The last trimester hit like a slow-building wave, turning our quiet suburban cottage into a nest of anticipation and minor chaos. By month seven, my belly had rounded out fully, making simple tasks—like bending to tie my shoes or getting up from the couch—a comedy of errors. The garden out back, which I'd taken pride in tending with herbs and flowers, now required Damien's help for weeding, his tall frame bending where I couldn't. Mornings started with gentle kicks from inside, like our little one was already eager to join the world. "Active today," I'd say, rubbing the spot, and Damien would press his hand there, eyes widening at each flutter."How are you feeling?" he'd ask every morning over breakfast, his voice a mix of concern and excitement, pouring me decaf coffee while he sipped his regular."Tired, mostly," I'd reply, stretching my back against the chair. "The baby's using my bladder as a trampoline, and sleep's a joke with all the tossing and turning. But... it's good tired.
Last Updated : 2025-10-14
LOGIN
