His words warmed me. I believed him and I trusted him, always and completely. But I also knew that there would be times down the road when I would forget this moment and give in to the demons in my mind out to sabotage me.
“I promise to try and remember that you’re always on my team, but I might need a reminder every once in a while.” I peeked out at him through my eyelashes.
“Oh trust me, Ella. If what we just did is the kind of reminder you need, I’ll be more than willing to give you a refresher.”
“Ok,” I said shyly. He smiled at me and landed a loud smack on my naked ass. “Ow!” I exclaimed, caught off guard by his attack.
“Come on, let’s take a shower and go to sleep.”
I followed him to the bathroom and started to unwind under the hot water spraying down on us. I let Porter wash me, loving the gentle feeling of his hands on me, spreading silky soap over my skin, getting sleepier and more tired as he used his hands to knead out the tense muscles in my back.
I was hardly conscious when he pulled me from the shower, dried and dressed me, and put me in the king-sized bed. The last thing I remembered was feeling the comforter being pulled over me and his lips on my temple, telling me he loved me before I drifted into darkness.
Living with a pregnant woman was more challenging than I could have ever anticipated. Not only was I trying to deal with running, essentially, two businesses, I was constantly worried about Ella and the baby. When we were together, my focus was making sure she had anything and everything she needed. Most days she was happily content, if not stubbornly independent. Did I want her walking up the two flights of stairs to get her giant pillow from the bedroom? No. Did she want to get it herself because she was, as she so eloquently stated, “Pregnant, not immobile?” Yes. So, I found myself compromising a lot—picking my battles. I let her make her way up the stairs all she wanted, but I made sure to carry in all of the groceries, do all the laundry, and generally make life easier for her. Of course, I had to be sneaky about all of it so she didn’t catch on. I figured eventually she’d tire of walking up stairs.
Today she was six months pregnant and her bulge from a few months ago blossomed into the most beautiful bump I’d ever seen. She was perfectly round in all the right places. My newest favorite activity was just sitting on the couch with my hands on her stomach, coaxing our baby into kicking so I could feel the most incredible thing in the world: my baby moving in her belly. The baby would kick, Ella would laugh, and I rode the wave of bliss that came over me every time.
Each day she grew more beautiful, more precious to me, and more impressive. Motherhood was something she was inherently good at. Our baby wasn’t even born and yet, she already was a great mother. The fear in the beginning of pregnancy of the actual birth, transformed into a need to be educated and prepared. She took Lamaze classes, prenatal yoga classes, and read every book she could about childbirth. I did not envy the task and tried to hide the fear that slowly grew inside of me. The bigger her belly grew, the more I grasped the idea that she would, in fact, have to birth a baby. So, if I had to run to the grocery store for mint ice cream at three in the morning, so be it.
I stood next to Patrick, watching my gorgeous wife walk down the aisle, wearing a flowing dress that took my breath away. She eyed me as she walked towards the altar, smiling like she had a secret. I almost didn’t notice when Megan started her walk down the aisle, I was so caught up in Ella. Then everyone stood and looked at Megan and my eyes were drawn to the bride making her way towards her groom.
Megan became one of my favorite people in the last year. She was still young and sometimes acted her age, but she was a great sister and simply fun to be around. She and Patrick were a phenomenal couple and I admired him for loving Megan as she was, never trying to reign her in. Her hand was threaded through her father’s elbow as he walked her down the aisle, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, looking at Patrick with clear and obvious love.
The ceremony wasn’t long, but filled with love and commitment. Traditional vows were made by both bride and groom and were spoken with such conviction I had no doubt they were making a conscious decision, not going into the marriage lightly. I was proud of both of them. I looked over at my own bride as she watched her little sister kiss her husband for the first time, wiping tears from her eyes. She looked over at me briefly and I winked at her, wanting to wipe the tears from her eyes myself.