I watch the early morning light caress the curves of my wife’s face. Daphne grows more and more beautiful each day. She is sleeping in her favorite position, like a starfish. Even in slumber, she is protecting our baby she is carrying, her hand resting on the tiny bump that is just starting to be evident. I don’t know how I got so lucky that this incredible woman loves me.
Sleepy brown eyes slowly open and look into mine.
“Good morning,” Daphne says in her husky, sleep-roughened voice. Her smile is sweet as she gazes up at me.
“Good morning, beautiful. Do you want tea and toast for breakfast, or do you think Birdie will let you eat something heartier?”
We’ve taken to calling the baby Birdie. I’m a golden eagle shifter so it’s possible the baby will inherit my shifting abilities when they reach purberty. We are still debating whether to find out the gender or just be surprised. My cousin, Liam, wants to do a hockey-themed gender reveal with the hockey team he coaches in the Paranormal Hockey League. Daphne and I both work for the team and I think he’s picturing substituting an exploding puck for a face off to make the announcement before a crowd.
It would make for awesome pictures. As team photographer, I can visualize Daphne and I at center ice. Well, she’d be on carpet, so she didn’t slip and fall, facing off over the puck. Of course, I’d let her win and, when she hit the puck, it would explode in a cloud of blue or pink smoke. I know my mom is hoping for pink smoke. Secretly, I am too. I would love to have a little girl with Daphne’s sweet strength and brown eyes, paired with my mom’s red hair. I’d love a little boy too, of course, but I think I’d be a good girl dad.
She stretches languidly. “Birdie is craving pancakes and bacon, but I don’t think we have time for that.”
“We have all the time in the world, we both have off today. Our schedules are clear, our family and friends know not to bother us. If pancakes and bacon are what my Sunshine and Birdie want, that’s what they’ll have.”
I lean down to press a kiss to her lips before getting out of bed to start breakfast.
“What?! Logan! What are we doing!”
I hear her bare feet hit the floor.
“Oof, Birdie, for still being a tiny little thing you’re doing a number on my bladder.”
I peek my head back around the door frame in time to watch Daphne shuffle off to our ensuite bathroom. She’s wearing one of my old t-shirts and it barely covers her shapely butt. Birdie is giving my wife some delectable new curves that I truly appreciate.
The first trimester was rough on Daphne, morning sickness was all day sickness and Birdie didn’t seem to like anything their mommy wanted to eat. Daphne’s time was spent either bent over the toilet, retching, or napping anywhere she could. I would have done anything to make it better for her. When I told her that, she smiled bravely and told me it was all worth it. Now that we’re past twelve weeks, Daphne finally has her appetite back and can eat something other than saltines. I will cook or buy anything she wants if it makes her happy. Hell, I will do anything to make her happy.