“Look Mommy, look! Heidi and I made a sand mermaid.” I arduously prop myself up on my elbows with a grunt to take a peek at what Ellie is pointing at. She and her sister are standing proudly over top of what appears to be a mermaid built out of sand, with shells for a bathing suit and eyes, and palm frond pieces for her hair, tail and smile. Both girls beam proudly.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, wincing slightly as I awkwardly adjust myself on the blanket.

“You okay?” Tate asks. His hand lands on my plump belly. “Whoa!”

I snort. “He’s a feisty one. Takes after his father. Hasn’t stopped kicking me all morning. I’m pretty sure he’s punishing me for that spicy chicken salad I had last night. He hates spice.”

“I don’t kick you,” Tate chuckles. “Now spank you, flog you, whip you, tie you up, that’s the kind of punishment I can get on board with. But I’ve never kicked you.”

I roll my eyes and give him a gentle nudge with my shoulder.

“Dadda.”

We both look down at the toddler in his lap, his chubby little limbs stretching as he groggily wakes up from an impromptu cat-nap. Oh, man, what I would give to be able to just conk out at any given moment, but getting comfortable these days is proving to be a challenge.

Tate plants a kiss on Garon’s forehead and brushes his ruddy bangs off his face. “Hey, buddy. You feeling better after your snooze?”

Garon reaches up and grabs his father’s nose. “Daddy’s nose.”

I snicker as Tate tries to crane his neck away and dodge the curious fingers. For some reason, the child is obsessed with sticking his fingers up everyone’s nose. If they’re not up his nose, they’re trying to explore someone else’s.

Two pairs of tanned, spindly legs run forward kicking up sand, both dripping wet. I look up and shield my eyes from the sun to find the girls, six and four, staring back at me with big smiles and bright eyes. They’re perfect. Ellie, the oldest, is just like Tate. Same green eyes, same dark brown hair colored with streaks of sunshine; same dominating, bossy personality. Your typical firstborn, I’m told. But she has his heart as well, and it’s so full and so beautiful, and the way she cares for her siblings and loves them unconditionally makes my own heart melt. Then there’s Heidi, our sweet and quiet little gem. With my hair and Tate’s eyes, she’s the perfect blend. The peacekeeper and quintessential middle child. She idolizes her big sister and has already decided that she’s a vegetarian. Heidi wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone eat a chicken nugget. And at almost two, Garon is my doppelganger. Blue eyes, red hair and a stubborn streak that makes me want to pull my hair out at least once a day. But he’s so full of life and such a quirky little thing that you can’t help but ruffle his hair and smile when he sticks his finger up his nose and gives you that look, before he starts to belly laugh because he knows he’s doing something he shouldn’t.

“Who do you think this one is going to look like?” Tate asks, handing Garon a piece of banana and then setting his son on his own two feet.

“I think he’s going to look like me,” Ellie says, accepting the big piece of mango her father offers her.

“I think he’s going to look like a baby,” Heidi puts in. She shakes her head when Tate offers her a piece of banana. “Pineapple please, Daddy.” Ah, a girl after my own heart.

Tate and I start to laugh.

“Yes, you’re probably right. He will look like a baby. But we’re more wondering who he will resemble more once he loses his baby look. You guys used to look like babies, but now you look like kids. Will he look more like Mommy or Daddy?” Tate says, making room for Heidi on the blanket next to him.

Ellie comes over and squeezes in next to me. Her hand rests on my belly. “How much longer, Mummy?”

“About eight weeks,” I say.

“And then we’ll have another baby brother?”

I nod. “Yep, and then we’ll have two boys and two girls.”

Tate grins at me before he takes a bite of pineapple. I pick up my own wedge and take a nibble. Thank God this kiddo tolerates pineapple; I hadn’t been able to stomach the fruit when I’d been pregnant with Garon. Pretty much since the moment of conception, even a glimpse or mere thought of my favorite fruit had made me taste bile.

“Two boys and two girls, just like we’d planned,” my dashing husband says.

“You planned us?” Heidi asks innocently.

“We certainly did.” Tate chuckles. “From the moment I saw your mommy, I knew I wanted to have babies with her. And I knew they’d be the most beautiful babies in the whole wide world. So I figured, why not make a bunch of them? We thought about two, but when we saw how gorgeous you two angels are, we figured we pretty much had to keep making more beautiful babies.”

Both Heidi and Ellie giggle next to us while Garon drops his piece of banana in the sand and then stands there staring at it, contemplating if he should pick it up and continue eating, grab a new piece from the container or start crying.

“Will you keep having more beautiful babies after this baby is born?” Ellie asks, her sweet little hand rubbing gentle circles around the top of my belly.

Tate’s eye catches mine. The man would have a whole soccer team of children if I’d let him.

“Ahhh,” I sigh. “I think once this little guy is here, our family will be complete. Don’t you think?”

“I love babies,” Heidi says, digging her pink-painted toes into the warm sand and then wriggling them until they pop free.

“Me too,” I agree. “But I think four is enough.”

“Four is just right,” Tate says wistfully, scooting closer to me as he swings his arm out and gathers Garon against his chest. Heidi leans across her father’s lap and rests her hand on my stomach, Garon mimics his sister, and soon all three of my children are feeling their little brother kick and squirm inside me. Tate’s hand lands dead center between them all, and I let my hand fall on top of his. Our fingers intertwine, and we look up into each other’s eyes.

“Four is perfect.” Tears sting the corners of my eyes as my mind drifts back to seven years ago and how much has changed. How much more complete, full and incredible my life is now. And it’s all because of Tate.

“Our life is perfect,” he says. Just then the little boy in my belly does a somersault, and all three children jump where they sit and begin laughing. Tate tackles Garon onto the blanket and starts blowing raspberries onto his belly and tickling him while the girls climb onto their father’s back and the four of them all begin to wrestle.

Both my hands rest on the dancing infant inside me, and I let that defiant tear sprint down my cheek as I take in my beautiful family. Healthy, happy and everything I’ve ever wanted. “Yes, little guy, four is perfect. Life is perfect.”