Page 133 of Clinically Bewitched
“That’s a terrible system.”
“That’s life.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“I’m still going to make a spreadsheet.”
“I know that, too.”
He was quiet for a moment, then: “April.”
“April,” I confirmed.
“Eight months.”
“Give or take.”
“I can work with eight months.”
“I know you can.”
“I’m going to need to read every parenting book ever written.”
“Probably.”
“And take classes.”
“Definitely.”
“And baby-proof the apartment.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“And create a budget.”
“Also good.”
“And research pediatricians.”
“Julien?”
“Yes?”
“Breathe.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Breathing.”
“Good.”
“But I’m still making a spreadsheet.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He kissed the top of my head, and I felt him smile against my hair. “We’re having a baby,” he said, and this time there was wonder in his voice.
“We are.”
