On the last weekend of January, John and Darryl were hard at work moving furniture around upstairs; in the meantime, Maisy and I were in the kitchen working on dinner and devouring pretty much everything in sight.

Ah, the joys of pregnancy.

"So you're movin' into your parents' old room?" Maisy wondered, popping a piece of cucumber into her mouth.

"Yeah, it's a lot bigger than my bedroom. John doesn't have a whole lot of clothes, but the bit of space in my closet wasn't cuttin' it now that he's movin' in... My room has better ventilation too, so that'll be good for the baby," I explained.

"Sounds good in theory... but uh... it was your parents' bedroom. Think about that the next time you and John get down and dirty," Maisy smirked.

"Ew, Maisy! That's disgustin'! Oh my God, why did you have to plant that in my brain?" I gasped, putting my hands over my reddening cheeks.

John and Darryl chose that moment in time to walk into the room, both men looking – and smelling – sweaty and gross. John rummaged through the fridge, grabbed two beers and handed one to Darryl, who accepted it gratefully.

"What are y'all gigglin' about?" Darryl asked, wrapping his sweaty arm around his wife. Maisy pushed him off.

"John and I are never havin' sex again," I grumbled.

John and Darryl exchanged looks.

"What did I do?!" John asked incredulously. He took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair and put the hat back on again.

Maisy and I burst into giggling fits again and the boys decided to let it rest, figuring they wouldn't get much out of us now.

When Darryl and Maisy left later that evening, John and I had a lot of work to do before we could call it quits for the night, and a whole lot more that would have to get done over the next little while. The furniture in our new bedroom was arranged properly, but we still needed to unpack everything and put fresh sheets on the bed. The baby furniture was all in the garage ready for a paint job, so that would have to get done sometime soon, and before it could all be moved back upstairs we'd have to paint the nursery – my old room – a cute, pastel pink.

We weren't completely decided on the color yet. We had it narrowed down to a single color palette, but now the problem was narrowing it down further from three shades to a single one.

"We're at nineteen weeks, we've got plenty of time to get everythin' done," John kept saying every time I started stressing out or worrying about something related to the baby. It was driving me absolutely crazy that he could appear so calm and collected about all of this, like paint colors, birthing classes and baby-proofing didn't bother him at all!

It was in early February that he finally lost it and we had our first real fight in months.

"That's not a lot John! We've got so much left to do; you can't just sit on your ass and expect everythin' to get done on its own!" I yelled at him when he pointed out, once again, the amount of weeks we had left, and how it was plenty of time.

"I'm not sittin' on my ass," John huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at me from across the bedroom. "I've been bustin' my ass tryin' to get this damn certificate so we're not piss broke when you decide to buy just one more fuckin' outfit we don't need!"

The anger and the accusation in his voice stung a lot.

"That's not fair," I said softly. "I've been workin' hard too, and those fuckin' outfits were always on sale, and it's not like I'm buyin' the whole store! Our daughter's gonna need clothes, isn't she? Unless you just want her to go around town butt naked," I added defensively, feeling my cheeks heat up and my eyes grow puffy with unshed tears. "Hell, if it'll save us money I can walk around butt naked too! The whole town thinks I'm a slut anyway!"

John opened his mouth, but closed it again almost immediately. He was quick to hop onto the bed that was separating us and knelt in front of me, taking my face in his hands. "I didn't mean it, I'm sorry... this whole... school thing's got me stressed out," he sighed, running his fingers through my hair. "Don't you start callin' my fiancée a slut, 'cause I won't have none of that, you hear me?" he grumbled, unenthused.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"I'm sorry too," John spoke against my lips.

"You already apologized," I told him.

"I know," he half-smiled.

"We'll be okay," I told him.

"We'll be okay," he agreed.

It took us another week but when February rolled along we finally had a paint color figured out, deciding on the lightest shade of pink on our selected palette. John started prepping the baby's room on one of the nights he didn't have to be in Dallas for school, with the idea that we'd start painting on the weekend, which happened to be halfway through my twentieth week.

I was officially halfway there.

It was an unseasonably warm day for February – just over sixty-five degrees – so we opened up the window in the baby's room and got to work. I'd already scrubbed down the walls the night before and John did the ceiling, as well as put painter's tape over the electrical outlets and a canvas tarp on the floor.

"There you have it," John grinned when he popped open the paint can and we saw the color for the first time.

"It looks lighter than it does on the palette," I pointed out, wondering if it would still look nice or if it'd be too close to off-white instead of light pink.

"Once the paint dries it'll be darker," John assured me. After tipping the bucket into the paint tray, he stood back up to his fullest height and gave me a quick one-over. "You should put on a sweater or somethin', so you don't go gettin' paint all over you... we're not workin' with hazardous waste, so I doubt we'll be havin' a ninja turtle baby if you touch it, but uh... just to be safe," he pointed out, brushing his fingers over my bare arm.

I took John's sweater off an old wooden chair in the middle of the room, which he'd used to stand on while wiping down the ceiling. I put the shirt on, swimming in it despite my expanding waistline.

He chuckled and helped me roll up the sleeves.

In the end I did more watching than painting, standing with my hands on my hips as he did the laboring, standing on the chair again to paint the ceiling white. We went and made some lunch while the first coat dried, and then came back up again to do a second coat. While he painted the walls later that afternoon I started on the base boards, using the same white paint as the ceiling.

It was such a fun weekend; country radio was cranked up so that we could hear the lyrics clearly all over the house, and after a while painting the nursery turned into a karaoke and dance party more than anything. I didn't hear John sing very often, and when he did he was usually trying to be funny, just like he was doing now, standing on top of the chair and rocking his hips like Elvis, using the paint roller as a microphone.

I couldn't concentrate on painting when I was too busy laughing at him.

He hopped off the chair and started making his way towards me.

"You're gonna get paint all over me!" I told him between giggling fits, trying to shield myself as he started grinding against me, the act made slightly awkward by my bump.

He took the time to place the roller down into the tray and put both hands on my hips, pulling me in. I wrapped my arms around his neck and we started to sway, much too slow for the fast pace of the Luke Bryan song that currently playing.

"Are you gettin' hungry yet?" he asked softly.

"Starvin'," I admitted as he skillfully spun me around.

"We can order pizza," he suggested. "I'll probably have time to finish this second coat before it gets here," he added.

"Okay," I nodded.

Just then, something happened that caught me completely off guard. I felt flutters before, things that could've very well just been gas, but nothing quite like this.

It was a strange sensation, kind of like an involuntary muscle twitch on my side, right underneath the palm of John's hand. I let out an audible gasp of surprise as it happened again, a little stronger this time.

John stiffened, letting me know he'd felt it too. Our eyes met and I saw his stunned features break out into an awed grin.

"I think she approves," he chuckled.