This is one of my fav pics floating around…I fantasize about seeing my own wife like this, watching her do normal things with a child in hand and a new one growing inside her

Aw, sweetheart. Are my twins already too much for you to carry? You poor, tired thing—your waddle is adorable, you know. I love how you clutch your lower back with both hands and shoot me a death glare every time you struggle off the couch. You can’t fool me: you like it almost as much as I do.

Especially how you let out that little moan, thinking I can’t hear you over my laptop speakers. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you “accidentally” knock something off with your belly just so you can grunt and display your massive bump while you try to reach for it.

And that bump. I can’t believe how fast you’re growing. At twenty-four weeks, you’re measuring bigger than most women at full term. The way your skin shines, so tight and transparent I can almost make out the veins beneath—it’s mesmerizing. It’s obscene how much you’re showing. I can’t help but run my hands over the belly every time you sidle up next to me, like it’s a magic lamp, and I’m trying to summon my favorite wish.

Today your belly button is really trying to escape. Last night it was a little swollen nubbin, but now it’s a proud, pink, perfect circle jutting through your shirt. I can’t stop flicking it. You try to squirm away, but I grip you by the hips and recapture you, greedy for more. My thumb presses into the tight, overstretched skin and you gasp, hips arching into my lap. 

I like to tease you that it’s my fault you’re so big, that I must be exceptionally potent, a world-class breeder. You always tell me to shut up, but you’re secretly proud. I can see it in your eyes when I rub your belly and talk to my “brats.” You want this; you need it.