Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
“Mommy!” Helen squeals. “Watch me!” She bounces lightly and then laughs. My eyes are glued to the thin branch I doubt will hold her for long.
I skid to a stop right under her when I reach the tree. “Go back to your playhouse, baby girl,” I encourage. She nods, and I hold my breath while she turns around. Then relief begins to trickle through me as she starts to make her way to the small balcony attached to the treehouse.
She disappears inside for a moment, then she’s climbing down the ladder. I drop to my knees and pull her into a hug, resting my face on her head. “Baby girl, you scared Mommy,” I sigh into her red curls.
She leans back and looks at me with a matter-of-fact expression on her cherub face. “I was prack-i-cing, Mommy. I’m want to peri-piro-pirofoam in your show.” I fight a smile at her mispronunciations.
“Someday,” I tell her with another hug. “You’ll have to wait until you’re a little older, baby girl.”
She frowns up at me and slams her tiny fists on her hips. “Unca Lincoln says I’m awesome,” she informs me with a sharp nod. “He says I’m just like you. That means I can be in your show.”
I sigh and make a note to have a chat with Lincoln and threaten to sick Rem on him. “Uncle Lincoln is right, you are awesome. But you still have to wait until you’re bigger.”
A pout forms on her pink lips, then she sighs dramatically. “Okay, Mommy.” I fight a smile at her tone. Somehow, my five-year-old manages to sound like she’s placating me.
Grabbing Helen’s hand, I climb back to my feet, then heft her up onto my hip. It’s getting harder to carry her with my pregnant belly getting in the way. She giggles and pats my stomach as I waddle across the yard. Ever since we told her she’s going to get a sister; she’s been so excited and loves to touch and talk to my bump.
Our four-year-old son, Harry, was happy too, but I have a feeling it has more to do with Helen’s attention being on the baby instead of him. He’s in a “girls are gross” phase. I do a mental eye roll. Unless he feels like his mom or sister needs to be protected, then he turns into his daddy.
“Ainsley,” Rem growls when I walk up to our patio. He rushes over and takes Helen from my arms and smacks a kiss on her cheek, making her giggle, before setting her down. She runs inside, and I’m left facing my husband as he stands in a wide stance, glaring at me with his arms folded. “I told you not to carry anything heavy.”
Harry steps up beside him and mimics his position. “Yeah, Mommy,” he says with an emphasizing nod. Rem gives him an approving smile, and Harry’s little chest puffs out.
I do an actual eye roll this time. Remington is always over the top with me whenever I’m pregnant. I thought it was cute the first time, until he did constant research and systematically took away my favorite things because he “read that it isn’t good for the baby.”
Ignoring their matching scowls, I step around them and walk through the French doors that lead to our sunroom. As I pass Rem, I grumble, “You’re teaching our son to be a caveman.”
He chuckles and discreetly pats my butt. “I need all the help I can get when it comes to my girls.”
Warmth explodes in my chest at the love and affection coloring his voice. He wraps an arm around me, and Harry takes my hand on my other side. Flanked by my favorite fellas, I forget all about my irritation.
We enter the kitchen, and Helen bounces over to us. Rem releases me to scoop her up and pepper her face with tiny kisses. “How’s my baby girl?”
“She was tightrope walking in the tree again,” I murmur as I head to the fridge to start making the kids a snack. Harry trots over and climbs up on his stool at the large island, eager to help.
Helen gasps and frowns at me as though I’ve just committed a cardinal sin. “Tattletale,” she mutters before giving Rem her most sweet and charming smile. I cough to cover my laugh and focus on the food.
“I’m disappointed, Helen,” Rem tells her with a sad voice. I glance over, knowing exactly what’s about to happen.
Helen’s eyes begin to glisten with tears as they grow big and her bottom lip starts to tremble. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispers in a small voice.
I know the moment Rem cracks and falls victim to our little girl’s tears. She hates it when Daddy is sad, but she also knows the waterworks will most likely get her out of it.
“Don’t cry, baby girl.” Rem looks at me with desperate eyes and I just laugh, earning myself a warning glare. And probably a spanking, too. The thought makes my pregnant hormones go wild, and Rem’s lips twist into a smirk.