“Awwww. Oooooooh.”

These sounds seem involuntary when looking at the tiny blue baby clothes spread out around Jensen’s and my living room. Monica and I can’t help but make them every time we pick up a little onesie or a cap and booties.

“These are all so cute,” Monica coos. “James, look at this!”

She holds up overalls featuring a cartoon dog playing baseball for her son James to see. But he doesn’t pay her any attention. He’s busy playing with Monica’s niece and nephew, whom she is babysitting. At nearly two years old, he has mastered the art of running around, or at least trying to although his legs are still sometimes shaky underneath him, giving me new insight as to why they’re called “toddlers.”

Periodically Monica has been showing him an outfit and saying, “James, this was yours when you were a newborn, and now it’s going to be your cousin’s.”

Her voice has had a bittersweet tone, as she’s no doubt remembering the tiny baby she used to hold before he became a squiggling, wiggly toddler. A few times, James has cooed as enthusiastically as his mother— but that was because he wanted apple juice or goldfish snacks, not because he shared her interest in his old baby clothes. Mostly, he has just scrunched up his nose and said, “Mama, I go play!” before heading back over to where Becky and Mason Jr. are stacking blocks and playing tag, in some weird sort of combination game they seem to have just made up on the spot, as children often do.

“Yeah, good idea, you just keep playing,” Monica tells James. “It’s nice that your cousins are helping to entertain you so I can help your Aunt Riley get all of these adorable clothes ready for… does he have a name yet?”

She looks at me with a twinkle in her eye when she asks this. Jensen and I had already told everyone we’re not naming the baby until we see what he looks like, but that doesn’t stop them from repeatedly asking us if we’ve changed our minds.

“No,” I tell her, resolutely. “And if I do, you know you’ll be the first to know. You deserve it, as Baby Room Preparer Extraordinaire. “Thank you so much for coming to help me sort all of this stuff.”

My baby shower had been a couple weeks ago. People from all different stages of my life had come to it, including my best friend Brynn from law school, and even some of my former co-workers. I had gotten so many presents it seemed overwhelming. Plus, anyone with children, such as Monica, gave me hand me downs too. I appreciate those even more than the new gifts because they hold sentimental value. It’s just that I seem to have nowhere to put any of this stuff.

“No problem,” she says. “Isn’t it obvious how much I love going through baby stuff? I can’t wait to go hang all of this stuff up in his nursery, and put his tiny little sweatpants in the drawer of his diaper changing station…”

I laugh as she gestures at the piles of folded clothes on the couch, which are to be put away in drawers, as well as the outfits hung carefully on their baby clothes- sized hangers. They’re ready to be put in the baby’s room, and as I feel a not so subtle kick against my stomach, I realize that he’s pretty ready to be put there, himself.

Then I feel a tightening and a rumbling in my stomach, a strange sensation that at first I think must be a contraction. I tell myself it’s only Braxton Hicks. My doctor had told me they can seem alike but that I’ll know when it’s the real thing.

“Well, without you, I don’t know how I would ever do it,” I tell Monica, reminding myself to return to the task at hand as I pick up a flannel jacket and hang it on a hanger. “I’m no good at organizing.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she says. “You’re a lawyer.”

“Yeah, but until recently I’ve had legal assistants to help me file and find things,” I laugh. “Plus, it’s just different…”

I shrug, and trail off.

All my life, I’d been good at preparing to be a lawyer, and then for trial. I’d gone straight from kindergarten through law school to my job at the law firm and I was used to putting in long hours for work and trying to anticipate and counter any arguments from opposing counsel or any question judges might have about why my client should win the case.

But when it comes to having this baby, I feel horribly unprepared. I’d never even really thought about having children or fulfilling domestic duties. It seems foreign to me, although I’m excited about it and I love the life I have with Jensen. Having this baby feels like the next natural step but actually getting there feels difficult. Especially with how Jensen has been acting lately.

“Riley, are you all right?” Monica asks, as if reading my mind. She’d lowered her voice after looking towards James and back to me. “I know that these final months of pregnancy are hard, but you seem a little… depressed, maybe?”

I shrug, embarrassed.

“It’s not that I’m depressed,” I tell her. “That’s not it. Overwhelmed and a bit fearful, maybe.”

“Well, that’s to be expected,” she says, pursing her lips resolutely.

“And something’s just been ‘off’ about Jensen,” I confide, wanting to cry almost as soon as I say it.

Oh shit.

Now that I voice my concerns out loud, I realize how worried I’ve been. I bite my lip, trying hard not to cry.

Tears fall down my face, involuntarily; I want to stop them, but I can’t.

I didn’t even realize how serious of a problem Jensen and I might be having, until I finally told someone. While I’m glad Monica is supportive, I almost wish she had never asked the question. Part of me doesn’t want to have to face the truth… not that I even know what the truth is.