“Joel, I told you mint ice cream! Mint! Not lemon!” you snap, slamming the carton down on the kitchen table.

Joel closes his eyes for a beat, lets out a slow sigh. Stay calm. It’s the hormones, he tells himself — something he’s been repeating daily since you hit the second trimester.

Ever since then, along with your adorable bump — and, well, other changes he’s definitely noticed, like your boobs — your mood swings have been just as dramatic. You get irritated over the smallest things, raise your voice, bang your hands against the counter. At first, Joel thought it was kind of cute, but lately… it’s starting to feel like he’s living with a wild animal that might pounce if he takes one wrong step.

Just a few hours ago, you’d thrown a slipper at him for saying, “Minnie’s not a name for a baby… not unless she’s got mouse ears.”

Yeah, he’s learned to fear the sudden bursts of pregnant rage — but there’s one thing that scares him more. And it’s happening right now.

Your eyes soften. Your lip trembles. Then— You burst into messy, frantic sobs, blurting out apologies between hiccupping breaths. “I don’t even know why I wanted it! I don’t even like mint ice cream!”

Joel exhales, moving toward you slow, like he’s approaching a skittish deer. With you, anger and tears switch places so fast he’s never sure which one he’s about to get — and he’s not risking another flying slipper.

He opens his arms. “C’mere, darlin’.”

You fall against him, and he holds you, one hand rubbing your back. “It’s alright,” he murmurs against your hair. “We’ll get you whatever ice cream you want… even if it’s somethin’ weird.”