sometimes it's beautiful.

we go to our third ultrasound. the woman is smearing cold jelly under pam's shirt and she winces. i hold her hand. then I hear girl and my heart stops. all I can think of is pink. painting sparkled nail polish on the tiniest fingers and tiniest toes. ballet lessons and hair barrettes and learning how to hand wash tights. i want her out now. pam looks at me and gives a little squeel and I know she's thinking about pink too.

~

sometimes it's hard. (and no, that's not what she said.)

~

I'm up to my elbows in lukewarm soapy water, once clean but now filled with remnants of our last four meals that swirl around as I scrub. We've let the dishes pile up lately - it's been crazy. I shift my weight from foot to foot, feeling the cool tile beneath my toes as a sudden relief. My feet are killing me. I groan into the silence. I don't want to do dishes. I want to sleep. I'm exhausted. My sweatshirt touches the bottom cupboard, a reminder of just how huge I'm getting.

Door slams. He's home, finally. He was out all day on a major account sales call, which I know he's been stressed about. I know I should care, should ask how it was.

"Hey, you." He slaps his keys in the counter. "How's it going?"

"How was the sales call?" I ignore his question.

"Went well. Fingers crossed." He reaches into the fridge for the orange juice. "Did you eat?"

"Yup. Pasta." I'm washing my plate as we speak.

"Take vitamins?"

"Yes." God, I'm so tired. Does he think I'm so incapable that I can't remember to take a few stupid vitamins? I just want to be left alone. I feel a bajillion forks on the bottom of the sink, silverware I missed. I feel sweaty and fat and...so pregnant.

"Pam, why don't you let me do dishes?"

I slam a plate into the rack. "No, I got it."

"Come on, go put your feet up, I'll finish."

"It's fine, I'm almost done."

"Pam, seriously. I don't mind." He tries to take the plate I'm about to submerge with wrinkly fingers.

"Jim, I'm fine, let go - " I grab it away but my fingers are slick with soap and when the plate shatters in pieces on the floor, I finally break too. I slide down the counter into the midst of the porcelain mess, sobbing for reasons unbeknownst to me. I'm losing my mind, I swear.

"Pam! Careful - "

I move away from the glass and continue sobbing on the floor in my ridiculous yellow dish gloves. He hesitates, not sure if it's safe to come close, to touch me. I've been kind of biting his head off lately, for stupid little things, and now I feel bad.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine," I blubber as Jim kneels beside me and begins rocking with me halfway in his arms. He's warm and he smells like bad Chili's food. I always smell him when we're in close proximity - it's one of my very favorite creepy-no-telling-anyone things to do.

"I know, I know," he chuckles, stroking my hair. He's used to my pretending like everything's fine until it isn't routine. "Long day, huh?"

I nod, sniffling, cheek against the crook of his arm. "Okay, so, we need to..." he trails off, rubs the back of his neck. "I'm going to get a bath going. And you're going to get in it - just you." I smile at his clarification and then stop because I'm just not in the smiling mood. I put my frown back on. It feels really good.

"And I'm going to clean this glass up. Kay?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Fine.

And even when I suck, he's still the best. Sometimes, I hate him for that. You know, just a little.

~

She leans against the cool tile of bathroom wall, the mirror snagging the pout in her reflection. He spits out toothpaste, looks up to notice her eyes locked on his face in the glass. Gurgle, spit.

"What's up?"

"My ring - I can't get it off!" She demonstrates by straining with the metal curved tight around her skin. "It's stuck. My fingers are swelled too much!"

"Does it hurt?"

"No...it's just stuck. You know what this means?"

"You'll be married to me forever, even if you don't want to be?"

"No!" She gives an exasperated sigh. "It means I'm getting huge!" Pam groans and slides down to the floor. She looks near tears. "I'm so huge my own wedding ring already doesn't fit...and this is only the beginning!"

He kneels beside her, twirls a curl on her shoulder.

"Will you still love me when I look like a whale?" He wants to chuckle because how could she even - but then he sees her face enough to know that now is not the time for a joke. He takes her chin in his hand.

"There is nothing - absolutely nothing - that could ever make me stop loving you. Ever." He kisses her. "I happen to think you are gorgeous always."

"Really?"

"I mean, if you weren't already knocked up..." He stops when she smiles and presses his forehead to hers.

She bites her lip. "I need pudding."

"Well. That was a quick turn-around. What is it with you and pudding these days?"

Pam pats her tummy affectionately. "I don't know.."

He takes her hand to help her stand up. "And just so you know - you are stuck with me forever, whether or not the ring can come off."

"I think I just might be okay with that?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah...except the way I'm feeling today, I could also marry pudding."

Oh-kay. Now it's - thanks for that. Go get your food." She walks away singing the wedding march.

He finds her later, asleep on the porch with three empty Jello cups. Her tummy swells under the blanket. She has chocolate on her mouth. He wasn't lying before. He thinks she's beautiful.

~

sometimes it's pink.

"Pam, this is a little more than I bargained for I offered to paint your nails, not your whole foot."

He's kneeling on the living room floor and, up until a moment ago, had been biting his lip in utter concentration. Now he has stopped, smirking up at me, faking annoyance.

It's my fault.

"I can't, you're tickling me!" I protest, as he holds a dripping polish brush dangerously close to our very ugly carpet. He swipes a fierce shade of Bing Bang Cherry onto my pinky toe but the hand that's cupping my heel is way too close to the bottoms of my feet. I can't help that I'm so ticklish! I squeal again and wriggle out of his grasp.

"You have to hold still, Bees!" Four of my toes are painted but he caps the polish. "I call truce. You just try to do something nice for your wife but she is soooo ungrateful."

I reach up and yank him down by his belt loops. "It was very sweet that you wanted to paint my nails," I croon, pulling out my best baby voice and puppy eyes. "Besides, soon I'll be laying in a hospital bed like a deflated balloon and my nice red toes will be the only pretty thing about me."

"That," Jim says, with emphasis, "is a complete and total lie. You are the cutest pregnant lady I've ever seen."

I snort in protest, trace circles across a belly so enormous that I can't even believe it belongs to a human, much less me. I'm due in a week and everything seems to be hitting like a freight train - in a good and extremely overwhelming way. Every night when I get up to go the bathroom (try three times a night!), Jim freaks and grabs my suitcase and asks if I'm okay. Yes, I'm okay, I'm just peeing for the thousandth time!

Needless to say, we are ready for this little girl to get here.

"Take two?" he proposes sweetly, uncapping the bottle. "I'll try not to tickle you too much."

"Wait. I have an idea," I say, placing my foot on the coffee table, protecting the bottom. He successfully paints all ten toes, then blows on them so they dry faster. I pop his inflated cheeks with my palms and he spurts out air and then we start laughing.

"That tickles too," I giggle, by way of explanation, and then sneak a peek at my feet. "Hey. Not bad for a first attempt."

He looks so cute grinning up at me. "What can I say? I'm a natural."

I wiggle my finger at him. "Come here."

"Is there room?" he jokes.

"You're mean."

He plops down beside me and I settle my feet in his lap. He begins massaging my swollen tummy, sliding up my shirt as the sun comes crawling across my skin. He kisses the bulge square on my belly button, a mess of lips and hair tickling my bare skin.

"Daddy's gonna paint your toes," I coo above his head, tangling a hand in his hair. "He's an expert."

He presses an ear to where his lips were moments before. "She wants..." he pauses, like he's listening. "Pink."

And then he comes up close, finding his way around the mountain that is our child, our baby, cluster of us us us, and kisses me instead. Lips, nose, ears, white cotton tee taut against his back.

He's an expert at other things too, this crazy gorgeous husband of mine. Maybe I'll paint his toes.

~

Pam is sleeping in for once and I decide I'm going to get up and make her oatmeal. I fumble blindly for my watch and that's when I see it. There on the nightstand, complete with ribbon, is a small bottle of petal pink polish. The note attached has only one word - soon.