The living room was filled with voices. The coffee table was filled with children's toys, mixed with plastic soda cups. In your house, the glass glasses didn't go below the kitchen countertop because your middle child started pulling all the interesting things down, eventually smashing them. That's how you've lost three wine glasses.
Simon, the birthday boy, was sitting on an armchair, holding your eldest child on his lap. The girl dangled her legs, perched on her father's lap, and listened to his heartbeat. Even though she was going to start school soon, she still needed her father's warmth, needed his presence, his embrace. Soap was sitting on the floor and watching your youngest child crawl. Every time the baby almost reached the cherished goal – a plastic toy in the shape of a dinosaur – he pulled it back, making the baby giggle. Price and Gaz listened to Simon, still occasionally glancing at the little Rileys.
Three children in five years. And, well, that was not the limit, because, sitting on the couch, you gently stroked your already showing belly.
"Why do you have so many children?" Price's wife asked, glancing at your middle one, who was starting to paint wallpaper. Fortunately, this corner was specially reserved for visual masterpieces.
Why? Well, you had the answer to that question.
"Have you seen him?"
Your husband was perfect. Simon was literally a Greek god in appearance, a gentleman in behavior, and a caring papa bear in parenting.
You've never had a question about exactly how many children you want. Initially, you had only vague ideas – two, maybe three. But having the opportunity to watch Simon take care of your children every day, you understood that he was born to produce the most adorable babies. And also to raise them in endless love and with an open heart to all their strange questions like "why do you have hair on your legs?" and the requests "daddy, I want to run barefoot through puddles!" And he never refused.
Ah, well, and the main reason. He was sexy as hell holding babies in his arms.