“What does this thing do?”

“Um, that’s my breast pump, honey.” Awkward!

Jeff looks at the machine and all the boxes of funnels and tubing that are piled on top of our bed. The edges of his lips curl up, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in thought. I can tell he’s about to say something he may regret.

“Nope, don’t even think about saying it. I know that wicked little mind of yours is conjuring up some joke about why would I need a breast pump when I have you to take care of that for me and blah, blah, blah …” I trail off and walk into the bathroom just off our bedroom.

“That’s not what I was going to say, Henley. Give me more credit than that,” he calls out from the other room.

Suuure.

I pee for the hundredth—no thousandth—time today, then begin splashing water on my face to start removing my makeup. Before I brush my teeth, Jeff is calling me from the other side of the wall.

“Let’s give it a whirl.”

I pop my head through the bathroom door and glare at him. He’s joking, right? “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I’m pretty sure nothing will come out at this point. Plus I read in one of those pregnancy books that too much nipple stimulation can cause contractions. And frankly, I’m not that eager to jump start that process. We don’t even have the nursery finished yet.”

“I didn’t mean for you to try it.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!

When I walk back into the room, Jeff already has the breast pump bag laid out on the bed and is opening the boxes of funnels and bottles. He’s trying to figure out which parts connect to what pieces without even bothering to look at the directions.

“Jeff, don’t you dare. This is not a penis pump. This isn’t a toy. This is an expensive piece of machinery. You do realize I need this so I can help store milk for our child, right?”

“First of all, my son will drink right off the tap just like his daddy.” He gives me a lazy, smug grin. And I realize that this moment, right here, is the first time in a while where we’ve actually felt like us.

We’re the normal Henley and Jeff.

And damn does that feel good.

I sigh. As much as I love this man, he drives me crazy. “No. No, first of all. Yes, I am going to nurse our baby — which could very well end up a she. But I can’t exactly bring him or her into the classroom with me every day. I’m going to have to pump milk. But let me be clear, even though you may sometimes act like a big ole baby, I am nursing our newborn, not you.”

Jeff throws his arms in the air. “I didn’t mean it like that, babe.” He turns quiet.

“Oh? What did you mean it like, then?”

He stands and meets me in the middle of the room, wrapping his arms around my waist. He looks down at me, almost with embarrassment. “I … I just want to see what it feels like, that’s all,” he says softly with a subtle shrug of his shoulders. He nuzzles his nose down into my shoulder, and the scruff from his five o’clock shadow tickles the bare skin of my neck before he kisses me tenderly.

“You want to see what it feels like?” I repeat slowly, unsure I heard him correctly.

He nods. I’m still not sure if he’s joking, so I suppress the laughter bubbling inside of me. “Well, yeah,” he says matter of factly. “We’re in this together. If I could experience what a contraction feels like right along with you, I would. I love you, and I love this baby. But honestly? I’m just genuinely curious what it feels like to be a woman.”

I’m not sure if I should be mortified or sincerely touched by this moment. Or maybe he’s just trying too hard? But either way, I’ll go with it.

“Okay. If you want to try the breast pump, I’ll let you. But only under two conditions.” I put my fist on my side and jut my hip out.

“Hmmm … and what are they?” He eyes me suspiciously, and I give him an innocent, coquettish smile.

“One,” I hold my pointer finger in the air between us. “You let me take a photo to commemorate the moment.”

“No! No way. That is not gonna happen.”

“Pics or it doesn’t happen,” I singsong back to him.

He folds his arms in protest, and I take this moment to inform him of the other condition with a second finger in the air. “And two, you aren’t allowed to stop until I say when.”

He presses his lips into a hard line and looks at me, seriously weighing how badly he wants to test the waters. I can practically see the cogs in his brain turning round and round as he looks at the machine intently. And just when I’m convinced he’s about to bail, he surprises me.

“All right,” he clips with a slight nod. “I’ll do it. I’m man enough to try your breast pump and even let you take a photo. Actually, I’ll one up you.”

“Oh?” I fold my arms, challenging him. I’m not sure how this night could get any better.

But it does.

“Yeah. I’ll let you video me, and then share it with Chris and Kyle.”

I laugh so hard I nearly pee myself. And it feels good. This feels normal. Like us. The way we’re meant to be. “Really? You’ll let me show your family? What’s the catch?” I smirk. Surely it can’t be this easy.

“No catch.” He stretches his arms wide. “Like I said, I’m man enough.”

Wow. He must really want to take this thing for a test drive. “Okay then.” I sit down on the bed and pull the breast pump instructions from the discarded box, quickly scanning over the “how to” illustrations and piecing everything together.

I plug the machine into the wall and turn the power dial, watching as my brand new breast pump comes to life, wheezing and humming in an even cadence. Now that I can hear it, I can’t lie … I’m a bit curious how this works, too. I turn the machine off and then look back to Jeff.

“Okay, my hunky piece of man candy. Nipples out!”

Jeff strips his shirt off a little too eagerly if you ask me, and I giggle in anticipation. He sits down next to me on the bed. “So I just put this here over my breasticle?” He takes one of the funnels and presses it against his left pec. “And the other one here?” He takes the other on his right.

I nod and grab my iPhone. “You ready?” I ask.

“Let’s do this.”

I hit record on my phone and slowly turn the dial to the lowest setting. Again, the breast pump hums to life, and I watch Jeff intently. “Okay. That’s weird. Maybe even a little nice,” he admits, “but mostly weird.”

“What’s it like?”

“I dunno … just a gentle little tug, I guess. No big deal. If nursing is anything like this, I think you’re golden.” He watches his pecs subtly get suctioned in and out of the funnel.

“Getting any milk in there, big boy?”

Jeff rolls his eyes at me. “Hah. Hah. Aren’t you the comedienne?”

“I’m not the one experimenting with a breast pump.” I smile conspiratorially at him. “Want me to turn it up a pinch?”

He looks right at the camera with an unsuspecting grin that makes me melt. “Sure.”

Slowly I turn the dial to medium, and the machine instantly wheezes faster, harder.

“Whoa!” Jeff looks down at his chest and smiles at his pecs as they pulsate in unison. Then the uncontrollable laughter begins and he can barely talk. “Oh my gosh, it’s … it’s vibrating … against my skin. It tickles so much! Wait! No … it’s starting to hurt a little!”

The sound coming from his mouth is akin to a little girl being tickled, and I completely lose it. Tears prick my eyes, and I struggle to keep my iPhone camera steady. And suddenly I have to pee. Jeff falls back into a cloud of pillows and goes to pull the funnels away.

“Don’t you dare! You haven’t even hit the highest setting.” I move closer to the bed to get a better shot of Jeff flailing around in hysterics. “Or are you not man enough?” I know I’m just goading him now, but how can I not?

“Oh? I’ll show you how man enough I am. Do it. Turn it up. All the way to eleven.”

I shake my head at his ridiculousness, then reach out and turn it about three-quarters of the way to high for a moment.

“Holy shit, woman!” Jeff winces in both discomfort and laughter, and just when he starts to get used to the sensation, I crank it to the maximum setting.

“Shit! Fuck! Lunch truck!” he cries out in agony. Or pleasure. I’m not sure which because the look on his face is a cross of elation and amazement and horror and what the hell is this torture device. “Henley! Ow! Make it stop!”

“What? I can’t hear you over the sound of your manliness.”

“Holy shit! Henley! I can’t! This hurts!” But he’s still roaring with laughter. “Turn it off!”

“You want me to turn the camera off? If I do, your brothers won’t see how manly you are.”

“No! The pump! Turn the damn breast pump off! Please!” he pleads as tears start to prick the corners of his eyes.

With a smug smile on my face, I oblige, though I did enjoy this temporary moment of ridiculous suffering. I think all dads-to-be should be open-minded and try to find ways to experience the joys of motherhood like Jeff has.

When Jeff finally rips the funnels from his chest, he has bright red circles over both of his pecs from the extreme suction. It looks like a pair of bloodshot eyes looking at me with tiny erect man nips as the pupils sticking out at me.

Jeff lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. As I give him a moment to collect himself, I quickly email the file to my account as backup for safe keeping.

“You okay?” I ask, trying not to laugh.

He turns his head toward me, his eyes wild and confused. “If this kid is anything like your breast pump, you’re going to have a little vampire trying to eat you alive every feeding.” He pants some more. “If I wasn’t over the moon about you having my baby, I might even feel bad for knocking you up.”

I smile at him and reach for his hand. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“You have no idea.”

Later that night when we lay down for bed, Jeff grabs a book from the stack of baby shower presents. He places his hand upon my belly, clears his throat, and in a grand bravado gives a dramatic reading of Goodnight Moon.

Before he even says goodnight to the kittens and mittens, I’ve practically forgotten about our recent troubles and fallen in love with him that much more.