We made short work of unloading the rest of the furniture and boxes. We didn’t bother with unpacking or drinking beer like we usually did after a move. I just made the master bedroom up and settled my wife under the covers. Then I lay beside her and watched her sleep.
My hand rested softly on her belly.
“I’m going to be a daddy,” I said, talking to my unborn child. “I’m going to be the best daddy I can be. The world’s best daddy. I promise to take care of you and your mother until my last breath. I’ll take you to dance lessons or teach you to play ball, play the guitar, or whatever you like. We’ll go sledding and for walks and swimming in the lake. On Sundays, we’ll have pancakes. And every Christmas, there will be something special under the tree just for you. A lot of somethings,” I added, deciding to spoil my little girl or boy rotten.
“Go to sleep, World’s Best Daddy,” my wife said, snuggling against me. “I want pancakes in the morning.”
I kissed her softly and closed my eyes.
Everything was right in the world.
I was going to be a daddy.