Tapping the sides of my phone with my thumbs, I try to keep myself occupied with the little screen until Grant comes home from practice. He’s running late, which he kindly told me via text message nearly forty minutes ago, so I went ahead and ate dinner without him. His portion sits in the fridge, waiting for him to come home.
Just like me, sitting at the kitchen counter, picking at a woven placemat with one finger . . . waiting for Grant to come home.
For the first time in a while, I regret opting out of the social media craze. It would be a nice escape to scroll through someone else’s life for once. Instead, I’m laser focused on two pieces of information that I will be dutifully relaying to my lovely host and potential baby daddy.
It’s a girl. I practice saying it without bursting int
