I settle myself a bit more comfortably into the couch and sigh, taking in the familiar tableau—stockings hung over a crackling fire, menorah on the mantle, the Christmas tree in the corner, taking up way too much space, little lights twinkling merrily, and far too many presents spilling out from under the tree. We've already consumed our now-traditional Christmas Eve dinner of Chinese takeout, which means we'll be hungry again in an hour. My husband is off in the kitchen, humming cheerily to himself as he prepares a couple of mugs of hot cider for us.

Of course, he has a good reason to be cheery right now; it wasn't even two months ago that he managed to get Matt Santos elected for a second term as President. Granted, it took a lot less effort this time, but we certainly didn't rest on our laurels. A lot of work went into the reelection—a lot of time was spent at the office and on the road, but we won by a larger margin this time around than four years ago. The victory felt as sweet this time as it did the first time.

I groan as a tiny foot kicks my ribs. I try to shift my position but I'm rewarded with another kick and what feels like a punch to one of my internal organs. "So, I guess you didn't like the Szechuan beef," I say, putting my hands my gigantic stomach. I'm answered with another series of kicks, all aimed at the same spot in my ribs. "I get it—you're not happy. I'm sorry it was too spicy. I wouldn't have even ordered it if you hadn't made me crave it and now you're upset that it's warmer than usual in there. Is this what our life is going to be like?" I'm rewarded with another kick, and I'm almost amused by the timing. Almost.

I think this kid gets its sense of humor from its father. Josh will be pleased but does nothing for me.

"You doing all right in there?" Josh calls out suddenly, his voice far too chipper for my liking.

"Just ducky," I answer, trying to find a moderately comfortable position. Not that it matters because as soon as I do, I'll have to pee. The baby also has timing like its father. I grab one of the throw pillows and shove it behind my back, feeling a rush of relief. It's not a hundred percent better but it's an improvement and that's all I can ask for right now.

It's amazing how no one and nothing can actually prepare you for being pregnant. Logically, I knew it was going to be uncomfortable. I knew that the further along the pregnancy got, the bigger the baby would be and that it would take up more space and move around and all that. I just wasn't prepared for how it would actually feel. I didn't know just how impossible it would be to find a comfortable sleeping position, which seems like a cruel twist of evolution. Pregnant people need as much rest as possible if nothing else to prepare for not getting any sleep at all after the baby is born. I have no idea when I last slept through the night, and it's anyone's guess when it'll happen again.

I also didn't know just how not-magical it would feel to have another person living inside of you for the better part of a year. In fact, at times it's down-right creepy. It's not that I don't appreciate it all because I do. I know that pregnancy is such a short part of the whole process and that there are a lot of people who'd kill for this sensation. Still, knowing all that only makes me reluctant to say these things out loud, which usually makes me feel even crankier than normal because I'm not supposed to complain about it. Fortunately, Josh lets me vent as much as possible, and I know enough people who've been through what I'm going through that I'm able to commiserate.

There's no way to prepare to share your body with another human. It's really bizarre. Not so much at first, though the early stages of pregnancy brought their own challenges. But once the baby started to grow and move around, I realized I'd somehow become of a wildly unruly tenant, one that I couldn't nor wanted to evict until it'd been around for forty weeks. Everything I did became about the baby and what was good for it and what would make it comfortable. Maybe I was naïve, but I don't think I quite realized that it could sleep or be awake. I only thought about it being there. True, I'd heard other people talking about that sort of thing, but it wasn't until I was in the thick of it that it really started to hit home. I realized this kid loves it when I walk around—apparently, it's like being rocked. On my busiest days at work, when I was hurrying through the halls and rushing from meeting to meeting, the baby hardly moved, only to start kicking the hell out of me when I'd finally have a chance to relax at home, then it would be up for hours. On the other hand, it's wildly reassuring to feel it kick like that after not feeling any sort of movement for such a long time.

I'm kicked again suddenly, the sensation completely pulling me out of my reverie. The kick is promptly followed by the even stranger sensation of the baby stretching and turning over. I run my hands over my stomach again, grinning broadly. As terrible as it is at times—and there are a lot of times that are truly awful—I am completely in love with this spunky, pain-in-the-ass baby Josh and I managed to make.

Tears fill my eyes then and I sniffle, wrapping my arms around my belly as best I can. This part is all going to be over soon. My due date's not for another couple of weeks but my OB has assured me that it could be at any moment. Sometimes babies come early, sometimes they're late, and there's absolutely no way of knowing. It's a waiting game right now. It breaks my heart to know this part is almost over; this terrible, agonizing, exhausting part. I cover my mouth, muffling my sob.

"Someone in here order a cider?" Josh asks, appearing in my line of vision. His eyes grow wide for a split second at my tears but he says nothing. Instead, he puts my mug within easy reach on the end table next to me; he learned his lesson the hard way a couple of months ago when he made the mistake of putting something for me on the coffee table. I tried to reach it and couldn't get to it around my stomach, so I wept like someone had died, yelled at him, and refused to speak to him for three hours.

There's a slight chance that my hormones are a little out of control.

One of his arms goes around my shoulders and several tissues appear on my stomach. "What's up?" he asks gently, though he's probably worried about my sanity. Truthfully, I am, too. Somehow, he's been really good to me through all this. He's never handled my tears well but he's become a lot better at reading the situation in the last few months. At the very least, he doesn't jump immediately to panic. I cry for any number of reasons these days and he's learned to tread lightly until he figures how what my current trauma happens to be and what he thinks the best course of action should be.

I hiccup a little as I try to get myself under control, using the tissues to wipe at my face. "I think I'm crying because I was crying," I manage to get out. I brace myself for the mocking and teasing, but all he does is kiss my cheek and give me a gentle squeeze. His free hand pushes my shirt out of the way and rubs my stomach, and it feels amazing on my stretched skin.

"Hey, there, kiddo," he says, leaning into the bump. "Take it easy on your mom, all right?"

Almost instantly, the baby calms down. More from the sound of its father's voice than his actual words of course, but it pisses me off a little anyway. Josh moves my stretched shirt out of the way and presses his lips to my belly, still running his hand gently over my skin. Now I want to cry again, but for entirely different reasons. He's already such an amazing father and even on my darkest, grumpiest days, watching Josh Lyman get so excited about parenthood has been thrilling. He's so ready for it. He's read all the books, he's taken all the classes, and he's bought all the things we think we'll need to get us through the first couple of months of the baby's life. I never thought there'd be something that could make me love him or want him more than I already do, but watching him become a father has done it.

He laughs, looking up at me in surprise. "Was that a kick?"

"A punch, actually," I sniffle, taking another pass at drying my face. "The baby wasn't thrilled with my choice of food."

"I thought you got Szechuan because it's what the baby wanted."

"Well, the baby changed its mind because it's been making me miserable since we finished eating."

He eyes my stomach dubiously, putting his lips close to my belly button. "Seriously; cut your mom some slack. You kinda need her." He gives my stomach another kiss before I can tell him my naval isn't a direct line to my womb and sits up with a sigh. "I can't wait until we can stop calling the baby 'it.'"

"You're the one who didn't want to find out the gender," I answer with a shrug. "Dr. Koger had the baby in the perfect position to find out but you wanted it to be a surprise."

"Well, I regret that choice now."

"Sucks to be you."

He snorts and leans in, giving me a quick kiss. His hand rests on my stomach once more, moving in slow circles. The baby kicks and wiggles, making my stomach jump up and down, much to Josh's delight. I'll be damned if the kicks don't grow fainter. My bastard husband has managed to get our unborn child to sleep, or at least to calm down enough so that I don't feel like I'm being beaten up from the inside. I feel my eyes start to prickle again as I feel simultaneously depressed that I can't manage to calm my own baby and unbelievably proud of my husband for already being able to take care of our baby so well.

"How you doing?" he asks me softly, and I feel overwhelmed with love.

"I'm tired of feeling fifteen different emotions every five seconds."

"I bet. I can't even imagine what that's like."

I lift my eyebrow at him dubiously. "Josh, you're the one who bears the brunt of it all. I would think you'd get it better than anyone."

"Yeah, I see what you go through, but I can't imagine what it feels like to have everything shift like that so rapidly. I would have gone crazy by now. I'm so amazed with how well you handle it."

I roll my eyes—I may be hormonal but even I can admit that I'm not handling this at all. "Sure, Josh."

"I mean it. I see you try to work through so much of it and I'm constantly amazed that you can get anything accomplished." He sighs, kissing my shoulder before leaning his head on it. "Thank you for doing this for us."

"It's not like I had much choice."

"Yeah, you did. You didn't have to do this at all. We could have opted not to have kids, or we could have adopted, or whatever. But you're doing this to give us a baby, so…thank you."

"Well, I mostly just meant it was you or me, so I didn't have much choice about that. Besides, you'd never be able to handle it."

"You're not wrong." He rubs my stomach a few more times, his touch soothing. "Anything else? I mean, aside from all the emotions. You doing all right?"

"Tired, sore, cranky, over-emotional. There's a big part of me that's ready for this to be over but I know that means the hard part begins so then I just want to keep this thing inside me for another five or six months. Also, I miss sex."

He lifts his head from my shoulder, smiling at me with his version of seductive. "Well, you know I'm always game for that." I shrug noncommittally. "We could always try it later, if you want."

I make a noise. "Don't hold your breath, honey." I hate to say that to him but since there's been no sex the last month or so, I don't hold out much hope for tonight. It's not for lack of trying on his part, or even mine; it's just that I haven't had much luck in finding a comfortable position for it. We'll try. We'll get in the mood and do all kinds of foreplay, but when the time comes to perform the act, I can't seem to find anything that works for me. I wind up getting frustrated quickly and even though Josh tries to encourage me and help me find some way to make it happen, I'm already irritated and over it. I'm sure I'm killing him with all that, too, but he's always ready when I want to try again.

"You never know. It could be one of those miracles your people are so fond of."

"My people? This coming from the man whose winter celebration is based around the miracle of oil lasting eight days?"

He grins, giving me a kiss. "Okay, so maybe it'll just be a miracle. And speaking of miracles, you're going on maternity leave next week, right? You're not planning on going in on Monday?"

"How many times have we gone over this? I'm not going on maternity leave until I absolutely have to."

"Until you absolutely…Donna, you're almost forty weeks pregnant. I'd say it's about that time."

"You want me to sit around the apartment by myself? Seriously? Like you wouldn't go crazy at work if you couldn't wander into the next wing to check on me and your spawn?"

"I'm an adult," he protests, though not very convincingly. "I could survive for a few hours there without needing to check up on you."

I lift my eyebrow at him in disbelief. "At any rate, even with someone from the detail here with me, I'd much rather be at the White House if I was to go into labor. I'd have the entire motorcade at my disposal, I wouldn't have to wait for traffic, and there are dozens of people vastly more equipped to deal with this than I would ever be on my own. Besides, I'd start climbing the walls here on my own. I can only nest so much before it becomes ridiculous." That part is absolutely true. We've been working on getting the nursery ready for weeks and weeks now, and I've been constantly pushing around furniture, doing endless amounts of laundry, cooking, cleaning, anything I can to make sure everything is perfect for our baby. I'm behaving more like our parents are coming to visit, really, but I can't entirely control it. "You know you'd be a total danger to yourself and others if I called you from home to let you know I was about to give birth."

Josh sighs, resting his head on my shoulder again. "Yeah, fine, whatever." His hand strokes my stomach a few more times and I feel him chuckle. "Your jammies sure are cute."

"Our pajamas match so I don't know why you're picking on me."

He jerks his head up quickly, probably to make sure I'm not on the verge of tears again and grins at me when he determines that I'm not on the verge of a breakdown. "I think we got hosed on that whole opening one present on Christmas Eve thing."

I chuckle in agreement. As per custom, gifts from my family arrived days ago. The delivery was substantially larger than normal, though most of the gifts are for the baby. We begged our parents not to go overboard but they completely ignored us. Josh's mom has been the worst culprit, but I give her a little leeway since this will be her first grandchild, despite my nieces and nephews considering her to be a part of the family at this point. We have a million gifts to open and nowhere to put it all when it's all said and done. When my mom begged us to open these two particular presents tonight, I just assumed it was something for the baby that she thought we needed before it could even get here. They turned out to be matching Christmas pajamas, and they came with the stipulation that we had to get pictures of us in them to send out to the family. The only consolation is that it seems all my siblings were required to do the same. Still, I had to admit that Josh and I looked kind of cute in our matching thermal shirts and flannel pants, sitting on the floor in front of the tree. Even better is that the pictures didn't capture my tears and hissy fit as I struggled first to get down to the floor and then to stand back up.

"Well, we're grownups. If we want to open another present tonight, we certainly can."

Josh's eyebrows go up and he glances over at the pile longingly before shaking his head. "No…no. I can wait. If I want our kid to learn patience I have to start trying it myself." I can't help but roll my eyes; he makes it sound like it's such a sacrifice on his part to learn how to do something he's supposed to know by this point. He leans in and gives me another kiss before standing in front of me, holding out his hands. "Come on."

I eye him suspiciously. "Come on where? You don't have some grand adventure planned, do you? Because I don't think I'm up to even leaving the apartment—"

"Donna," he whines, wiggling his hands at me. "We're not going anywhere just…please."

With a sigh I take his hands, letting him haul me to my feet. I groan in pain as the pressure in my body shifts, my back aching in protest. He winces in sympathy and guides me slowly toward the middle of the living room. I tilt my head questioningly but he just smiles and puts my arms around his neck. His hands go to my back, his arms straining a little with the distance they have to go now, but he just sighs, content.

"Dancing?" I ask, unable to fight back the grin as he sways us carefully from side to side.

"Yeah. Is that okay? I feel like it's been forever since I got to dance with my wife."

"Didn't we dance at the White House holiday kickoff thing at the end of November?"

"Do you want to talk about the last time we did this or do you want to dance?"

I sigh but remain silent, letting that be my answer. My eyes start to water again, this time because I'm suddenly overwhelmed with love for my silly, romantic husband. I want to get closer to him and really cuddle in but…the baby has literally come between us.

"Any regrets about not letting our parents come here for the holidays?" he asks softly, the tips of his fingers digging into my lower back carefully, hitting most of my key pressure points.

"God, no," I answer without hesitations. "I love them all dearly but I'd be going insane right now. We're so close to the birth—do you actually think we'd be able to get rid of them before the baby gets here?"

He shudders a little. "You're not wrong. They'll all be out here soon enough once the kid is born, and for who knows how long. Besides, this is the last Christmas it'll just be the two of us." He pauses, his eyes suddenly looking a little misty, and I watch his throat bob as he swallows. "We should take this time while we can."

My emotional response is immediate. Tears fill my eyes and run down my cheeks as the enormity of it all hits me. This really is the last time Josh and I will be celebrating anything just the two of us. We just had our last Thanksgiving and Chanukah as a couple, and while it's possible we'll make it through New Year's before the baby is born, there's no guarantee. By this time next year, our baby will be nearly a year old. We'll be parents. Some might argue that we're parents now but I think there's going to be a world of difference between how it feels now and how it'll feel in one year. I'm sure by that point we won't be able to imagine our lives without our child but right now…it's hard to picture it all.

"Am I the only one who's terrified?" I ask, my voice choked. "I mean, really and truly terrified? I feel like it's all happening so fast. Weren't we just getting engaged, like, yesterday? How is it our baby is due literally any day now?"

"I'm scared, too," he answers, his voice as quiet as mine. "I'm not at all prepared for this. But, you know, as horrifying as it is right now to think about our parents here for any length of time, they'll be here when we bring the baby home. They'll help us with the stuff at the beginning."

I nod, trying not to let my fears take over. I can do this. We can do this. We've read all the books, taken all the classes, and if worse comes to worst, we both have pretty solid instincts. We also have any number of people around us constantly who will be only too willing to help us when we start to feel overwhelmed. "You're right. We'll figure it out. Millions and millions of people before us have managed it, we should be able to, too."

He chuckles. "Right now…I think we should enjoy just being us while we still can."

"And this time next year, we can slow dance with our baby."

He clears his throat and nods, a million different emotions washing over his face at the idea of it. "Sounds like a date."

With some difficulty I turn my body to the side, pressing myself as close to Josh as I can. His arms tighten around me and he sighs into my hair. It's all very overwhelming when I let myself think about it, but somehow, the image of us a year from now, dancing as a family, makes it all seem a little less scary.

I just needed to write something cheesy and fluffy for the holiday. I don't think it's as good as last year's installment, but I tried. I also wanted to keep it somewhat shorter, so I think I won on that part.

Sorry if this is a little odd and disjointed—I definitely wrote it while tired and tipsy. I also have more of Fourteen Days in the works and a final bit of Requiem for the ep challenge. I wanted to get this pointless bit of fluff out, though.