At forty-five and eight months pregnant, I was still shocked my body had done this again. Standing up needed a strategy and a prayer.
So when I saw my husband, Evan, with a bag in his hand, my first thought was that he had a work trip.
“Why do you have a suitcase?” I asked.
The nursery smelled like fresh paint and baby powder.
He set it down beside the door. “I can’t do this anymore.”
I laughed because the alternative was throwing up. “Do what, exactly, sweetie?”
