"I am pregnant."

I barely get through the door of our house 'fore my wife blurts this out. Takes me a second to process. I still got an autumn chill clinging to my clothes. It was one of them long days that made me wish I had stayed at home instead.

Life ain't exactly been hard lately, but it ain't been a cakewalk neither.

Gotta deal with all the bullshit at work, people clamoring for my attention, telling me I gotta do interviews and play the game to stay relevant.

Wish it was good enough just to be good. But nah, I gotta tap dance for these fools too.

I was pissed all day 'bout something my sponsors said, taking it out on the bag. Don't wanna do commercials, don't wanna walk around looking like a goddamn billboard.

And Nicole's been stressed 'bout shit at work and to top it all off, we've been trying almost every day for 'bout 5 months, ever since our honeymoon, but so far, nothing.

I know it's tearing my wife up, 'specially since her friend got knocked up without even trying.

Don't matter how many times we try. It's hard not to pin all your hopes on it.

You get so excited 'bout it and the letdown is one of the worst things ever. Nicole has been putting on a brave face, but it's wearing her down.

'Cept now she's standing in fronta me, holding something plastic and grinning. S'been a while since I saw her smile like that. I hope this is really it.

"Pregnant?" I drop my gym bag in the corner. I know it's s'posed to go in the closet, but it can wait. Nicole don't even glance down at it.

"I took a test," she swallows hard. I look closer at what's in her hand. Ain't the first time we've done one of those. She hands it to me.

I glance down at it, noticing the little pink plus sign. Don't gotta ask what that means. I musta read that goddamn box half a million times.

Pregnant.

It's like I'm dizzy all the sudden. I gotta sit down. I manage to stumble into the living room, Nicole trailing behind me.

"You're sure?" it's a shitty question to ask, but it's the only one I can think of. Can't take my eyes off that little pink plus sign.

"I took five. Just in case," she says. I can tell she's trying to keep calm, use her reporter voice, but she's on the verge of euphoria. I wanna fall over the edge with her but first I feel her skin; it don't feel hot or nothing, not like she's sick. But she ain't just been throwing up in the morning- last night she barely could keep dinner down. I remind her of this, a little quietly. I don't wanna upset her, but it'll be worse if this is another false alarm.

She surprises me though, when she starts laughing real hard. She must notice the look on my face, 'cause she rushes to explain, "Baby, that's just the name of it." She kisses my cheek, "It doesn't always happen in the morning. Tess said she had it all day with Rosie."

"Pregnant," I repeat it again. "We have to go to the doctor to be sure, but Tommy," she smiles wider, "I've been having morning sickness and my belly is firmer…" she drops down in my lap. "I can feel it. This time is different. This time…" she starts tearing up.

I set the little plastic stick on the coffee table and pull her into me. I kiss her, hard as I can, feeling her melt against me.

I'm squeezing her hard, when a thought occurs to me. There's a baby in there. Oh shit, I could smash it. I pull back, stare at her belly. We made a life, and it's sitting there, in my wife's womb.

Nicole says we should make it outta the first trimester 'fore we start spreading the news.

I ain't one for gossiping, but I want everyone to know- Pop, Brendan and Tess, the guys at work. Hardest secret I've ever had to keep, and I've kept some really damn big ones.

Feels like my heart's gonna jump outta my chest by the time we're in the doctor's office. Nicole's on one of them beds, laying down, watching the doc rub gel all over her. I'm having a problem with anyone but me being down there 'tween my wife's legs, but shit, I ain't no doctor and I really wanna see our baby. I focus on that as an image flickers up on the screen.

"All right," the doctor is talking in that real calming voice they always seem to use. "If you look up on the monitor, you will see the amniotic sac…"

Sounds like he's speaking a different language. I don't understand half the shit he says. But when he draws our attention to a little blinking spot up there on that black and white screen, I understand him perfectly.

A heartbeat. Our baby has a heartbeat.

Nicole starts crying right away. I'm damn close to crying too.

The doctor points out our baby's head, legs, arms, eyes, lungs. Seeing our baby makes it all more real to me. In 7 months, we're gonna have a kid. I'm gonna be a dad.

Brendan is thrilled for me. Nearly knocks me over hugging me. He's the first one I tell.

I know Nicole wants to wait and make an announcement when everyone's at our house for Thanksgiving, but I can't help it. I gotta tell my big brother.

"This is great Tommy." We're standing out in the freezing cold courtyard of his school.

I dropped by at lunch. "How far is she along?"

"'Bout 8 weeks," I'm smiling. Kids are milling 'round a little bit, but thanks to the weather, we're pretty much alone out here.

"Do you want a boy or a girl?"

"Don't care," my answer is instantaneous. "Just want a healthy kid."

I exhale, watching my breath cloud and swirl in fronta me. "I just wanna be a good dad."

Brendan smiles at me. "You will be. I wouldn't worry about that."

"Don't know what I'm doin'." Makes me nervous as hell.

Brendan just laughs. "No one does. Read father-to-be books. The rest you have to take on faith."

Seems like that's all I'm doing lately. Apart from walking on air, I'm worried as hell. In the father-to-be books I'm learning all sorts of shit, like being pregnant is playing with my wife's hormones 'til sometimes I swear she's gonna kill me one minute and jump my bones the next. She's eating shit that don't make sense, running off to the bathroom randomly, crying at commercials on television, worrying that her boobs are leaking.

I try to be supportive. Don't say shit when she drags us to the bookstore and buys a mountain high pile on babies. I read 'em out loud to her, memorizing words like "Linea Nigra" and "postpartum" and "Braxton–Hicks."

We've been taking pregnancy and childbirth classes. I even went to the breastfeeding classes.

I felt like a bull in a china shop at first, but the other guys felt just as awkward as me, so it was alright.

This pregnancy thing seems a helluva lot harder on her than me, so when she complains that she has the belly of a darts champion, or that her boobs are starting to sag, I try not to upset her.

I have a coupla misses, like this morning when she asked, "Baby how are my boobs?"

"Sweetheart they look great."

"But didn't you always tell me that you love my pre-pregnancy boobs?"

"Yeah, but yours look great now too."

"But do you like my new ones or old ones better?"

"…Uh both. You look great. Love you either way."

She sighs and then continues looking in the mirror. She might as well have never asked me.

I meant what I said- I don't care how much she weighs. She's always gonna be beautiful to me. Her being pregnant only makes her more radiant. It's like she's glowing.

But it ain't all bad. She's so happy that it's like living with a Disney princess. It's starting to rub off on me. I'm getting shit from guys at the gym 'bout all the smiling I've been doing.

Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant is often all I can think; got my bell rung real hard at the gym 'cause I can't focus.

Can't help it. I'm gonna be a dad. Makes me ecstatic and scares the shit outta me at the same time.

By the time we announce our pregnancy after the first trimester, advice starts flying outta everyone's mouths. Some of the shit I'm glad for, like the tips on how to make Nicole stop snoring from her dad, or her mom suggesting we buy a body pillow to make her more comfortable. But some of the shit, like Tess tryna predict if we're having a girl or a boy by how high Nicole's four-month baby bump is, or a stranger suggesting buying wood-soled shoes, is crazy.

And everyone's tryna touch her. We walk outside and people flock to her, wanting to ask questions, asking if they can rub her belly. You'd think she was a goddamn genie.

I try to shoo 'em away, but Nicole just smiles, sticks her tummy out. People are happy for us, she tells me.

Strange, thinking there's a buncha strangers out there who give a shit 'bout us, who are rooting for us. But it's kinda nice too.

Only ones who ain't got baby advice are the guys at the gym. They keep asking me if I'm ready for it, like a baby is a terminal illness.

I ain't worried 'bout what Nicole and I will be like, if we'll have fun. Our baby is just gonna add to our happiness. Nothing 'bout it seems like an inconvenience to me. We'll have to take Tess up on her offer to babysit.

The only thing I really am worried 'bout is what kinda dad I'm gonna be. Ain't no question that Nicole's gonna be a great mother. She's got it written all over her.

I don't wanna be like Pop was, or one of them dads who goes to work and comes home, who provides but don't know his own kids. I wanna be there, wanna watch our kids grow up, wanna have memories with them that I'll always remember.

I wanna be old one day, and look back and not regret nothing. But I don't see how I'm gonna be around if I'm always off fighting. I tell Nicole this one day.

"Well, it's not like our baby and I aren't going to be at all of your fights," she says this like she ain't been worried 'bout it. "Wherever you go, Tommy Conlon, we'll be right behind you."

"I just wanna be a dad our kids will be proud of," I tell her.

She smiles. "Even if you go bald, make silly dad jokes, and tuck your shirt into your boxers, we are always going to love you." She climbs into my lap as I laugh, her baby bump brushing my stomach. "And we are always going to be proud of you."

She then starts kissing me urgently. I always thought Nicole had a healthy sex drive, but our baby is kicking it up a notch.

Some nights I barely get through the door before she's ripping my sweats off.

I rub her back with one hand and her belly with the other. She's almost six months along and starting to get even bigger. I trace my hand down to the smooth curves, running over her bellybutton that's an outie now. She leans into my touch. I'm gentle with her now, even though she insists it's ok, that we're not gonna hurt our baby. But I say no dice; it's gonna be soft touches and slow kisses for now. Rough sex can wait another coupla months.

I hold her tight at night, thinking 'bout the nursery that's coming together, 'bout all the baby proofing we still gotta do. I'm starting to get a little bit stressed 'bout it, 'bout all the stuff we still need to do. Just when I get myself all riled up, I feel a soft motion under my hand. My palms are pressed face down on my wife's belly. It can only be one thing.

The next hard kick confirms it. Our baby is moving around. Nicole always says she can feel it, but this is my first time. 'Fore I know it, I'm crying.

My wife shifts next to me. I know she's looking up at me. She don't say nothing, just leans up to kiss me and puts her hand over mine. We lay there real quiet, listening to our baby on our fetal Doppler monitor. Nicole starts whispering, talking to our baby like it's already out, like it can hear us. She's talking 'bout the plans we have, 'bout how he'll be out right in time for the summer. She's talking 'bout going to barbeques and meeting Emily and Rosie and Luke. She says she hopes our baby has sapphire eyes and big soft lips like mine, hair like hers.

She looks up at me again, "Want to say anything, daddy?"

"Dunno what to say," I whisper.

She shrugs, "Just talk."

So I do. I tell our baby 'bout how excited I am, how much I want the little guy or girl to be here. I run baby names by it. I start off with basic ones, Dave and Joe and Annie and Lizzy. Nicole throws her own in, starting with Zander and Aiden and getting more ridiculous as we go. Our baby starts kicking again.

"Really though, what do you wanna name the baby if it's a girl?" I ask.

Nicole lays still, thinking hard. "Naomi. Or Lily." I tell her I like both. I can see a little curly headed girl, excitable like her mom. She'd need an interesting name.

"What 'bout for boys?" I ask.

"I like your middle name."

"Edward?" I scoff a little. "Sounds like some fruity king's name."

"What about Eddie?" she laughs a little bit. "Reverse your name? Edward Thomas?"

"Kinda formal." And I'm not sure I want my son to have exactly my name. I want him to be the good parts of me, but not me exactly.

"What if we give him Brendan's name? Edward Brendan. Call him Eddie."

She repeats it, rolling the name 'round on her tongue. "I like it."

Beneath our hands, our baby starts rolling and kicking. "I think he likes it too," I say, kissing my wife.

Sure enough, when we go to our next ultra sound, the doctor tells us we're having a boy.

We already start calling him Eddie, talking to him and playing music for him.

Rosie and Emily visit us and spend an hour reading kiddy books to Nicole's belly.

The baby book says when he's born, he'll recognize our voices. I hope it's true.

Nicole decided she wants to give birth to our son at home. I thought she was nuts at first, throwing centuries of medical science out the window like that, but she explained she don't wanna be just another patient at the hospital shooting out yet another baby. She wanted to do things her way, in her own home, on her own time. There won't be no cameras at our house, she said. She don't wanna turn this into a reality TV event. I can respect that.

Even though Nicole said she's "low risk" for complications, I'm still wary of having her give birth at home, 'specially 'cause she chose a male midwife.

I dunno why, outta all of them, she chose a fucking man. There's only gotta be a couple in America and he's delivering ours? I kinda just don't want another man that close to my wife's business.

The name of the midwife she chose is Justin.

I expected some real sensitive guy, one of them metro-sexual types, but this guy is a good-looking blonde, an Ivy-league, polo-wearing, white-toothed douche who I now gotta tolerate for my wife and son's sake.

But Nicole trusts him and says he knows what he's doing. But I swear, if his fingers slip anywhere they ain't s'posed to be, he's gonna be the one who needs a damn doctor.

She's getting so big she's having a hard time getting around and strangers ask us all the time if we're having multiples.

I'm kinda her maid, helping her put her shoes on, giving her daily foot massages, helping her up the stairs and outta bed in the mornings.

She's still working though, even though I wish she'd stay home. I've started picking her up from work. I'm paranoid she's gonna go into labor when I ain't with her.

I ain't fought in a month. I turned down fighting Lyoto Machida only 'cause I'd haveta fly to fucking Brazil.

Luckily my boss Dana White understood my refusal to miss the birth of my child.

So I've stayed home in Bristol, working out, practicing putting diapers on a baby doll, attending birthing classes with Nicole and just waiting.

I'm outside, doing lawn work when I hear a crash in our house.

It's the middle of May and it's starting to warm up. Nicole has been home the last coupla days. Our due date came and went a week ago. Feels like Eddie's in no hurry to get out.

"Tommy!" My wife's scream sends a bolt of panic right through me. I run back into the house with the lawnmower outside still running. I can't get to her fast enough.

She's standing in the living room, looking down, shocked, at a puddle on the floor.

She's shaking all over and has one hand on her belly real protective, "I think my water just broke."


Sorry for the loooooong delay. It's been hard to find time to write. Big thanks to Tallulah, as usual, for keeping me on the ball. And again, thank you to all of you reviewers who are hanging in there with me. Please let me know what you think about this one!