I watch her move around the room delicately. Everything she does is delicate. The way she walks, the way she eats, the way she kisses me, the way she places her hands on her growing stomach.
As she places the final pillow into our son's crib, she glides over to me.
She places her hand on my chest and I grasp it with care. Softly, so softly she has to crane her neck to hear, I whisper, "I feel like I could shatter you."
"You won't." Even her voice is delicate.
She kisses me fervently, and her point is proven.