Sisterchicks Do the Hula Read Free Page B

counting on you. All of you.”
    Our boys managed to stand as gentlemen and line up to give me a kiss on the cheek.
    Mitchell, our oldest, said, “Sorry if we didn’t seem very supportive. I think you’ll make a great mom.”
    “Oh, you think so, do you?”
    Thirteen-year-old Blake said, “Yeah, you’ve done a pretty good job with us. The new kid will probably turn out okay.”
    I tried to hide my smile.
    Blake’s expression turned to a scowl. “He’s not going to share my room, is he?”
    “We’ll figure all that out later,” Darren said, passing a bowlof mashed potatoes. “Come on, let’s eat.” No one had to offer food to our boys twice.
    A week before Christmas, Darren went with me to the doctor for all the usual scans and tests. We found out that “the new kid” would be arriving much earlier than I originally had predicted. According to the doctor’s calculations, the baby would arrive not in June but mid-April. That startling information didn’t sink in right away because we also found out we were having a girl. And for that bit of news, I couldn’t stop smiling.
    Emilee Rose had been alive in my imagination long before she showed up, tucked snugly beneath my heart. The first two times I was pregnant, I was sure I was having a girl. By the time I was pregnant with our third son, I had resigned myself to accept that Darren and I were breeding our own football team. This time around I hadn’t dared to dream for a girl, and yet here she was—my Emilee Rose. At last!
    In every way, I was delighted to be “with child,” as we celebrated Christmas and read about Mary wrapping her newborn babe in swaddling cloths and laying Him in a manger. All of life seemed to be miraculous and breathtakingly beautiful.
    Then, on a Saturday afternoon in January, I snapped.
    In five days Laurie and I were scheduled to meet up in Honolulu. What triggered my meltdown was an ordinary UPS box that arrived on my doorstep in the snow. Inside was my maternity bathing suit.
    Blithely carrying the box upstairs, I drew the curtains,closed the bedroom door, and peeled off layers of warm clothes. Relieved that the back-ordered item had arrived in time, I wiggled my way into the new swimsuit, slowly turned toward the mirror on the back of the bedroom door, and took in the sight of my blessed belly wrapped in swaddling aqua blue spandex.
    First the front view. Then the side. Other side. Twisting my head over my shoulder, I got a glimpse of the backside. Then quickly returned to the front view.
    I was shocked! Completely shocked!
    The woman in the mirror shook her head at me.
“You’re not considering going out in public wearing that, are you?”
    “Yes?” I answered with a woeful sigh. “Although, I didn’t think it would look like this on me.”
    “Oh, really? And just what did you think it would look like on you?”
    “Well, not like this.”
    For months I had been riding high on the “blessed-art-thou-among-women” cloud. I considered it a privilege to carry this baby. I told myself I was participating in a calling that was higher than fashion and charm. Who cares about beauty? The truth was, my body was nurturing new life.
    However, truth and beauty had crashed head-on in my bedroom mirror.
    “I like this shade of blue,” I declared, trying to be positive.
    “Yeah? Well, from where I’m standing, that shade of blue does not appear to be too fond of you, sweetheart.”
    “Maybe I could return this one and order the black one instead.”
    “Right, because everyone knows that black is always so much more slimming.”
    “There was that black one with the little pleated skirt …”
    “Okay, yeah, there you go. Because nothing says dainty like Shamu in a tutu.”
    “Hey!” I turned away and covered my belly as if to protect Emilee’s ears from this brazen woman. “You don’t have to be rude about it!”
    “Look who’s talking.”
    I glared over my shoulder at the mannerless minx and found I couldn’t say