The babies moved constantly.
Owen seemed determined to kick whenever I lay down.
Mia preferred wedging herself beneath my ribs.
At night, Daniel rested his hands on my stomach and talked to them.
“Your mother is already blaming me for everything,” he whispered once.
“I can hear you.”
“Good. They should know the truth.”
Later, he started getting tired more easily.
He blamed work.
Then stress.
Then the fact that we were preparing for twins.
I believed him because I had no reason not to.
At my baby shower, he spent most of the afternoon carrying gifts into the spare room.
Carol watched him from across the room.
“He’s going to be a wonderful father,” I told her.
Her smile appeared too quickly.
“He is.”
I thought she was emotional.
Looking back, there were so many moments I misunderstood.
One night, late in my pregnancy, I sat on the couch complaining for 20 minutes about my swollen ankles.
