The garden produce was delicious this year, and the tomatoes were some of Amelia’s finest. She made a terrific tomato sauce, and even though it was too hot to be boiling and stewing, she did it anyway.
“It’s so hot in here!” George said when he came home from work. “Amelia, aren’t you too hot?”
Amelia wiped sweat from her brow and stepped back from the stove.
“Amelia, you’re flushed,” George said. “And you look a little woozy.”
“I just wanted to make the sauce,” Amelia said. “I thought it wouldn’t be so bad…”
George pulled out a chair. “Sit,” he ordered.
And then he went around opening windows and adjusting fans. When he came back into the kitchen, he put on Amelia’s apron and took her place at the stove.
“It’s far too hot to make sauce,” George grumbled, and he opened the fridge and pulled out a tub of ice cream. He plunked it on the table in front of Amelia. “Who makes sauce in this kind of heat? That’s what I want to know.”
He stomped over to the cutlery drawer and pulled out a spoon. He handed it to Amelia and went back to the stove again.
“It’s thirty degrees in here!” he went on. For the Americans reading this, that would be 86F. “I think once this sauce is done, we need to go sit in the frozen foods section of the grocery store.”
“We could open the freezer doors and look at frozen peas for a long time,” Amelia said.
“We won’t even pretend to be looking at peas,” George said. “We’re just sticking our heads in there until management forces us to move.”
Just as soon as the sauce was done, they would do just that. But in the meantime, there was ice cream, and a steady flow of grumbling from George. But on the bright side, there was also a really terrific batch of Amelia’s tomato sauce made from their very own, home grown tomatoes.
Sometimes, when Amelia was working on her editing, she would take a break, pull out the cards, and play a game or two of solitaire. There was something relaxing about flipping through cards and making those satisfying lines. King, queen, jack, ten, nine, eight…
It helped to clear her head.
But now that Amelia’s belly was getting so big, it was hard to lean over and play the game. She had to hold her breath, and then lean, and when she did, the pollywog would give a mighty wriggle.
“There, there,” she said, patting her belly. “I can’t reach, that’s all.”
Another line of cards: eight, seven, six, five, four…
Amelia’s mother had been telling her that she looked like she was a lot further along than the doctor seemed to think. And who should a frog listen to, her doctor or her mother? Her mother thought that answer was obvious–the mother, of course! But sound medical advice was important, too.
The pollywog gave another wriggle, and Amelia wondered just how much bigger she could possibly get before she just flopped onto her back and stayed in that position until delivery!
But then there was a ping. That was an incoming email. Time to get back to work. One of these days soon, Amelia would have a pollywog next to her, and she’d be on maternity leave.
George and Amelia settled in their favorite branch of their favorite tree. Amelia was very pregnant, and the summer seemed to be lasting forever. They were ready for their baby girl to arrive, though. Everything was set. Now all they had to do was wait.
“I’m worried about raising a girl,” George admitted.
“Why?” Amelia asked. “I was a girl once upon a time, and I don’t think I was too complicated.”
This was not comforting for George. He found Amelia to be very complicated, indeed.
“I’m worried because one day she’ll grow up and date boys,” George said.
“Well… in quite a long time,” Amelia said. “First she’ll have to learn to walk and talk, and then she’ll go to school, and ride a bike, and she’ll go to her first dance, and–” Amelia looked over at George in alarm. He’d gone all white and he was gasping for breath.
“Slow down!” George said. “She hasn’t even arrived yet!”
“Oh, George, girls aren’t so difficult,” Amelia said. “They’re quite simple. You talk to them. You listen to them. You give them hugs and you tell them that they’re wonderful. You encourage them to do their best and work hard. And you let them paint your finger nails from time to time.”
“Is that all?” George asked.
“For the first few years,” Amelia said.
“I can do that much,” he said.
“And one day, when she brings home a boy she really, really likes, you will be the bad cop and be all gruff and tell the boy he’d better behave. And I’ll be the good cop and tell you that it will be all right. And then we will trust our daughter–“
“You are being very reasonable…” George sighed.
“–but not too much! We’ll then tail their car and follow them to the movies and if the boy seems too handsy, we’ll jump out and scare them half to death!” Amelia concluded with a wicked twinkle in her eye.
“You’re joking, right?” George laughed.
“Yes, I’m joking,” Amelia said.
And George took Amelia’s hand. He felt better with Amelia by his side. “We’ll be okay, won’t we?”
“We’ll be okay.”
I hope you’re enjoying my Knitted Newlyweds’ journey toward parenthood. Fall is coming quickly, and the pollywog will arrive! I’m getting excited!
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Happy reading!
❤
Patricia Johns 
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