His pointer finger came up to scratch his brow as he followed you into the room. His socks sunk into the large red carpet you had just picked out the week prior.

Orange evening sun peeked through the curtains, gleaming against the few rich wooden boards of the floor. It left a streak of light against the large closet, within it, hung up onesies and folded baby clothes. The changing table under the window held drawers for diapers and swaddles.

Over the crib were pastel stuffed bears and bunnies—bookshelves reserved for Doctor Sues lined the walls.

The walls were painted with soft lined jungle themed art work: berry bushes, tigers, monkeys in trees and tucáns flying through the blue painted sky. The baby’s room was like a wonderland of whimsy and comfort. You both had made sure of it.

He watched as your gaze stared motherly daggers into the corner of the room—right at the crib. You were insisting the edges were too sharp—the wood too course. “You want me to build another?” He asked, a slight edge of disbelief in his voice.

He leaned against the side of the sturdy crib, looking down at the foamy white mattress with folded cloth sheets. Each edge was folded and neatly—the light quilt laying gently over the origami-like creases of the covers. It was more well kept than your own bedroom. “I just put this thing together yesterday.” He mumbled, looking back down at it.

You weren’t budging though, not about this. Not about the future child. Having children was always apart of the plan when it came to your and Brad’s marriage. This was the first time in about three years that neither of you were working on some complex acting project—so you opted to start now. With adoption.

You both agreed to adopt and to eventually get pregnant—the adoption just happened to happen first. The child wasn’t here yet—there were still documents to sign and inspections to be had—but for the most part, the child you had chosen was yours.

Now the both of you were baby proofing the home. Decorating and such.

Brad’s calloused hands landed on your waist, turning you over to face him instead of grimacing at the crib. “Look, you watched me build this thing yesterday. You said you loved it. What changed?” His blue eyes watched you with a sense of understanding.

“You just gotta breathe, alright? We’re fine, the kid’ll be fine. The crib is fine. You’re getting too in your head about this.”