George went to the farm the get some milk. George loved milk. He loved anything dairy, really, and when he passed by a farm with a sign that said they sold farm fresh milk, he stopped to buy some.
Getting that tin of milk home was an adventure in itself, but he managed it without sloshing it once in the car! But when he got it upstairs, the first thing he did was spill some of the floor.
“Oh, for crying out loud!” George said. He hated to waste even a drop of this wonderful, farm fresh milk. It was creamy and delicious–the kind that left you nice think creamy moustache when you drank it.
“George, how will we refrigerate that?” Amelia asked, coming into the kitchen.
George wasn’t sure. They filled some pitchers, but there was still half a tin left over.
“There is only one solution,” George said.
“Call Patricia Johns to come over to have milk and cookies with us?” Amelia asked.
“Okay, there was another solution,” George said. “I was going to suggest we just drink as much milk as we possibly can right this minute, but I like your idea better. Maybe Patricia will bring cookies.”
Patricia did bring cookies. She brought chocolate chip cookies, and everyone sat down with cookies and tall glasses of farm fresh milk, and they chatted and ate and drank until the sun hung low in the sky. Amelia had a milk moustache, and so did Patricia, and they all laughed about it, and licked their lips.
It turns out that farm fresh milk is even more delicious with company.
George and Amelia enjoyed sitting in their favorite tree. It was fun to watch the world pass by and to chat about the future together.
But one evening when George and Amelia got settled in their favorite tree, Amelia fell a twinge.
“Ouch,” Amelia said.
“What’s wrong?” George asked. “Did you get a sliver?”
“No… OUCH!” She put her hands on her belly. “Oh… that hurts a lot!”
“It hurts like… labor?” George asked, eyes wide.
“I think so…”
It didn’t take long for George to rush Amelia down into the car, and he stepped on the gas and roared them all the way to the hospital. As he drove, he called everyone on his cell phone, one at a time, shouting out, “Amelia’s in labor!” and then hanging up.
But by the time they got to the hospital, those twinges were past, and Amelia felt rather silly.
“I don’t know,” she told the doctor. “I feel fine now.”
“Those are practice twinges,” the doctor said. “We call them Braxton Hicks contractions. They aren’t actually doing anything yet, but they can be a little uncomfortable. What were you doing when they started?”
“We’d climbed a tree,” Amelia said.
“Ah. Maybe stop climbing trees now until you have your pollywog,” he suggested. “How far along are you now?”
“I’m due October 1,” she said.
“Ah.” He eyed her speculatively. “Well, if you say so. No more tree climbing until delivery now. I want your feet to stay solidly on the ground. Dad, that’s on you to make sure she doesn’t do any more tree climbing.”
“Of course!” George said.
George took his husbandly and fatherly responsibilities very seriously.
Since the doctor had ordered Amelia to stop climbing trees until her pollywog was born, Amelia had to keep her feet on the ground.
“Being pregnant is boring!” Amelia complained. “I can’t go anywhere. I can’t fit anywhere! I can’t do anything! I can’t climb trees, and I can’t even take a deep breath anymore.”
“I know, Amelia,” George said. “I’m sorry. But I do have an idea. Why don’t we sit underneath our favorite tree?”
That seemed like a passable idea, so they took a quilt, a tube of Pringles, and headed outside to enjoy some fresh air.
“George,” Amelia said, once they were settled. “Those Braxton Hicks contractions really hurt.”
“It sounded like it,” George said.
“But if that’s how the fake ones feel, what will real contractions feel like?” she asked.
George and Amelia looked at each other.
“Oh dear…” George murmured.
“I know!” Amelia said. “What will I do?”
“I’ll tell you what you’ll do,” George said. “You’re going to squeeze my hand until I holler. And I’ll get you ice chips, and I’ll rub your back, and I’ll do anything at all to help it feel a little bit better. And when it’s all over and we have our baby girl in our arms, I will owe you big time for the rest of our lives. Anything you want, you’ll just have to say, George, I gave birth. And that will end the discussion.”
Amelia giggled. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“You’ll just have to try it,” George said. “Try it now.”
“George, I want ice cream,” Amelia said. “I’m going to give birth, after all.”
“Your wish is my command.” George stood up and held out his hand. “Let’s go get some.”
It did make Amelia feel better.
I hope you’re enjoying my Knitted Newlyweds. And if you’re enjoying these stories, perhaps you’ll enjoy my books, too.
Happy reading!
❤
Patricia Johns 
Your comments make me feel warm and fuzzy. Seriously!