Page 152 of Clinically Bewitched
“That too,” I admitted. “But the organization helped.”
“The organization,” she said, shifting uncomfortably and trying to find a position where three babies weren’t using her internal organs as a trampoline, “also made me eat breakfast at exactly seven-thirty every morning.”
“Consistency is important for fetal development.”
“I’m nocturnal, Julien. Seven-thirty is the middle of the night. It’s basically three AM in Athena time.”
“You adjusted.”
“Igrumbled.”
“Minor grumbling is acceptable within the parameters of the plan.”
She laughed, then winced and put a hand on her stomach. “Baby B is kicking again.”
I was at her side immediately, my hand joining hers. “Does it hurt?”
“No. Just... active.” She smiled. “They’re going to be just like you. Precise. Organized. Probably color-coding their toys by eighteen months.”
“That would be developmentally advanced.”
“I’m joking, Julien.”
“I know.” I kissed her forehead. “But it would be impressive. And efficient. Toy retrieval time would decrease by approximately forty percent.”
“You’ve calculated toy retrieval time?”
“It’s in the childcare efficiency spreadsheet.”
“Of course it is.” She laughed again, and I felt that familiar warmth in my chest. The one that appeared whenever she was near, whenever she smiled, whenever she looked at me like I was simultaneously ridiculous and exactly what she needed.
The universe had tested me, and I had won.
Take that, cosmos.
Suck it, universe!
The satisfaction lasted exactly four more days.
Four days of smug certainty that I had conquered chaos.
Four days of believing my organizational skills were superior to cosmic interference.
Four days before I realized the fatal flaw in my planning.
Four days of thinking I’d finally beaten the universe at its own game.
“Julien,” Athena said, standing in the doorway of what was currently my office but would soon need to be converted into a nursery. “Where exactly are we putting three cribs?”
I looked up from my laptop, where I was currently updating the nursery layout spreadsheet. “In here. I have the layout planned.”
“And where are you putting your office?”
“I’ll move it to the bedroom.”
“Where we already don’t have space because of all your color-coded filing cabinets?”
“I’ll consolidate.”
