Rose by any other...

"Helloo in there. It's me, your father," he whispers to my belly. Then, plants a kiss on my forehead,which I close my eyes and savour.

He had just arrived from work. I was in my favourite Lamaze resting position. You know, the one where you're slumped on the couch with your feet up on the coffee table, reading the latest issue of Harper's Bazaar. Yeah, that one.

He comes out of the bedroom dressed in navy blue Abercrombie sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He lies down on the couch, resting his head on my lap. I balance the magazine on the arm rest with one hand and use the other to play with his hair. I sink my fingers deep into his thick black hair and run them back and forth with the occasional strand twisting.

After flicking to Alarabiya, MSNBC and Alhurra, he settles on MBC and mutes the television. He turns his head towards me. I smile at him and rest my hand on his shoulder after the somewhat sensual head massage. I look back at my magazine and he looks a down at my belly.

"Abeek itkoon 7ilw mithil umik," he orders.
I shake my head and smile. After 5 months of my husband talking to my stomach, it became the norm.

"Jasoom ma wa9eeek, ma abeek it2etheeha..." He went on.
Then, it hit me. The reason I was huffing and puffing all morning. I was mad at him.

'I can't believe I fogot!!' I thought to myself. 'I had everything planned out. He took so long to get home. I started reading the magazine and.. Waiiih! Il7een Shasawe? I couldn't get up now. I just gave him a massage and let him kiss me.'

He continues saying the sweetest things. "6ee3ha wi9ma3 kalamha.... Lat sawee shay ythayigha. Hathi il '3alya."

'How could I possibly act up while he's saying these things?' I think to myself. 'It won't make any sense.'

I pick up the magazine to conceal my flustering face. And from behind the Fabulous at Every Age page, I begin to ponder. 'Should I say something? Does he remember? Why didn't he ask about lunch? Did he assume I didn't cook because I was mad? Then, he remembers! What if he's just waiting for me? Maybe he's not hungry..'

While this is going through my head, he continues to talk to our baby. " Lieh 9ar 3umrik 8, bawadeek il7adag wil mu5ayam ma3ay. Lema it9eer 13, beshtireelik Playboy. 18, itdish ma3ay il gym. Abeek it9eer muhendis. Kint ba9eer, bes il walid.. Ya3ni yedik, ma rithaa.."

'Plaayboy?! Wildi man weled oo yabee y5erba? Itha chethe, I'm keeping my knees together and never letting this baby out.' I thought as I flipped the page to pretend that I was still reading.

' I want him to know I'm upset. Abee yratheeni. Abe ily ib rasi yitnefeth. Bes Shlooon?'

And then he did it again. "Eeeeh, ya Jasoom, bacher ib tikbaar witizawej...."

I seized the opportunity. I put down my magazine and got up abruptly, leaving his head to drop on the onto the plush cushion.

"Isma 3abdullah." I say firmly as I walk away.