Page 125 of Love Puck

Fynn had broken her perfect birth streak.

The little turkey was breech. And no amount of coaxing got him to turn. Which made the fact that he was still ass-over-tea kettle very appropriate.

I thought after needing a c-section—and the recovery required after a c-section—that my wife might want to call it quits on the baby-making front.

And that was why, exactly nine months to the day after Fynn was born, she’d really surprised me. She’d planned a weekend getaway to the cabin.

But just for us.

Grandma watched the kids.

And Jillian and I spent the entire weekend in bed.

Making number four.

It was a great fucking weekend.

Literally.

“Sweetness, I was just asking. You know I’m along for the ride, right?” I set my hands on her shoulders and leaned in for a kiss.

“Do you—want to stop?” she asked me cautiously.

I shook my head and chuckled. “Nope. But I’m not the one who has to do the hard part. That’s all you.”

She hugged me as tightly as she could and said into my chest, “You help out.”

I wrapped my arms around my wife’s growing torso. “I’m only involved in the fun part.”

Her head nodded up and down against me. “Yeah, you’re good at the fun part.” She gave me a squeeze. “Really, really good.”

We held onto each other for a while.

The laughter behind us getting louder and louder until—

The crying started.

“It’s always fun until someone loses an eye!” Grandma came marching outside and gave me a dirty look. “Honestly, Cash.” She shook her head and raced to her grandchildren.

The grandchildren who she spoiled rotten.

Jillian looked up at me. “It was nice while it lasted. I’ll see you again in a few hours?”

I grinned and kissed her. “Deal.”

And the life they lived—was the life they lived.

Ups.

Downs.

And inbetweens.

Wonderfulness.

Horribleness.

And just being-ness.