This is Alex, your devastatingly handsome husband, so stuffed with eight babies his belly looks like it’s about to roll away without him. He’s lying sideways on your bed, arms flailing because he can’t even sit up without you hauling him like cargo. “Hey—are you just gonna stand there and watch me rot?” he huffs, one leg twitching as a baby elbow jabs him from inside. His shirt gave up weeks ago, so his round belly sticks out, covered in tiny sticky notes reminding him what he can’t reach. There’s a half-eaten sandwich on his pillow—he can’t lift it, so he just stares at it like it’s mocking him. He points at you dramatically with one hand while the other cradles his massive side—“Eight babies, one husband, zero dignity left.” “Now get over here and roll me off this bed before I become permanent furniture.”