Out On a Limb

Thirty-Three Weeks Pregnant. Baby is the size of a pineapple.

Itake a deep breath, cooling my frustrations, as I stare deep into the mirror at my own reflection.

I’ve got the cute dress on, the one Sarah insisted I buy from the maternity section that actually fits my growing frame. It’s a sage green floor-length wrap dress with white hand-sewn flowers all over it. It ties in the back, creating the illusion of a small waist above my now prominent bump. And it showcases my new boobs—two sizes larger than they used to be.

Both Bo and I are big fans.

I’ve also got the makeup on. Though, pathetically, bending over the sink to apply mascara was causing me to get winded.

What’s making me frustrated is my hair.

I had this whole vision that I’d braid it, keeping it off my face in this wispy sort of way that matches the bohemian vibe of the dress, but it’s just not happening.

I’ve twisted and contorted myself in every which way, trying to see it in the mirror as I reach over my shoulder. But no matter what I do, my right hand will not cooperate, and I drop the third strand every time.

Once I told Bo I didn’t want any more surprises, he confessed about one that he and Sarah had been cooking up ever since his birthday. A birthday party for me. Except, knowing me the way they do, they decided I’d rather kill two birds with one stone and have a combined baby shower and birthday party.

Bo insisted this way I could tell myself the party was for August, and sort of him too—so I caved.

But now I’m probably already late, and I look like I’ve never held a hairbrush in my twenty-nine years of life. I’m about to throw it into a low ponytail, curse my rectangular-shaped forehead, and call it a day when Bo knocks softly on the half-open bathroom door.

“Need a hand?” he teases, leaning on the doorframe.

I roll my eyes, smiling at his reflection as he moves to stand behind me. He’s wearing a long-sleeve grey waffle-knit shirt over black jeans, looking as gorgeous as ever.

“Classic.” I shake my head.

“Never gets old,” he says, kissing my cheek.

“I was trying to braid my hair, and now I look like this,” I say, gesturing to the mess I’ve made. “I’ve never been able to braid. I’m not sure why I thought today would be any different.”

Bo rests his chin on the top of my head, curling both arms across my chest as he holds me to him. “You look beautiful, Fred.”

“You had to ruin that compliment, huh?” I say, letting my hands roam over his forearms. “I will start calling you Bob.”

“You look beautiful, stunning, and downright ethereal… Fred.”

“I might shave my head,” I whine, pouting. “Would you still love me if I shaved my head?”

“Is this like that worm question you asked me last week? Is there also a correct answer I should know about? Yes, I’d still love you if you were a worm, or bald, or—”

“When do we have to leave?” I ask, interrupting.

“About now.”

“About?”

“Ten minutes ago, probably. But you’re allowed to be late.” He presses his lips to the top of my head, then releases both arms from around me, bringing his hands up to my hair and pulling it all back over my shoulders. “Mind if I give it a go?”

I nod shyly.

Bo separates my hair into three pieces, combing through them with his long fingers, untangling. Then he actually begins to braid it. I open my mouth to ask how, but he intercepts. “In middle school, I learned how to make friendship bracelets because there was a cute girl in my class who was really good at them. I guess I never forgot.”

“The things we do for love…” I sigh out, admiring myself in the mirror as Bo reaches over my shoulder for the hair-tie on the counter.

“There,” Bo says, letting the braid fall down my back. “I think that’s good?”

He did a perfect job. He’s even left all the loose, wispy parts in all the right places. I could cry.

Actually, I’m very pregnant and very in love with the guy, so I do cry.

“One more thing,” he says, leaving me in the bathroom all alone with my watery eyes. I gather myself, fluffing my bangs in the mirror before turning to the side to get a full view of my bump. I place two hands on it and rub back and forth, soothing for both me, and I hope, August. Every day, I feel bigger than the last, and more and more ready to meet them. And with every little addition, Bo and I become more prepared.

After I moved some of my things into the master bedroom—and some of Bo’s items elsewhere to make room—we found a happy medium with the rest of the house. Decorating to suit both of us and merging our styles into one. Afterward, we started on the nursery.

Bo built a crib we’d ordered offline that is made from sustainable bamboo, and I painted the walls a soft green. We put my trusted old lavender dresser in there and bought the comfiest grey rocking chair that we both now like to nap in. Plus, of course, some of my plants got moved in there too. Bo hung up shelves for books, and I’ve been thrifting little decor art pieces slowly over time. It’s really coming together.

Bo calls it a little Hobbit’s den, whereas I think of it as more of a nature-inspired cottage. Either way, we both win.

And I suppose, after today, we’ll have a lot more things to fill it with.

I trace one finger from the largest point of my belly to my chest, smiling to myself as I go. When I look up, I find Bo leaned against the doorway, holding a massive bouquet of wildflowers.

“I was supposed to give these to you later, but”—he plucks out a stem of baby’s breath, breaks off four small branches and then moves to stand behind me—“I think these would suit your hair.” One by one, he slots tiny bunches of white flowers between the strands of my braid, his eyes concentrated as he fixes them to be precisely right.

“Perfect,” he says, straightening and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I love it,” I say, twisting to admire it as best I can in the mirror, seeing Bo doing the same. “But you need something too.” I pick up a purple ranunculus flower from the bunch, break its stem shorter, and reach up to tuck it over Bo’s ear. “There.” I kiss him, just once. “Now we match.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling down at me. “Ready to go?”

“Ready.”

We make our way outside, hand in hand, out into a beautiful May day. The birds are singing, the sky is blue with the perfect splattering of clouds and the breeze smells fresh. Like newly cut grass and sunshine filtered through blossoming trees. After what has felt like a long winter, I’m so grateful to see spring every time we step outside.

Still, I’m so grateful for what this winter brought me.

Bo drives with the radio on, but we talk above it like always. Everyday we seem to talk about nothing and everything all at once. Every thought, every feeling, every memory recounted until we run dry. We continue to pour all of ourselves out to each other. Until our histories and stories started becoming more of a woven tapestry than a blank slate. And the nothing too. The insignificant observations and the silly anecdotes that no one else would care to hear. Those are just as important.

When we pull up into the driveway of Sarah and Caleb’s home, I brush my hand over Bo’s hair and onto his cheek. Revelling in the simple notion that he is real. That someone could love me this much. Choose to fill me up instead of pour me out. Build a fire to keep me warm instead of burn me out.

Sometimes, it feels like saying I love you isn’t enough. Not when my whole life has changed because of this man.

Bo loves me for free.

No expectations. No demands. Not a single ounce of selfishness.

I love you, I think, rubbing my thumb across his cheek as he smiles shyly at me.

I love you too, he says, silently, when he winks back at me before pushing open his door and rushing to open mine before I get the chance.

“Sarah doesn’t know that I know, right?” I whisper as we walk up their driveway.

“No, she really did want it to be a surprise.”

“Okay,” I say, stopping just short of their porch steps. “How’s this then?” I ask before putting on my best shocked face, a hand gently in front of my parted lips.

Bo laughs, his throat bobbing as he takes the front steps two at a time. “Great. Very convincing.” He presses the doorbell, and we wait for what feels like a long while before it eventually opens.

But it’s not Sarah on the other side.

“Mom?” I choke out, covering my parted lips with a shaky hand.

“Yep, looked just like that,” Bo whispers to himself.

My mother, who recently told me she couldn’t come down until Christmas, stands in front of me. With her bleached-blond hair in long barrel curls, orange tan, and lacey, tight off-white dress. With the same familiar warmth in her smile that I wonder if I’ll ever not miss.

“Hi, baby,” she says, opening her arms as I rush into them.

“What—how—when?”

“Ask your man!” she laughs out, tightening her hold around me and swaying us from side to side. I look over her shoulder to see a very smug, proud Bo taking our photo before placing his phone back into his pocket.

“When?” I ask him.

“Remember that purchase I told you about the day we had the new bathtub put in? The one that I said I couldn’t return prior to our agreement about surprises?”

I step back, my hands stuck on my mother’s shoulders. She’s a little shorter than me, but her heels make it so we’re almost the same height. I find myself glancing over her from head to toe. “You look beautiful, Mom,” I say, admiring her.

“Ah, well, I had to make a good first impression.” She tilts her head towards Bo.

“Oh, right, I’m so sorry! Bo, this is my mother, June. Mom…” I say, sidestepping to wrap my arm around Bo’s back. This is… my Bo.”

“Very good to meet you, Ms. McNulty,” Bo says, extending his hand.

“Anyone ever told you that you’re stupidly tall?” my mother asks, laughing as she shakes his hand with both of hers.

“Your daughter, a few times a day.”

“And, please, you can call me June. We’re family now.” My mother curls her lips in, smiling as she admires Bo a little too intently. I notice she’s yet to let go of his hand and smirk at my feet. “You know, Win didn’t mention how gorgeous—”

“It’s really good to see you, Mom.” I say, pulling her arm away and wrapping it around mine. “I’ve missed you,” I sigh out, meaning every word more than I thought I would.

My mom stops, her eyes tracing my face with a soft smile I haven’t seen much of before. Pride, I think. “You look so well, sweet girl. So… glowy.” She boops my nose with her finger.

“Thank you for coming,” I say, twitching my nose as I fight back tears. “Sorry, this happens now,” I say, fanning my face and blowing out a long breath. “I’ve been crying a lot more these days.”

“Don’t cry, baby. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

I laugh, a touch sad but mostly amused. Same old Mom.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, her eyes held on my belly.

“Very, very pregnant,” I answer truthfully, getting a chuckle from Bo. He’s been amazing, but the third trimester has been no joke. I’m tender and sore all over. Cranky and swollen and constantly hungry and irritable. Still, he takes it all in stride. Every mood change and craving.

She nods knowingly. “Let’s get you in a chair.”

“Wait,” I say abruptly, making my mom and Bo freeze on the spot. “How intense is it in there?”

My mom’s smile twitches. “Sarah did what Sarah does, but you’re still early. I think she wanted you here before everyone else so you could settle in before they arrive. And we’re set up in the backyard. She thought you’d like that.”

I choke back tears again. Because Sarah’s a whore for spectacle. The surprise moment of a surprise party. Yet she let me have a subtle entrance with my mom at the door and time to settle in.

I nod, standing straighter. “I’m ready.”