Seeing her stomach move like that fills me with a feeling of complete awe, love, and astonishment. I could watch it all day. I remember back to the first time I felt BB kick—
Bringing my gaze back to her happy face, I go to complain about the absurd name but am halted as I take in the joy radiating from her while she rubs her tummy.
“Mummy likes the bubblegum and cola flavour, BB. But next time we will try grape, what do you reckon?”
Her hand jerks again, and we both laugh. I decide now is not the time to bury the nickname BB and, instead, return to my recollection of when I first felt my son move. It was shortly after we found out that he was a boy. We were lying in bed after just having a bath together, and Alexis was playfully singing “Kiss You All Over” by Exile, because I had only just moments before kissed her all over. She’d started the chorus then paused mid-word, ‘...he kicked!’ she’d blurted out, looking at me as though being internally booted was extremely pleasurable. ‘Quick! Quick! Give me your hand.’ She’d then grabbed my hand and pressed it against her stomach. The wait for movement was the weirdest anticipation I had ever felt. I knew what a baby kicking my hand was like, because I had experienced Alexander do it to Lucy. But waiting to feel the first movement of your own child was...well, it was surreal—exciting, but strangely tense.
When that first bump finally nudged my hand, a sensation of sheer fucking joy had spread through me like wildfire. My child was alive, growing, and playfully moving around inside the woman I love. I’d felt the joy from the smile plastered across my face, travel to the heart pounding in my chest, and right down to my feet which had been twitching with excitement.
Still sitting in the car at the 7-Eleven car park, and fixing my stare toward Alexis’ stomach where my son is happily practising his martial arts skills, I reach over and gently lay my hand across her bump. She looks up at me and her expression changes from cheeky playfulness to one of heartfelt love.
Placing her hand over mine, she asks our son to move again. “Daddy wants a high-five, BB.”
We wait for what seems like minutes when, in actual fact, it was probably only seconds. Our hands jerk in unison
“Good boy,” I praise him then gently fist-bump her tummy.
Alexis interlaces our fingers together then rests our hands on the centre console of the car, and with her free hand, she lifts the Slurpee to her mouth, smiles, and takes another loud gulp. I shake my head and grin, clenching her hand a little tighter to indicate a sense of amused affection. It’s the little things like this without spoken words that I cherish with her. We fit each other so perfectly.
After picking up the kids from school, we head home to surprise them with the completion of the apartment. As we step into the elevator, I hit the penthouse button and stand back. Instantly, Nate questions my choice—the kid doesn’t miss a beat; he is so switched on.
“Are we going to check the renovations?” he asks, curiously.
“No, even better,” I reply, waggling my eyebrows.
Nate wrinkles his forehead then delighted understanding appears on his face in the form of wide eyes. “It’s finished? Are we moving back in?” he asks, looking from Alexis then back to me.
Charlotte pauses her dancing to non-existent music and shoots her head up. “What?”
“I don’t know, Bryce. Do you think they are ready to see their new home?” Alexis teasingly asks.
“Hmmm, not sure,” I respond, going along with her charade. “They may not like it.”
“Is my room pink?” Charlotte squeals, jumping up and down. “Oh, I hope it’s pink...even pinker than last time. I love pink. Wait! I like purple too. Is it purple?”
“You are just going to have to wait and see Charli-Bear,” Alexis states with a smile.
“I don’t care what colour my room is, as long as it’s not pink...or purple...or maybe even yellow,” Nate adds.
“Good, ‘cause yours is white and blue, little fella,” I say proudly. “Carn’ the mighty Cats!”
I watch his face as his eyes search mine for the slightest tell-tale sign that I’m bluffing. Nate is a one-eyed Bomber’s supporter like his Mum.
“Mum,” Nate says hesitantly. “Please tell me he’s joking.”
I glance at Alexis, trying not to laugh and give myself away. I wonder for a moment if she’ll play along and taunt Nate or if she’ll cave and stay true to her beloved football team. The inner struggle is evident on her face, and I can’t help but chuckle at her attempt to prevent it from screwing up.
“Nate, my little man,” she says with gritted teeth while giving me that sexy fucking determined glare. She straightens her stance and smiles satisfactorily at me before turning her head to face her son. “Would I ever let Bryce decorate your room in anything other than the Bomber’s colours?”
Nate sighs with relief. “No. You wouldn’t.” He then turns to me, and a spark of satisfaction appears to surge through him as he fires a shit-eating grin in my direction. “When you least expect it, Bryce. You may find a clown sleeping in your bed.”
Alexis bursts out laughing. I, on the other hand, do not find that little threat funny at all.
“Really?” I ask Nate.
He just nods.
“Bryce,” Charlotte interrupts, her sweet little angelic voice laced with concern. I feel her hand gently clasp mine. “Clowns aren’t real, you know. And neither are ghosts, or witches.” Her look of sincerity is both adorable and...well...humiliating. Here is a seven year-old girl, telling a thirty seven year-old man not to be afraid of clowns because they aren’t real, when in fact they freakin’ are. In this moment, my testosterone levels sink dramatically.
I pull her to my side and give her a hug. “Thanks, Charli.”
Alexis, who is still trying to refrain from laughing at my awkward you-have-no-balls moment, winks at Charli when the doors to the elevator open. We all step out, and Alexis and I hang back, my arm around her shoulder and hers around my waist. We watch the excitement filter from the kids as they explore their new surroundings.
“It’s just like before, but it’s not,” Nate says, displaying an expression of slight confusion.
“I don’t know about the brown, Mum,” Charlotte says with aversion.
“What’s wrong with the brown?”
“Brown is poo colour.”
Alexis laughs. “It’s also chocolate colour.”
Charlotte spins around slowly with her hands on her hips. “Yeah, but it’s not pretty.”
“We don’t want the lounge area to be pretty,” I explain.
“Why not?”
Alexis squeezes my hip then lets go. “If you want pretty, Charli, go see your room.”
She squeals that high pitched, burst-my-fucking-eardrums-squeal that she is good at, then makes her way upstairs, Nate, Alexis and I following behind.
The new staircase spirals round in a large curve, deliberately designed that way so it feels like you are walking up a hill rather than a steep incline. Alexis was adamant when we discussed the new designs that she did not want a vertical staircase. And I honestly can’t say that I blame her. I think her fall from a year ago still plays on her mind. It probably always will.
Nate calls out from his room. “Sick!” And I know immediately what he has just found.
“Oh my God!” Charlotte squeals, and again I know why.
I turn to Alexis, stopping her in her tracks. “You take Charli. My ears can’t handle her vocal range. I’ll take Nate,” I say, before hurrying off to Nate’s room—his surprise is far more appealing to me than Charli’s replacement 4Life memorabilia.
When I walk through his door, he is already opening the boxes. “These are awesome!” he says, sheer delight covering his face.
I’m fully aware of how awesome they are, having wanted to try one out for days. “These are the Walkera
