At three months now, the twins are getting so big there’s no question they’re taking after their dad.
They have his hair and eyes but ask Jett and he’ll swear they’re a mirror image of their mommy.
I struggled with the baby weight, meaning I moaned about it and Jett only told me there was more of me to love.
It’s a cliché I always resented. I always saw myself as too big, to begin with.
Old habits die hard, I guess.
I tried losing weight without telling him and he got helpful-angry once he found out, taking me to the doctor for tests to make sure I hadn’t done any damage.
We ate nothing but lobster and ice cream for that whole week
Now I think I’m okay with myself for the first time in my life. And anytime I feel big now I’ll just climb on top of Jett and feel tiny.
The twins complete me, and yeah, I’ve got the scars to prove that you don’t make omelets without using up a few eggs.
But lately, I’ve noticed that sick feeling again. Putting it down to Jett pandering to my every wish now that we’re a busy mom and dad.
“No way I could’ve continued working and been a hands-on dad,” he tells me every chance he gets, but I still write.
Jett bought into one of Sebastian’s magazines and my first anniversary present was a job offer as editor in chief.
It’s a magazine for new and expecting moms, so work is really just a case of jotting down what happens in a day and sharing it with others.
We all contribute, and we all learn as we go.
Someone suggested a series of reviews for car seats, and someone else wants reviews on actual car recommendations for new moms.
As I work I chew on my lip as I wonder how I can bring this new news up to Jett.
He loves our truck. And I do too.
It’s perfect for us both and the twins.
But my cravings haven’t exactly stopped, and neither has our lovemaking since day one.
“Maybe we should look at another car?” I suggest over ice cream we’ve stopped for on the way back from yet another of Jett’s recommended checkups.
It’s the first time he hasn’t been in with me, seeing as it’s a female doctor, he wasn’t too bothered when he was called away for something else.
“A new car?” he asks, almost sounding hurt.
Like I’m suggesting we get a new dick for him or something.
“What’s wrong with it?” he grunts, scooping the last of his huge ice cream into his mouth and eyeing mine, I shake my head in a silent ‘no, this is mine.’
The twins are snoozing in their double stroller and Jett shifts his gaze from the truck back to me, and then to the babies before he finally gets my message.
“For research on an article,” I protest, not wanting to spoil any surprises of my own I might have planned.
Jett is always surprising me with little and not so little things almost every day.
I’m looking forward to sharing my little bit of news, but only when I know it’ll be a good surprise for him.
He pretends to be deep in thought as I finish my ice cream, and he kisses away the little vanilla-flavored white mustache I’ve given myself before agreeing in his own special way.
“If we get a new car, there’s something I wanna run by you,” he says, looking like a little boy more than a two hundred twenty pound man.
He’s grown a full beard too, which I thought was goofy at first.
But I soon found out how much I like it. How much it tickles and makes him look even more distinguished with the two bold silver fox streaks on either side of his still rock solid jawline.
“You don’t have to run anything by me,” I remind him.
“Uh… I think this time I do,” he says, swallowing and looking guilty even.
“Jett? What is it, you’re worrying me,” I confess, feeling a jolt of anxiety at his expression.
Jett never looks worried about anything and I instinctively clutch my belly, preparing myself for the bad news.
“I may have already bought something,” he murmurs quietly, avoiding my gaze until I really press him.
“C’mon, Jett. This isn’t funny. What is it, what did you do?” I ask him again.
“Can I keep the truck if we get another car?” he asks, and I agree without thinking.
“Of course,” but I can also tell he’s just stalling now.
“Jett,” I finally say, a little annoyed by the time he takes out his phone, opening up a file.
“It’s not as big as the Malibu place… and it is far away… but it’s cleaner air, a smaller town…” he adds, struggling to find the right words he’s looking for.
But once I see the pictures, I’m instantly in love.
It is not smaller than the Malibu house, but it is different.