You’re going to need some Gatorade. For the fluids, electrolytes, sugars. Or instant chicken broth, if you can get someone to make you a cup, because you’re going to be there for... Wait. Back up.
Start over.
You’re 40 years old, and this is your second marriage. You’ve waited until you’re ready. Waited so many times, really. Until you got remarried. Until your husband got back from the deployment, got through graduate school. Bought your house that you will never move from, because you hate moving and refuse to do it again. There’s room in it, even if your kids (two boys from your first marriage, one girl from his) have to shift bedrooms to make way for the baby. They’re all so big, those kids. No bottles or diapers left to deal with among them. You don’t entirely know how they’ll take this, but it won’t be through toddler tantrums, at least, when the baby comes.
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