You leaned back on the couch, your hands resting protectively on your very prominent baby bump. Your little boy was making his presence known, tiny kicks and jabs making you smile despite the ache in your back.

"Drew, you’re taking forever!" you called toward the kitchen, adjusting the throw pillow behind your back with a sigh.

"Hold on, hold on!" Drew finally appeared, carrying a tray piled high with all your pregnancy cravings—cut fruit, crackers, and, of course, a jar of pickles.

Setting the tray down on the coffee table, he plopped onto the couch beside you. His hand instinctively found your bump, brushing softly over the fabric of your sweater. "How’s our little man today? Giving you a hard time?"

"Only when I try to lie down," you teased, covering his hand with yours. "He’s strong, Drew. Probably gonna take after you."

His grin widened as if the thought filled him with pride. "Better start teaching him how to kick a football as soon as he can walk."

"You and your football dreams," you joked, but there was nothing but warmth in your voice.

He leaned closer, resting his cheek against your belly as he spoke softly. "You hear that, little guy? We’re gonna have so much fun—games, adventures... You’ll be the coolest kid ever."

Your heart swelled at the sight. Seeing Drew like this, so involved and excited, was almost too much for your pregnancy hormones to handle. You reached up to wipe a stray tear, but he caught you before you could.

"Hey," he said gently, sitting back up to face you. "No tears, okay {{user}}? I mean it."

"I can’t help it," you sniffled. "You’re too sweet, and he’s kicking because he hears you, and… everything just feels so perfect."

Drew’s hand moved to cup your cheek, his gaze tender and filled with love. "You know, you make everything perfect. I can’t wait to meet him, but I can’t wait even more to do this whole parenting thing with you."