Episode 3: Nesting & Future Dreams

With the confirmation of the heartbeat, that tiny, rhythmic flutter they had witnessed on the ultrasound screen, the pregnancy felt undeniably real. It transformed from an abstract concept into a tangible, growing presence within Anya. Her morning sickness, though still making sporadic, unwelcome appearances, was slowly receding, allowing her energy to return. This newfound vitality was quickly replaced by a powerful, almost primal urge to "nest" – to prepare their home, to create a safe and beautiful space for the little one on the way.

Their spacious room, once a comfortable blend of their individual aesthetics – Anya's vibrant art prints contrasting with Rohan's minimalist photography – was now earmarked for a significant transformation. The spare corner, which Rohan had once envisioned as a compact darkroom for his photography passion, was now destined to become the baby's nursery. It was a joyful sacrifice, a symbol of their shifting priorities.

"I saw the cutest crib online," Anya announced one evening, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she showed Rohan her phone. "It's minimalist, in a lovely light wood, but with these adorable little star cutouts on the headboard. What do you think?"

Rohan, ever the pragmatic engineer, zoomed in on the image, his focus immediately on the structural details. "Hmm, looks sturdy. What about safety ratings? Is it JPMA certified? And is it convertible, so it can grow with the baby from an infant crib to a toddler bed and then a full-sized one?"

Anya laughed, nudging him playfully. "Of course, Mr. Engineer. All checked and double-checked. But are the star cutouts cute enough for our future astrophysicist or artist?"

They spent hours, often late into the night, poring over baby websites, discussing everything from the ergonomic benefits of different stroller types to the absorbency rates of various diaper brands. Rohan, with his meticulous nature, created elaborate spreadsheets comparing features, prices, and user reviews for every potential purchase. Anya, with her keen creative eye, envisioned colour palettes, nursery themes, and the softest textures for blankets and clothing. It was a delightful blend of their personalities, working together towards a shared, exciting goal, each contributing their unique strengths.

"Should we go for gender-neutral colours, like soft greens and yellows, or do you have a feeling?" Anya asked one night, holding up swatches of fabric against the wall.

Rohan paused, a thoughtful look on his face as he considered the possibilities. "I don't know. I just hope they're healthy and happy, above all else. But... I kind of hope for a little girl. Someone I can teach about the stars and the mountains, someone who will appreciate the quiet beauty of the world."

Anya's heart swelled at his tender words. "And someone I can teach to paint and tell stories to," she added, a soft smile gracing her lips. "What about names? Have you thought about any?"

"A few," he admitted, a shy smile playing on his lips, revealing a vulnerability she cherished. "For a girl, I like Myra. It means 'beloved' or 'admirable.' What do you think?"

Anya repeated the name softly, letting it roll off her tongue. "Myra. It's beautiful, Rohan. I love it." The name felt right, imbued with a gentle strength.

Beyond the practicalities of cribs and colours, they delved into deeper conversations about their hopes and fears for parenthood.

"I worry about balancing work and being a good mother," Anya confessed one evening, as they painstakingly assembled a tiny changing table, following Rohan's precise instructions. "My career is important to me, and I love my work, but I don't want to miss out on anything with the baby."

Rohan paused, tightening a screw with a deliberate motion. "You won't, Anya. You're incredibly capable and dedicated. And we'll figure it out together. We'll be partners in this, just like everything else. My parents are here, too, and they'll be a huge help with support and childcare." He looked at her, his gaze reassuring, full of unwavering belief. "And I'll be there every step of the way. We'll make sure you have the space to pursue your passions, even with a baby."

Rohan, in turn, shared his own anxieties. "I worry about being a good father. My dad was always so... stoic, very traditional. I want to be more expressive, more present. I want to teach them things, but also just be there for them, to listen, to understand."

Anya gently touched his arm, her fingers tracing the strong line of his forearm. "You'll be an amazing father, Rohan. You're already so thoughtful and caring, so patient. And you'll teach them everything you know about the world, about sustainability and photography, and they'll teach you things you never even imagined about yourself."

Their discussions weren't just about the baby; they were about their evolving identities as individuals and as a couple. They were dreaming not just of a nursery filled with tiny furniture, but of a future filled with laughter, learning, and the profound, expansive love that would arrive with their child. The first major baby purchase – a tiny, soft blanket embroidered with little stars, chosen by Anya and approved by Rohan's practical eye – felt less like an item and more like a tangible promise of the beautiful life they were building, brick by hopeful brick, for their growing family.

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