#happypanda

You can feel the tears brimming around your eyes. And the thing is . . . you know it’s not reasonable, and you know that in the grand scheme of things, this little inconvenience is nothing. But that, logical, knowledge does nothing to calm you down. The first sniffle starts, and then the second, and then the tears are streaming down your face. 

Dick stares at you with a look of horror on his face. And you know his ten year old brain is trying to make sense of your now constant mood swings. 

When Bruce sticks his head into the room, your sobs turn grateful. And then Dick says, “The baby is making mom’s emotions crazy again.” 

Bruce smiles, “So I see.” He steps in, ruffles Dick’s hair and turns to kneel in front of you. “What’s wrong sweetheart.” 

The words come out in gasps, “I can’t reach my feet anymore. I can’t put my shoes on.” 

Bruce’s smile is amused, and you feel irritation run through you as the tears stop and a scowl finds a home on your mouth. Dick, wisely, books it out of the room. 

You hear Bruce mutter something that sounds like, “Scaredy cat.” under his breath, before he starts putting your shoes on your feet.” 

“Okay. Shoes are on. Do you need help getting up.” 

“Yes please.” 

He takes your hands and pulls you up. You immediately move into hug him, your belly bumping against him. His own tall, height means, your head rests just over his heart, as his arms wrap around you in a hug. “I’m sorry I’m crazy.” 

His hand rubs up and down against your back, “You’re not crazy. You’re pregnant. The baby is flooding you with hormones. It’s completely normal.” 

You blink and look up at him, “You’ve been reading baby books again haven’t you?” 

“Only all of them.” 

That makes you laugh, “And you call Clark the boy scout. Let’s go find the big brother and reassure him I’m not crazy.” 

You’re completely immobilized. Your youngest child, who is two years old, is sprawled across your chest. Your second youngest has his head laid on your chest right next to the baby’s. Jack’s head is cushioned in your lap, and he’s fast asleep. And the cat, is curled up on your protruding belly. 

You let out a small grunt as a new series of kicks start up. You smooth a hand over your belly, in an effort to get your daughter to stop, but she’s stubborn . . . .like her father. 

You hear a throat clear, and turn your head to see your husband standing in the doorway of your bedroom. His go bag is in his hand, his jacket is thrown over his arm, and while he looks exhausted he also looks extremely happy to be home. 

He gently places his bag and jacket to the side, before toeing off his shoes. He swoops down to kiss you, and move a strand of hair out of your face. In a whisper he asks, “What’s going on here?” 

“There was a thunder storm last night. They all piled in here, and it became a partial family cuddle.” 

Aaron raises an eyebrow, “Partial?” 

“You weren’t here.” 

He looks over the bed and asks, “You sure you have room?” 

You gesture to your right side, where there’s still an empty space, “Always.”