I help her off the bus. It's not exactly hard to step down to the curb, but for a heavily pregnant woman it's a bit trickier. That, and I like taking her hand and helping her down. She's never expressed any particular desire to feel like a princess, but I still want to make her feel like one.
It's a few blocks to our destination, but we've come a little early so we can take it slow. I don't want her to push herself or anything, and walking at a brisk clip isn't any fun on her swollen feet. Instead we get to go at a leisurely pace, enjoying the scenery, such as it is. More than that, we enjoy the looks we get from other people.
After our long hiatus, we've been trying to make up for lost couple's time, and one of the major ways we've been doing that has been going out on the town together. When we walk around downtown or a busy park, people smile at us. Other couples who think we can't see them nudge one another and point. She's radiant, and we are, to any observer, an adorable expectant couple. And, well, we are an adorable expectant couple, but it's fun to be recognized for that.
This evening isn't just about being seen, though. A friend had spare tickets to the opera, and when we heard, we jumped on the opportunity. In less than a month she's going to give birth to what the doctor says will be a healthy baby girl, and then it'll be pretty damn difficult to go out for shows. Or dinners. Or really anything. We're excited about this baby and all, but just the same we want to get in as much adult stuff as we can before this sweet bundle of joy and chaos arrives.
As soon as we arrive and pick up our tickets, we hurry off to find the bathrooms. Being super pregnant, as it turns out, makes one have to pee pretty frequently. We meet up again in the hallway outside the bathrooms, then set off to find our seats.
She's palpably relieved to find that our seats are only two in from the aisle. It's not a long opera, and there's an intermission midway through, but if she has to get up to pee in the middle of the show she won't have too many people to climb over. Even the two people we do have to scoot past to sit down- a couple in their mid-sixties, by the look of them- don't seem particularly bothered, smiling at her as she apologizes while squeezing her pregnant form by.
The lights go down and the orchestra starts up. The arm rests don't fold up, but she tries to snuggle up next to me as best she can under the circumstances. She rests her head against my shoulder and I, in turn, put my arm around her and stroke her shoulder. My free hand takes one of hers, and our fingers intertwine.
It's not a long opera, luckily. Fifty five minutes, a fifteen minute intermission, then another fifty five minutes. Not exactly the Ring Cycle, but a good length for us right now. At intermission she rushes out to pee, and when the lights go up at the end of the show she does the same. I take her coat and leave the house to wait for her out in the lobby.
"Okay, ready to head home?" I ask once she finds me, looking relieved. She smiles as I speak. It's still a novel idea that we, jointly, have a home. Arm in arm, we make our way to the bus stop, and luckily ours is the first to arrive, and we climb aboard.
It's pretty late by the time we shuffle through our front door. Late for us, anyway. In reality, it's only about ten, but that's a good time for us to be getting ready for bed. She slumps onto the couch and kicks off her shoes, and I settle down beside her. She stretches out her legs and rests her feet on the coffee table.
"That was fun," she sighs, resting her head back, "By the time the next show in the season opens, we'll have our hands full." She rubs her belly and flashes me a tired smile.
"I guess new parents don't go out to a lot of operas," I remark, putting my arm around her, "But do you think your folks would watch her to give us a night out every now and then?"
"They are excited about having a grandbaby," she concedes, leaning over to nuzzle against my shoulder, "We can probably talk them into it. It'll be nice to have date nights."
"We have date nights now," I point out, and she responds with a cheery hum.
"Yeah, we do," she agrees, "But it's not just the two of us." She pats her belly again for effect. "We've got a baby on board. Dampens the mood a little." I shake my head.
"Hardly," I reply, "They're the best dates I've ever been on." She snorts, and I can envision her rolling her eyes.
"You're sweet," she mumbles, rolling a little to press in closer against me, "You're so nice to your fat, pregnant girlfriend." It's my turn to roll my eyes.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I ask, turning to press my lips to her scalp, "I love you so much. I like being sweet to you."
"Hmmmmm," she purrs, spreading her legs and slouching some on the sofa, "Wanna be sweet to me right now?" I raise my eyebrows and carefully remove my arm from around her shoulders.
"How about we move along to bed?" I suggest, "And I'll be 'sweet' to you there." She makes a show of groaning as she gets to her feet.
"Making me get up and waddle!" she huffs, that playful gleam in her eyes, "Some boyfriend you are!" She shuffles the short distance from our couch to our bedroom. Smiling, I follow closely behind her.
I gently reach out to help her undress. For a moment she moves to resist, drawing in a breath to insist she can do it herself, but she stops before she even bothers to speak. Given time, she probably could work herself out of her dress and stockings, but it's much faster and easier if I help. That's all I want, when it comes down to it. To make her life easier, and to help her however I can.
After a minute or two I have her undressed, and she turns around to return the favor. I don't need nearly as much help, of course, but it's nice to see her enthusiasm regardless. I'd already hung up my suit jacket, so she focuses on undoing my tie first. Her hands, still small and delicate even as the rest of her has grown, make short work of the buttons on my shirt, and I start to shrug it off as she undoes my belt.
