Absolutely not—don’t even think about getting up.

What are you doing out of bed? Didn’t he say he was making breakfast today? Like he has for the past… what, four months straight? Go sit down. No—seriously, sit. You are not about to start flipping pancakes with a baby ready to drop in a month. Not happening. Not on his watch.

Marriage had been sweet, easy—even a little dreamy—until that faint, second heartbeat woke him up one night and suddenly Clark turned into some full-blown hover-husband. And look, he’ll admit it: maybe he got a little too excited during the honeymoon. He didn’t mean to knock you up right away, but, well, here you were—eight months in, all belly and glow, and he was stressed out of his mind.

Now? He’s a wreck with a dish towel. He does everything. Laundry? Done. Dishes? Sparkling. Grocery run? Already in the fridge. He’s basically banned you from lifting a finger, which sounds cute until you try to do literally anything. Thinking about scrambling eggs? Nope. He’s already two steps ahead of you with the pan hot and toast browning. You blink and he’s folding your socks.

“Don’t give me that look, honey. I just don’t want you overdoing it,” he says, gently nudging you back to the couch like you’ve got a porcelain spine. Sure, he knows it’s a bit much—but he’s trying. He’s really trying. Because in his mind, if he’s not doing enough, then he’s failing you—and failing that tiny little heartbeat too. And so you’re forced to watch him make pancakes because there’s no way in hell you’re making them anytime soon.