Six months pregnant and I'm officially a waddling whale.
My belly's so huge I can't see my own feet anymore. Regulus has to put my socks on for me every morning because bending is no longer in my skill set.
This man has gone full psycho-dad mode. Every night he plays classical music to the bump, reads bedtime stories, even recorded his own heartbeat as white noise "so the babies get used to Daddy."
I told him he's raising fans, not babies.
He looked me dead in the eye and said "why not both"
Classic.
Then one night, 3:17 a.m. to be exact, I get woken up by what feels like a full-on EDM festival in my uterus.
THUMP THUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMP
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP
It's not random kicks anymore.
It's a straight-up drop.
I sit bolt upright, slap the light on, and kick Regulus so hard he almost falls off the bed.
"Your kids are having a fucking rave in there!"
He groans, rubs his face, sticks his ear to my stomach.
Two seconds later he shoots up like I electrocuted him.
"They're playing music."
I stare. "Come again?"
He's pale. "It's… it's the drop from Animals. Martin Garrix. I swear to the Moon Goddess."
I look down at my shaking belly and lose my shit laughing.
Next thing you know we're both sitting there like idiots with our phones open to a "fetal kick to song" translator app someone apparently made for crazy parents like us.
Turns out the twins have upgraded from Morse code to full DJ sets.
Damon (the boy) is on heavy bass duty. Every drop he slams my bladder so hard I have to pee every thirty seconds.
Luna (the girl) is doing the melody, soft little flutters like she's spinning in there.
Then they switch tracks.
Baby Shark remix. Hardstyle version.
I'm crying laughing so hard I'm scared I'll pop.
Regulus is having a crisis.
"They're six months gestational and already trolling me…"
Of course Aiden and Aurora hear the chaos and come running in their pajamas dragging their blankets.
They glue their ears to my belly.
Aiden: "Baby brother is dropping the beat!!"
Aurora: "Baby sister is doing ballet!!"
Then the twins in the womb switch to PPAP pen-pineapple-apple-pen and the four-year-olds lose their minds and start dancing on the bed.
The bedroom is now a kindergarten nightclub at 3:45 a.m.
Regulus snaps.
He jumps out of bed, grabs his tablet.
"I can't take this anymore I'm learning the baby sleep dance RIGHT NOW"
Me: "It's the middle of the night??"
Him: "EXACTLY when they're partying!!"
Next thing I know the Lycan King is standing in the middle of the bedroom in nothing but strawberry pajama pants, hair looking like he stuck his finger in a socket, following some American mom on YouTube doing the "newborn sway dance"
Left sway right sway pat pat shh shh circle circle lift lift
He tries the airplane hold move, loses balance, and eats shit straight into the carpet.
BOOM.
I'm laughing so hard I'm wheezing.
The twins dogpile him screaming "AGAIN AGAIN!!"
He's flat on his back, silver hair everywhere, looking defeated.
"I'm trying to be a good dad and my unborn children are already roasting me…"
I crawl over, straddle his chest.
"You're doing great, idiot."
He grins up at me all teary and hopeful.
"Really?"
"No, the dance was trash, but you're cute."
He flips us over so fast I squeal.
"Then let me show you something I'm actually good at…"
Doctor said third trimester is safe for "moderate activity"
We did not do moderate.
Morning came.
I could barely walk.
He brought breakfast in bed, guilty as hell, and spent the whole day giving me foot rubs while secretly practicing the sway dance under the blanket when he thought I wasn't looking.
I pretended not to notice.
Because honestly?
Watching the scariest man alive turn into a total clown for our kids?
Best feeling in the world.