anyway, it’s safer for me to be in a large hospital with a cardiac ward," she told me. That’s my wife. Always so down to earth and sensible.
As we wait for the food Ryan tells me about a new deal that he's pushing through, while Jessie and Nicole talk strollers and cribs and all the other necessary baby items that we're going to need to buy. Jessie can't believe we haven't found out the sex of the baby. Nicole wants it to be a surprise, and I'm happy with it too.
"There aren't many truly beautiful surprises in life," my wife says. "I want to enjoy this one." When someone holds such a touching perspective on life, who am I to argue.
Sean arrives with our dinner. It smells delicious, but I have no idea what it is. He has a strange expression on his face when he uncovers the food. "Toad in the hole," he says with gusto.
"Toad in the what?" I ask in horror.
Nicole laughs so hard, she bends at the waist, clutching herself. "Toad in the hole. It's an English specialty."
"I know the French eat frogs, but toads…that's just…"
"It's not made with actual toads." Her eyes are streaming with tears. "It's sausages."
I glance at Sean, wondering how my award-winning chef has been encouraged into making such a strange meal for us. "It's my first time," he says. "I hope I did it right."
"It looks perfect." Nicole has so much glee in her voice that I could just wrap my arms around her and squeeze.
"Your mom used to make this, didn't she?" Jessie asks.
"It's one of my favorites. I just had a crazy craving, and I thought I'd let you all experience a new dish."
"Well, I'm down for that."
"I don't want to eat a toad," Abbey says sadly.
Ryan scoops her up and places her on the booster seat we bought for their last visit. "It's just normal sausages, honey."
"And look, they're hiding," Nicole says, pointing to the tray.
They are actually hiding in what looks like a crispy shell. I raise my eyebrows questioningly. "It's Yorkshire pudding," Nicole giggles, her eyes now puffy from all the laughing. "Just sit…I know you're all going to love it.”
What can I say, I trust my wife, but sometimes the culinary differences between our home nations baffle me.
But she's right. It’s delicious in a homely comforting way.
We could have had anything to eat tonight: lobsters, steak, sushi, risotto with truffle, caviar. You name it, Sean could make it, but this is what my wife wanted. A traditional family meal.
I know Nicole will raise our children with the kind of down-to-earth values that my own childhood lacked, and they'll be better people for it.
We spend the rest of the evening talking and playing games. Fluffy the rabbit finds a den under our dining table, and Ryan and Jessie tell us all about their most recent vacation. All the time I'm watching my wife and the light that radiates from her.
And later, when Abbey is tucked up in her bed, and Ryan and Jessie have retired to their room, I take my wife to bed.
"It was a great evening," she says as she sits up surrounded by pillows, rubbing cream over her belly. The skin is stretched tight, her usually neat belly button popping out from the pressure. She has to wear special soft bras now without underwire. So much about her appearance is different, but everything is still perfect.
I slide into bed next to her, moving close. "I want to talk to Bean," I say.
Nicole laughs, lifting the shirt she already pulled down over her sweet-smelling skin. "Bean is wriggling," she says. "Look."
Her stomach shifts, a section rising as our baby stretches. Is it a hand or a foot? I have no idea.
"Wow…does that hurt?"
"Not really. It's just…weird." She gazes down at herself, eyes misted with the same kind of awe I'm feeling right now. "Bean…settle down. It's bedtime."
"Bean liked the massage you just gave him."
"Bean might not be a him," she smiles.
"Bean, your mom made me eat toad tonight. It was actually good." Nicole's belly shifts as she laughs silently. "I think she might make you eat toad too one day. You better be ready for it."
"Bean's eating toad right now and loving it. It's probably why it's moving around so much."
"You'll have to forgive your momma for calling you 'it'," I say. "She has no faith in my instinct that you're going to be a boy."
"Aaron Harrington the third," Nicole scoffs. The naming tradition