I am giving you in return.

Or, giving ourselves in return.

And this had started with that dance so long ago. Now, I am sitting on the bed, waiting for my tea, pregnant. Not even the slightest bit hormonal, but large and beautiful to you. I will treasure your touches, your kisses, your voice until the day I die.

But now, I am alive, and my tea is ready.