miles always thought when he got married, he’d want an army of boys. little soldiers he could shape and form and play sports and watch sports with. he spent all of your pregnancy fantasizing about boy names and what sports he’d play. he was convinced you were going to have a boy.

however, all of that changed when you popped out that sweet little girl, a sudden surge of love and protectiveness washing over him as he heard that first shrill, loud cry.

he couldn’t get enough of her: those cherubic cheeks, rosy lips, wispy tufts of hair on his head, and that damned button nose. she was so fragile, so little, so perfect.

“god she’s…perfect…”

he murmured, letting her tiny fist grip into his finger as he held her, letting tears brim his eyes. he looked up at you, his eyes desperate and watery.

“when can we try for another?”