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“Okay, Mickey,” she responds, her voice tinged with a smile. “I’m curious. What did you have in mind?”
“First off, we’re going to a Partner Support pregnancy class,” I say, watching for her reaction. I’ve been reading up, trying to figure out how to be there for her, how to be a dad. It’s not something I ever expected, but now that it’s happening, I want to get it right.
She blinks, surprise etched across her features. “Really?” The question hangs between us, heavy with unspoken emotions. “That’s… thoughtful, Mickey.”
“Only the best for my baby mama,” I tease, but there’s a gravity in my chest, a sincerity that grounds the words.
“Give me a minute to change,” she says, and disappears into what I presume is her bedroom.
Through the half-open door, I catch glimpses of her silhouette moving with purpose. She emerges minutes later, and damn if she doesn’t look like some kind of goddess. She’s swapped her comfy sweats for form-fitting leggings that hug her curves and a loose, flowing, long-sleeved top that dips low enough for me to glimpse the swell of her breasts. Practicality and sex appeal wrapped in one—only Gail could pull that off.
“Ready?” I ask, my throat tight with anticipation.
“Let’s do this,” she replies, a daring glint in her eye that tells me she’s up for the adventure. We might be heading to a class, but with Gail, it’s clear there’s a lesson or two I’ll be learning outside the curriculum. And I can’t wait to get started.
I grip the steering wheel, a twist in my gut that’s part excitement, part nerves. Never thought I’d be heading to some pregnancy class with Gail, but here we are—me, her, and the life growing inside her.
“Think they’ll have one of those fake baby things for us to practice on?” she asks, breaking into my thoughts. Her voice is light, but there’s an undercurrent of something deeper, something like wonder.
“Wouldn’t put it past them,” I reply, throwing her a grin. “As long as it doesn’t pee on me, I’m good.”
She laughs, and God, the sound is like a hit straight to the chest—reminding me what I’ve been missing without this woman by my side.
We pull up to the community center where the class is held, and I can’t help but notice how Gail’s hand tightens on her purse strap. She’s trying to play it cool, but I can tell she’s just as keyed up about this as I am.
“Ready to dive into the deep end of diaper changing and late-night feedings?” I quip, hoping to ease some of her tension.
“Only if you’re ready to catch when I throw the dirty diapers at you,” she shoots back, and I chuckle. That’s my girl—always quick with a comeback.
The instructor greets us at the door—a warm, motherly type who seems like she’s seen it all. The room’s set up with clusters of chairs, soft lighting casting a comforting glow over a mix of couples. There are posters on the wall showing diagrams of the pregnant body, stations with baby dolls and diapers, and even a model of a birthing suite.
“Welcome to Partner Support,” the instructor says with a smile that feels like a hug. “We’re so glad you could join us.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, feeling suddenly out of my element. This isn’t the ice rink where I know every play, every angle. This is new territory—an arena where Gail and I are both rookies.
“Looks cozy,” Gail murmurs beside me, her hand finding mine. I squeeze it, grateful for the contact.
“Cozy” isn’t a word I’d normally use for a place with plastic babies and birthing charts, but when I look around again through Gail’s eyes, I see it differently. This isn’t just a classroom; it’s a starting line for something huge. For family.
“Let’s find seats,” I suggest, guiding her toward a pair in the front. As we sit down, I feel her bump against my arm, and I’m struck by a fierce protectiveness.
“Think they’ll let me take notes?” Gail whispers, half-joking.
“Sweetheart, if you want to write a novel on prenatal care, I’ll get you the paper,” I say, dead serious. And I mean it. Whatever Gail needs, whatever this kid needs, I’m all in.
“Deal,” she replies, her voice steady, her blue eyes meeting mine. There’s trust there, mingled with a spark of something else—something like hope.
Good, then I’m not the only one feeling that.
The instructor kicks off the class with an explanation about prenatal vitamins. My hand shoots up before I even realize it’s me doing it. “Yeah, uh, what if she forgets to take them sometimes? Is there, like, a backup plan?”
“Great question,” she nods approvingly, and Gail’s eyes widen slightly as they flicker to me, an unreadable expression crossing her face for a moment. “You don’t need a backup plan. It’s generally not a cause for significant concern. Prenatal vitamins are designed to support your nutritional needs during pregnancy, but missing a dose here and there isn’t likely to have a major impact.”
As I pull my phone out and write the answer down, Gail leans closer. “Just so you know, I haven’t forgotten to take a single one,” she whispers, making me smile.
The instructor moves on to explaining diet supplements and the importance of folic acid. I lean in, absorbing every word like a sponge. This isn’t a game strategy meeting where I can rely on muscle memory; this is real life, flesh and blood. My daughter’s future.
“Is there a chart or something for the best foods?” I ask.
