"I swear to god," I say, tipping my face up to look at him. "If you don't get in that car, the taxi guy is gonna leave. With all your stuff in the trunk. Think about how much that's gonna suck."

"Aw…" Jesse says, reaching to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "Guess I'll just have to wear your pajamas and tiny t-shirts then. Do you think they'll look good on me?"

"I'm gonna kill you," I say, fighting a smile.

"Then I'll definitely be stuck here."

"Dude, you have to go!" I say, laughing. "It's almost 3. What's that thing about men getting to airports freakishly early? Why aren't you doing that right now?"

He sighs dramatically. "'Cause I'm staring at your face. And that's making it really, really hard to leave."

I roll my eyes. "You have about a thousand pictures on your camera roll, Skype exists, and I'll be there in three months. You will be fine."

"Damn," he says. "Now I feel like Old Yeller, or something."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He smirks and kisses me quick. "Of course you don't," he says. "Alright, fine. I'm leaving, I'm going, I'm disappearing forever. I love you."

"I love you, too," I say, spinning him by the shoulders so he faces the taxi. "Now, if you don't get in that car, I might."

We kiss one last time before he gets inside, and I walk around to the window that he's rolled down. "Should I sing to you, for old time's sake?" he asks.

"No!" I say, laughing. I tap the hood of the car and the driver accelerates and starts driving away.

Before they can get too far, Jesse pops his head out of the window and waves at me, a wide grin plastered on his face. "I'll miss you!" he shouts.

"Uh-huh!" I shout, then wave back with just as much gusto.

After the taxi disappears from view, I stand in front of Jesse's apartment for a while and stare at the spot it had been in. A heavy feeling makes itself known in my gut, but I will it away. I'm fine. We'll be fine. I'll be joining him in LA in three months, after I finish up a few things at my internship. Those months will fly by; and anyway, I can handle life just fine without my boyfriend at my side. I survived 18 years living the single life. Not like I'll be doing it again - I'll still have him, just from a distance.

I'm not the needy one between us. So, I don't know why I feel like I'm about to cry. In the days leading up to our goodbye, he told me over and over again that he knew I wouldn't cry while I was in front of him. I'd wait until the taxi pulled away, headed to the airport, then lie in bed playing The Breakfast Club soundtrack while hugging one of his sweatshirts. Every single time he brought it up, which was a lot, I'd flash my signature eye-roll and smack him. Call him some stupid name, tell him he was cheesy. But now, I realize he might not have been too far off. He probably isn't even five miles away yet, and I already miss him.

This isn't me, though. I'm not sappy like this. Chloe would tell me that I'm allowed to have feelings, it's normal to miss my freaking boyfriend, but it's still not me. I don't wear my emotions on my sleeve. I let them pass through my brain once every blue moon, if they're lucky. So, the fact that all my feelings are swirling around and taking complete control is beyond unsettling.

When I get home, Amy meets me right at the door. "So, how'd it go?" she asks. "Did he cry? Please, tell me he cried and you got footage of it."

I blink rapidly to try and keep my own tears at bay. If she sees me crying, I'll never live it down. She'll try and comfort me in her weird way, and I won't get a moment's peace for the rest of the night, maybe the rest of the week. I love her, but her soothing methods are not on the top of my list right now.

"He didn't cry," I say, and accidentally sniffle.

"Are you crying?" she asks.

"No," I say. "Just… not now, Amy, okay? I'm not in the mood."

"Okay, I get it, I get it," she says, but still doesn't leave my personal bubble. "Are you sick?" she asks.

"I'm not sick," I say. "People can sniffle. It's allowed."

"No, not that," she says, still surveying me. "It's something else about you. It's just… you didn't happen to come across something radioactive today, did you?"

"What? No," I say, screwing up my eyebrows.

"But it's something…" she says.

"I'm not exactly in the greatest mood," I say. "So, I'm just gonna go to bed, I think."

"It's 3 in the afternoon!" she shouts, calling after me as I head down the hall.

"Even better!" I call back, then shut the door behind me.

…

The next day, I'm sitting at my desk when the entire room starts to tilt. I blink hard and hold my head, feeling so woozy all of a sudden that I barely know how to handle it. I take some deep breaths and open my eyes again, but it doesn't go away. I'm lightheaded, weak in the knees, and I need to get to a bathroom stat.

I push my chair back roughly, catching the attention of a few coworkers, then power-walk to the bathroom. I lock myself in a stall and drop to my knees, arms wrapped around the toilet bowl. I know it's probably filthy, but I can't find it within myself to care when everything I had for lunch is about to make a second appearance.

I can't remember the last time I threw up; it's been years. But after a few minutes of being in the bathroom, I can't say that anymore. The orange chicken and rice I had for lunch along with the bagel for breakfast definitely didn't look as good during round two.

I wipe my mouth and stare at myself in the mirror, noticing my pallid skin tone and sunken eyes. Maybe I am getting sick. Even I can see the exhaustion, and that's not usually something I notice. Amy was right. Something is definitely off, but I can't tell what. I come to the conclusion, after a few long minutes of staring, that it's probably the flu.

So, I find my boss and he gives me a look of disgust. "Did you just blow chunks all over that bathroom?" he asks.

I sigh. "I cleaned it up. Nothing got anywhere, but yeah. I did."

"Home," he says, pointing to the door after putting his shades on. "Contagious. Home. Now, please."

I take that as my cue to leave, so I gather my things and get out of there. In the car, I squeeze the steering wheel and close my eyes at a red light as a wave of exhaustion hits me. I don't know if I've ever been so tired in my life, even though I didn't do anything particularly straining today. I have to be getting sick, because this is so not me.

I put on pajamas and collapse in bed when I get home, relieved to finally have some solace. Amy is off doing something somewhere, and the apartment is quiet save for the phone ringing as I call Jesse to FaceTime.

"Be-ca!" he says enthusiastically, and I muster up the best smile I can. He notices my demeanor right away, though, and calms down. "Hey… hey, you okay?"

"Yeah," I say, and for some reason I feel like I'm on the verge of tears. I don't know what this is about, and I'm getting pissed about it. Regretfully, I've cried myself to sleep every night since he left. And that is definitely not normal. I haven't told anyone. I don't even let myself think back on it in the morning.

"You don't sound okay," he says, his voice growing gentle and caring. "You don't look it, either."

"Wow, thanks."

"Not what I mean," he says. "You look… down. Bad day at work?"

"No," I say. "Well, not really. I threw up, which was embarrassing. I think I'm coming down with something. The flu, maybe."

"Oh, no," he says. "What can I do? Sing?"

"Please, don't sing."

He chuckles and says, "Kidding. Want me to make soup and mail it the hundreds of miles to you?"

"Yeah," I say, trying for a small grin. "But if you put vegetables in it again, I'll kill you."

"I'll try and remember that," he says, tapping his chin for effect. We look at each other in the camera for a long moment, then he makes a small, sad expression. "I miss you, babe."

I don't let him get sappy often, though he loves to go there. I always check him. But right now, I'm a little vulnerable, a little off my game, so I allow it. This once.

"I miss you, too," I say, sighing. "How long's it been?'

"Three days," he says. "Longest three days of my life."

"Are you having a good day, at least?" I ask.

"It's fine," he says. "Unfortunately, there are no tiny, plucky, edgy acapella girls to charm." He winks. "At least, until right now."

"You're so corny," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Hey, there she is," he says. "Would you believe me if I said I only said that to get your reaction?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Didn't think so," he says.

I roll onto my side and blink at him, and he looks back with a thoughtful, somber look in his eyes. "Wish you were here," I say, and clear my throat to hide the way my voice cracks.

"Me, too, Bec," he says. "Me freakin' too."

…

I wake up the next morning feeling just fine, but once 2pm rolls around, I'm a mess again. I get sent home for a second time, and feel the same way as the day before. But after a few hours pass, it goes away and I'm completely fine. Each day, it's the same.

I don't think it's the flu. I have a sinking feeling as to what it really is, but I won't even let myself think it.

"Throwing up at the same time every day? That's kinda weird," Chloe says one afternoon as we sit across from each other in Starbucks. She has a break between classes at vet school, and I was, yet again, sent home from work. "Maybe you're…"

"Nope," I say, cutting her off.

She eyes me. "Why don't you have your regular, with all the espresso shots?" She squints, looking at the drink in my hand. "What even is that?"

I tip the cup like it means nothing, which it does. "It's tea, or something," I say. "It's good for my throat. Don't worry about it."

"Beca…" she says. "Are you thinking something and not telling me?"

"I think plenty of things without telling you," I say. "It's not abnormal."

"Don't divert," she says, leaning forward in her chair. "How long's it been since you and Jesse…?" She raises her eyebrows suggestively to put across her point.

"Um, hello!" I say. "Okay. That's actually none of your business." I check my phone and pretend I have somewhere to be, which we both know I don't. "Look, I gotta go. I'll text you, though, okay?"

When I get home, I plop down on my bed without taking my shoes off and sit with my elbows on my knees. Chloe's question festers in my mind… when was the last time Jesse and I slept together? I flop backwards and close my eyes to think it over. It was just before he left, which was almost three weeks ago. We were watching a movie on his bed, the fourth Harry Potter I think, and I was bored. So, we entertained each other in different ways.

He came when Harry and Voldemort's wands fused together and made that weird color combination, which he found incredibly amusing. I couldn't get him to shut up about it, but he ended up making me laugh too much to care. He asked if I wanted to rewind to see if he could get me to come at the same spot, but I'd declined. He did get me there, a few times actually, but I have no idea what scenes were playing. He'd made me feel too good to care.

Had we used a condom? And the time before that, in the back of his car… did we use one then? Or in the shower, after he got back from the gym the weekend preceding, what about then?

"Shit," I say aloud.

…

"Beca, you know I love our time together. But I need 'Amy time,' too, you know," Amy says, pausing in the doorway of my room. "And I can't really get that when you come home from work at the same time every day… if you catch my drift."

"Yeah, caught it," I say, miserably, from beneath my covers.

"What's wrong with you, anyway?" she asks, coming inside uninvited. "This morning, you were all peppy and pinchy and whatnot. What's happened, now?" I don't answer right away, which leads her into a tangent. "You know, for the three days I worked an office job, the same thing happened to me. Walked in the doors, immediately got sick. Had to go home. Had to quit. I think it was a side-effect of the capitalism."

"Amy…" I groan. "Please, I'm begging you to go away."

"I'm just trying to help!" she says, sitting down on the mattress beside me. "Is it because you miss Jesse?" she asks, tilting her head. "Your J-man?"

"I don't call him that," I say. "No one calls him that."

"Symptoms of a broken heart…" she says. "Maybe that's what it is. Or!" She points a finger in the air. "Or, it could be-"

"I'm pregnant, actually," I say, throwing the covers back to look at her with a pale-faced stare.

She stares back with equal intensity and shock. "I'm sorry, I think I've had a malfunction," she says. "Could you repeat that?"

"I am pregnant," I say, enunciating each syllable. It's the first time I've said it out loud, and I don't know whether to feel relieved that I'm not the only one harboring the secret, or sick that it's become that much more true.

"What…" she says, and this might be the first time I've seen her at a loss for words. "Have you… have you told Jesse yet?" Her eyes widen further. "It is his, right?"

"Amy!" I say, and smack her with a stray pillow. "Yes, it's his!" I sigh. "And no, I haven't told him."

"Well, are you going to?"

"Yes," I say, defensively. "Yes. It's just… he's really busy right now, and I don't want to bother him…"

"Yeah, sorry, Jesse, don't want to bother you. But I'm just carrying the fruit of your loins inside my very fertile womb!"

"God!" I say, flopping back while covering my face with my hands.

"Careful," she says, her voice suddenly softer as she lays a gentle hand on my stomach. "There's a tiny Jeca in there."

"Don't… please, don't do that."

…

LA is three hours behind, which means that while I sit in bed at 2am and wonder how I'm going to tell my boyfriend that I'm carrying his baby, it's only 11pm for him.

I've been sitting here for what feels like hours, going over a possible script. I still haven't found anything that sounds right.

"Hey, Jesse. How was your day? Mine was good, good… well, I had a great lunch 'cause I'm eating for two! Haha! How funny is that, right? Means I'm pregnant!"

I shake my head. That's horrible and stupid.

"Hey, Jesse. Listen, let's not beat around the bush. Lord knows you didn't. And because of that, I'm pregnant!"

I close my mouth and groan. I don't think it's the greatest time for jokes, especially ones as gross as that. I'll leave those to Amy.

Finally, I can't handle it anymore. I pick up the phone and debate whether to FaceTime or just simply voice call him, but decide on the former. Reading his face will be a huge part of this. He could say anything he thinks I want to hear, but I'll know what he's really thinking if I can see his eyes.

As it rings, my skin gets clammy and my tongue must grow three sizes. I feel like I might choke on it when he picks up.

"Bec?" he says, and from the light of his phone screen I can see how tired he looks. I must have woken him up. Shit. "You okay? It's so late."

"It's only 11 for you, nerd," I say, trying to keep my tone light.

"Yeah, but…" He rubs his eyes. "Isn't it like, 2 for you? What are you doing up?"

"I, um, I wanted to talk to you," I say, twisting the comforter with my free hand.

"In the middle of the night?"

"It couldn't wait."

"Okay…" he says, giving me a look.

"But if you're tired, you know, you should go back to sleep," I say, losing gumption. "I know you have busy days, and I really shouldn't have woken you up. I'm being a dick right now, god. I didn't think… you have an 8am, I know you do, god. Geez, I should just hang up."

"Hey, no," he says. "What's bothering you?"

I sigh and purse my lips, letting a gust of air from my nose. I don't know if he's ready for it - actually, I'm sure he's not - but I don't have much of a choice.

"Jess," I say, tone changing completely. From blustery and rushed a few seconds ago, it's now calm and nearly a whisper. He lowers his eyebrows with concentration. "Jess…" I close my eyes and shake my head. "I'm pregnant."

I open them again after he leaves a beat of silence where his response should be. I search his face for any sort of reaction, but it's completely blank. He seems to be trying to read me in the same way I am him.

"Whoa," he says finally.

"Yeah," I say. "And I'm sorry to drop that bomb on you so late, I know I freaking woke you up to tell you that, but…" I sigh. "I was kinda going crazy keeping it to myself. Well, myself and Amy. But she's, surprisingly, not much help."

"No, no, don't apologize," he says. "I'm glad you told me. It's just…" His eyes widen. "It's just whoa." He laughs incredulously; it sounds more like a bark. "I kind of forgot our bodies could do that. You know, make a kid. Another human." Another shocked expression crosses his features. "We were just having fun, being us… we didn't even know…" He looks right into the camera, right in my eyes. "Bec. It's a kid."

"Yeah. I know."

He's quiet for a while longer, sifting through his thoughts. I know, because I've been doing the same thing every day since those tests came back positive.

"I'm coming home," he says, out of the blue.

"Jesse, what? No," I say. "You just started your first semester, there is no way you can just up and leave."

"It's just school, I'll make it up," he says. "It doesn't matter. You matter."

"It's not 'just school,' listen to yourself," I say. "Who are you, me? No way. You're not doing that. I won't let you."

"You can't really stop me, though," he says.

"You're not gonna uproot your life there just to come back for me," I say, but feel a tugging sensation in my gut due to how badly I want to be with him. I can't figure this out on my own, and while he's with me over the airwaves, I need him physically. I won't tell him that, though.

"Why not?"

"Because!" I say, getting frustrated. I have too many emotions fighting inside my head right now, and it's pissing me off. "I only have two months left here, and I finished the project today. The rest can be done online, it's all tying up loose ends." I settle down a bit, having worked out a solution. "I'll just come to you. Early."

"Yeah, but now who's uprooting their life?" he says.

"Jesse, please," I say. "I'll talk to my boss tomorrow. If he says it's alright, then why shouldn't I just do it? If he isn't cool with it, then we'll figure something out."

"Then, I come back," he says.

I have no choice but to concede. "Yes," I say. "Sure."

Come to find out, my boss is cool with it. I've done all I need to do in person, and the rest is - just as I said - finishing touches. As I walk out of work (without throwing up for the first time in days) it hits me that I'm moving to LA in less than a week.

"Well, are you coming back?" Amy says, her voice a near-screech as I pack up my room. "I don't want to share an apartment with the legacy forever. Please, tell me you're coming back."

"Eventually, yes," I say. "After a few years, after he's done with school."

"That bitch!" she says, cursing Jesse.

"Hey, that's the father of my baby you're talking about," I say, glaring at her.

"What about a baby daddy?"

I flip around and gasp, seeing the Bellas all standing there in the entryway of mine and Amy's house like they own the place. The one who asked the question was Aubrey, who's now giving me a very suspicious look.

"I…" I say.

"Are you really?!" Emily asks, hurrying forward to grab my hands. I automatically shake her off, staring at the rest of them in disbelief.

"Where did you guys come from?" I ask. "And why are you strangely all together?"

"Details," Chloe says, brushing off my questions with a flick of her hand. "We came to throw a goodbye party, but it seems you're too far gone for that." She looks wounded. "Rushing off without even letting me have my fanfare. So mean."

"Wait, wait, wait," Aubrey says, still latched onto what she heard. "Beca, are you pregnant?" She doesn't give me time to respond before she continues. "I knew it. I always knew it, and you have to say I'm right. You had a toner for him from day one!"

"Aubrey…" I groan, massaging my temples.

"Just like my dad always says," she prattles on. "Stick to your guts, or have them blown out of your body."

"Okay…" Amy says, walking around to join us. "Yes, everybody. Stop the presses. Jesse has aca-impregnated Beca with his beautiful tenor sperm."

The Bellas erupt in a sea of shrieks and gasps, and I shrug. They were going to have to find out somehow. Lilly mutters something unintelligible, but I think I catch the phrase 'mirror twin.'

"I can't believe it!" Stacie says. "I always thought I'd be the first one. Aw. I'm jealous."

"You'll get there, I'm sure," I say, growing uncomfortable with all the baby talk. Jesse and I still haven't discussed what we're doing about this whole thing - I don't even know if he wants to keep it. I don't even know if I want to.

But, I can't tell them that. I let them live in their bubble and fawn over me until my suitcase is packed and ready for LA, and it's time to leave.

"Wait, you're leaving today?" Cynthia Rose says. "Today, as in, right now?"

"Yep," I say, yanking on the handle of my rolling bag.

"Don't lift that!" Amy says, jumping in to take it from me. She touches my stomach gently, and directs her words down there instead of my face when she says, "You're fragile."

"How long will you be gone?" Emily asks. "Just wanna know how long I have your room for."

"Um, I don't really know," I say. "A while. A few years. So, I hope you're good on rent."

She acts flustered for a moment before composing herself, and Amy looks less than thrilled.

"My cab's here, guys," I say, peering out the window. "I gotta go."

"She loves hugs!" Chloe shouts, and I have no time to protest before every single one of them is on top of me for a group hug. I have no idea what part of anyone's body I'm touching, but I'm smiling once they pull away. "You know you wanna say it," she says.

"Say it, say it, say it," Amy chants.

I roll my eyes and climb into the cab, letting the driver throw my suitcase into the trunk while I roll the window down. I make eye contact with each of the Bellas, sigh, then say, "Love you, awesome nerds."

…

I didn't cry as the taxi pulled away, or when I got an especially sappy text from Chloe in the group chat. I didn't cry when I boarded the plane, or when I watched the city I love disappear as we took off. I didn't cry when Jesse texted that he was waiting in the main gate area, but I do cry when I see him. There are some things you just can't help.

It's like a breath of fresh air, seeing his face in person. I ditch my suitcase and run at him full-speed, and launch myself into his arms. He picks me up off the ground as I wrap my legs around him, and tucks his face into my neck while squeezing me tight.

"There you are," he says, neither of us letting go. I stay in his arms for a long time, and when I place my feet back on the floor, I hug his waist and look into his eyes. He wipes my tears away with his thumbs and says, "Don't cry, Shopgirl. Don't cry."

"Don't movie quote me," I say, but I can't hide my smile.

He kisses me while holding my face, then strokes my hair out of my eyes. "I missed you," he says.

"I missed you so much," I say, allowing my voice to break.

"Better get your bag before someone steals it," he says. "This is LA, you know." He walks over and picks it up, then gives me a strained, exaggerated expression. "Jeez. Did you pack all the Bellas in here, too?"

I giggle, my voice still a little watery as I fall in step at his side. "Just Lilly," I say, and we both laugh.

…

"This is nice," I say, after taking a good look around his apartment. "Small… but nice."

"I got a small one just for you," he says. "Didn't want you to feel overwhelmed."

"That was nice of you," I say, acknowledging his joke but keeping my voice soft. I don't have the energy to raise it any higher.

"Plus, you know. LA prices." He lets out a low whistle. "Kinda crazy."

"I bet," I say.

He sets my suitcase down and for a moment, we just stand across from each other without knowing what to say. We've known each other for the better part of three years, yet everything in our relationship feels topsy-turvy right now. I'm not sure how to handle it.

"I'm really tired," I say, yawning as if on cue.

"Oh, sure," he says. "You wanna lay down? Take a nap?"

"Yeah," I say, slipping out of my shoes before taking off my jacket and making a beeline for the couch. I look over at him where he's straightening something on the counter, and say, "You're coming, too, right?"

He flashes me a smile. "Oh, of course," he says. "I'm the nap champion. Be one sec."

I don't have to wait long before he comes over and insists I use his thigh as a pillow, to which I'm not complaining. That's what I wanted, anyway. He uses one hand to run his fingers through my hair, and I look at him with an attempt at a smile.

"Will you put something on?" I ask.

"What, some soft music?" he asks.

I shake my head no.

"Oh," he says, grinning. "A movie. She wants a movie." He chuckles. "Yeah. Of course."

I turn on my side to face the screen, but I don't have any clue what he chose because my eyes close too fast to find out. I fall asleep with my head in my boyfriend's lap, trying to chase away my worries with things that feel like home.

When I wake up, the TV screen is black and Jesse is asleep with his head rested against the back cushion of the couch. But as soon as I roll over to get a better look, he jolts awake like he's been caught sleeping on the job.

"Hey," he says, looking at my face. He taps my nose with his pointer finger, then my chin. I hold onto his arm and hug it with both of mine, resting it in the middle of my chest.

"How long did I sleep?"

"A while," he says. "I checked your pulse a couple times to make sure you were still alive."

I snort and roll my eyes, then sigh deeply. The subject can't wait any longer - I've done enough of bottling it up. I'll explode if it stays inside my brain for a minute more.

"Jess," I say. "What are we gonna do?"

I watch his eyes flit to my stomach, which is, of course, not showing a thing. I have the urge to cover it with my hands, but then remember who I'm with. It's him.

He chews the inside of his cheek and exhales with a contemplative expression on his face. "I don't know," he says, and the words are weighted down heavy. He meets my eyes when he asks, "Do you… do you want to get rid of it?"

I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind, but I never let it stay. I didn't like to let any thoughts about the baby stay, whether they were thoughts of an abortion or thoughts of the two of us baby shopping together. None of it seemed real, and it still doesn't. I'm still the same me, except I get dizzy, throw up, and my boobs hurt like a bitch. But other than that, I don't feel pregnant. It doesn't seem possible.

But looking at his face and how softly his eyes are, how caring, something bursts in my chest and explodes with warmth. I know he'd be the best father. He's thoughtful, funny, and so patient. He would never walk out on me or our kid like my dad did and come back years later trying to make up for it. He'd always be there. That's a hallmark of his personality; he is so consistent. And his heart - his heart is huge. Our child wouldn't even know what to do with all that love.

I can't imagine how I'd feel if I got rid of our child. Not that I have anything against it - I'm pro-choice beyond all means. But this is my choice, our choice. And I think I already know what one I've made.

"I wanna keep it," I say, voicing the thought for the first time. It's scary to say it, but it also feels good. Like some sort of secret that I'm finally sharing with the world, and with the person who matters the most. I meet his eyes and ask, "Do you?"

"Yeah," he says, smiling that record-breaking smile. "I really do."

…

So, we decide to keep our baby. I move in with Jesse permanently, with promises of finding a better place once we're making a little more money. The tiny studio barely has room for us, let alone a baby. But we have plenty of time.

My stomach barely grows at first. For a while, he calls it our 'food baby,' because it looks like I just ate too many tacos. But once the six month mark hits, that changes. I blow up like a balloon, and our baby girl starts to kick and make her presence known. Jesse says she's like her daddy that way, keeping me up at night with her antics.

During the seventh month, the girls back home are insistent on FaceTiming almost every single day. So, when I get back from the studio, I give them a call as often as I can.

"Are you sure you're not just smuggling a beach ball under there?" Amy asks, squinting at the screen.

"I'm sure," I say, one hand over my bump. "Believe me. I'm very sure."

Jesse comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, and subsequently around my belly. There's no getting around it these days. "Oh yeah," he says. "That's all me."

I roll my eyes and look back at him, shoving him playfully with one shoulder.

"How do you even walk?" Amy says. "Your stomach is bigger than you!"

"It's a daily struggle," I say, doing my best to sit down on the couch without straining anything. She's right - my stomach is cartoonishly large on my small frame, and everyone loves to point it out as if I don't notice.

"Anyway, Emily keeps yelling at me to send you these birthing tips," she says, making a less-than-amused expression. "She keeps saying that her mom is a Junk, so she knows quite a bit about pushing babies out of her junk."

"That's disturbing," I say.

"Try having to hear it three hundred times a day," Amy says. "She cleans too much, Beca. I need you back."

I laugh lightly. "I don't think that's a thing anymore," I say, then pan the camera around the room. "We just got this brand new apartment. The baby is gonna have her own room. I don't think I'll be back for a while."

She sighs dramatically. "That might just mean I have to come to you. I can't handle much more of this pep fest."

…

At the end of my eighth month, Jesse and I are putting finishing touches on the baby's nursery. Organizing her dresser that's full of clothes, putting frames on the wall, and making sure we have plenty of diapers stocked.

"I gotta be honest," he says, looking around. "We're pretty awesome decorators."

"You're right," I say, easing myself into the rocking chair. I close my eyes for a moment as I feel her move, and smile when I realize what's happening in there. "She has the hiccups. Come feel."

He saunters over and kneels at my side, pressing one wide palm to my very swollen belly. Every time she hiccups, he laughs incredulously like it's the most amazing thing he's ever experienced. He's taken in every ounce of this pregnancy, working two jobs along with going to school so we can afford everything we need for her. And along with what money I'm bringing in from my job at the studio, we're doing okay. He was right, it is expensive living in LA, but we make it work. For our baby, we've made ends meet.

"I can't believe she's like… she's in there," he says, looking up to meet my eyes. "It's amazing, what you're doing. You're carrying our baby, Bec."

"Believe me, I know," I say, then run one hand through his messy hair. "And she's gonna come out soon."

Fear flashes across his eyes for a millisecond before disappearing. I know exactly how he feels.

"You think we're gonna be okay at it?" he asks, studying me with round, vulnerable eyes.

He's not usually the one asking questions like this, insecure about how things will turn out. Lately, that's been me. Some nights, I wake up sweating after a nightmare I can't remember, convinced we'll be horrible parents. He always comforts me, assuring me that we're capable people who always do our best. We have a roof over our heads, money for food and all the supplies our baby needs. And most of all, we already love her. What more could she ask for? After hearing this so many times, I've grown to believe him and I can't wait to meet her. I just hope I know what to do once she's born. I don't want to look like an idiot not knowing how to hold my own baby.

"I do think so, yeah," I say. I cup his face with one hand, laughably small next to his big head. "I mean, you were the one who said it first."

He tips his head to one side, leaning against my palm. "Said what?"

I put on a funny voice that's supposed to be a caricature of his. "You're one of those acapella girls... I'm one of those acapella boys…"

He closes his eyes and smiles, shaking his head with the memory. "And we're gonna have aca-children. It's inevitable."

"And look," I say, angling my chin to look at him with raised eyebrows. "You were right. Happy?"

He holds my wrist and chuckles soundlessly, shoulders bouncing. "Very."

…

"Jesse Swanson, I am never letting you near me again! Do you hear me? Not ever again!"

"Yes, babe. I hear you. I'm with you. I'm awful and horrible."

"You're not just horrible, you're a monster," I sob, eyes pinched shut as I lie on the hospital bed, legs in stirrups. When I was first put into this position, I'd never felt so violated and humiliated in my life. But now, those feelings are the last things on my mind compared to all the pain I'm in. "And you did this to me!"

"I know," he says, nodding as he holds my hand and dabs the sweat off my forehead. "And I'm so sorry, baby."

"It's too late for that now!" I scream, gritting my teeth as another contraction ripples through me.

"You're doing a beautiful thing, Bec," he says, squatting at my bedside and kissing my knuckles. "Think about it."

"I can't think about anything else," I insist. "I don't want to hear how amazing I am, I just want this over with. I need her out!"

"We're getting there, Beca," the midwife says, positioned on the other side of me. "Remember your breathing. You can do this."

I close my eyes to try to concentrate on my inhales and exhales, but it's easier said than done when something the size of a watermelon is trying to come out of my body. I grip Jesse's hand as tightly as I can and bear down when I'm told to, white-hot pain searing throughout my entire being. I feel like I'm being ripped in half and there's nothing I can do but suffer and see this through to the other side. Shutting out everyone's voices, I try and picture what her face will look like. I have to keep that image as my goal, my endpoint. As soon as she's out, all of this pain will have been worth something. I'll have her in my arms; mine and Jesse's perfect creation.

But right now, with the baby still inside me, the pain isn't so easy to compartmentalize. It seems to go on forever, the pushing, and there are many times when I want to give up. I don't have any energy left, and I've given all I can.

During a quiet moment of rest where I've collapsed, entire body sweating, against the mattress, Jesse rushes to my side with ice chips for me to chew on. He wipes my forehead, holds my face with both hands, and kisses me quickly.

"I know you hate me right now, but I love you," he says.

I manage a smile. A really weak, watered-down smile that I hope translates correctly to: I love you, too, but get the hell out of my face.

Gracie Clare Swanson is born on October 6th at 4:28am, and when I hear her cries split the room, I've never been more grateful in my life. I've spent time around plenty of music, heard thousands and thousands of songs, but that is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

"You did it," Jesse says, looking at me with excitement in his eyes. "You did it. She's out, they're cleaning her. Oh, god, Bec, she's so big."

I smile breathlessly. "Don't have to tell me that," I joke, and he laughs before giving me an emotional kiss on the lips.

I invite Jesse onto the bed and he curls his body around mine when they bring Gracie over. The nurse shows me how to hold her, and once she's in my arms, it feels natural. I'm surprised at how natural it feels; I hadn't expected that. I expected fumbling, I thought I'd be afraid of dropping her. But I'm not. As she lies in my arms, swaddled tight in a soft, pink blanket, everything feels right.

"Look at her," I say, gazing at my baby's face as she yawns. I giggle a bit and graze my lips across her soft skin, her nonexistent eyebrows. I turn my head to look at Jesse, whose eyes are glistening. "Our daughter."

He gives me a kiss on the cheek and rests one gentle hand over our little bundle. "Hi," he whispers, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Hi, beautiful girl."

I relax against him, letting out a sigh of relief and gratitude. I've made a lot of impressive, artistic creations in my life, but Gracie is by far the most exquisite.

…

Bringing the baby home is nerve-wracking, exciting, terrifying and thrilling all at once. Since having her, my emotions are all over the place and Jesse has been paying the price, though always graciously. I don't mean to bite his head off, but I find myself obsessively thinking about things I never did before she was born. Things I don't even have to worry about yet, like if she'll like LA or if we should've had her back home, or if she'll make friends in school. I know my thoughts and emotions don't much make sense, but that doesn't mean I can control them.

She's so tiny and fragile, and everything she does is amazing. When she opens her eyes, she takes my breath away. They're blue, like all babies' are, but somehow more magnificent. They're dark, almost indigo, because of Jesse's eye color. With each day, she grows more beautiful and somehow more ours.

It's hard for me to let her out of my sight, even in the house. I like to keep her close, swaddled in a sling on my chest whether she's awake or asleep. While I walk around and tidy up, I keep one hand under her rounded form just to remind myself she's there. It's comforting.

"You're the cutest little mama," Jesse says, like always, coming up behind me to drop a kiss on my cheek.

I wake up at the first note of her cries in the middle of the night, and I can tell what sounds mean what. I know when she's hungry, when she needs to be changed, and when she's tired. Also, when she just needs to be close to either me or her daddy.

But tonight, I wake up to silence, expecting to hear a cry that isn't there. I rub my eyes, confused, as I look at the clock. It's almost 2, she's late for her feeding, so I come to the conclusion that something must be wrong. I barely even notice that Jesse isn't beside me as I get out of bed and pad towards the nursery.

I don't flick the overhead light on; I don't need to. The nightlight plugged in to the wall shows me everything I need to see, which is Jesse sitting in the rocking chair with our tiny girl in his arms, cradling her close.

"You know, I wish that I had Jessie's girl… I wish that I had Jessie's girl… where can I find a woman like that?" he sings softly.

I lean on the doorjamb and watch them for a second before saying, "I'm not sure if I approve of your Rick Springfield selection."

He looks up with a start. "Geez, Bec," he whispers. "You scared me."

I walk over slowly, placing one hand on his shoulder while admiring Gracie's sleeping face. "You already got Jesse's girl," I say, stroking him with my thumb. "Both of them, actually."

He chuckles, then looks up. "I heard her fussing in the baby monitor. Just needed a change. You were so tired, and I wanted to let you sleep."

"Thank you," I say, and truly mean it. Having a new baby in the house is more exhausting than I ever imagined it could be.

He looks away and back down at Gracie, who's still resting peacefully. As the days pass, she's been losing her swollen, brand-new baby look and growing into someone who looks more like the two of us. Jesse claims she has my nose, and I stand by the fact that she'll always have his eyes.

"You know, I think I was wrong," he says, after a few beats of silence.

I frown a bit. "Wrong about what?"

He smiles, first at Gracie and then at me. "Maybe beginnings are the best part."