Kristin stood at the stove, pouring batter into a cake pan.  She heard a car pull into the driveway and smiled to herself as she slid the pan into the oven.  Sighing resignedly, she brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, wishing she'd had time to clean up a bit before Rick came home.  The front door opened, and she heard two squeals of delight as Rick called out, 'And where's my favorite pair?"
     One thud of flesh later, she heard his laughter echo in the foyer, and two smaller peals of laughter rang out.  Kristin smiled, knowing he was tickling his 'favorite pair,' and showering them with kisses.  It was his routine, although she had to admit it was one of the few parts he took such unbridled joy in.
     Her youngest child, Trace, began whimpering from his perch in the high chair upon hearing his father's voice.  She turned, flashing him a funny face to distract him before putting the now-empty batter bowl in the sink.  Trace made a happy, gurgling noise, and Kristin turned to find her husband standing in the doorway, looking at Trace in mock astonishment.  Then, as if released from a spell, Rick strode forward, snatching Trace from his chair, and 'flying' him about the room.
     Her oldest tumbled into the room, his five-year-old's body looking unsteady as he tugged his three-year-old sister along after him.  Hallie smiled at him, but he was too busy staring adoringly at his father to notice.  Rick planted a kiss on Trace's cheek and the boy giggled as he was set on the floor to play with his siblings.  Even before Trace's feet had touched ground, Rick's gaze had fastened on Kristin.  She saw one of his eyebrows arch up for a moment, and he tilted his head slightly as he always did when greeting her.  She smiled.
     Slowly, he strolled across the kitchen, avoiding the seething mass of skin that was his children, only to stop half a foot away from her.  "My, my, haven't we been busy?  Decorating yourself, my darling?" he said teasingly.
     Stepping back a bit, she raised her hands to gesture at herself.  "Don't touch me; I'm a mess," she replied matter-of-factly.
     He smiled warmly.  "I think you look beautiful, love."
     Kristin stared at him incredulously.  "You're mad.  Absolutely off your rocker."
     Closing the space between them in one smooth stride, he wrapped her in his arms and gently kissed the side of her neck.  "Mad I might be, but I still think you're gorgeous."
     She huffed.  "I'm covered in flour and batter, Trace's food, dust from the mantle, and animal hair.  What's more, my hair is falling out of its bun, I'm flushed from the heat of this oven, and I'm three months pregnant and showing.  I repeat, you are mad."
     He smiled lazily against her neck before mumbling, "I don't care about the dust or the flour or the hair, human or animal.  I don't mind the food or you being flushed, and I'm absolutely enchanted by the fact that you're carrying my child."  There was a slight pause.  "Again," he added.
     Making a subtle effort to pull away, she snorted.  "You're mad.  You're insane, and you're hugging me in your best suit.  Go change and get the mess off your suit, then hug me to your heart's content."
     He untangled himself from her and pulled a face.  She giggled and he leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the lips.  "Alright.  I'll go change.  But," he continued, looking her up and down, "I'm not the only one who needs to."
     "Yes, Father," she replied sarcastically.
     Three hours later, after putting the children to bed, they walked downstairs together.  As they made their way into the living room, Rick grabbed her around the waist, pulling her flush against his body.  Turning her head, Kristin looked at him over her shoulder, wondering what he was up to.
     For a few moments, he merely rested his forehead on her shoulder.  Then he murmured in her ear, "You really are beautiful, you know.  Especially when you're pregnant."  He ran his hand over her stomach gently before continuing.
     "I know you don't see it, but you glow when you're pregnant.  And I know all you see in the mirror is this woman with three kids, a ruined figure, and no job, but I see the most beautiful woman in the world.  So your hips aren't tiny anymore.  So what?  You still fit into your hip-huggers, and that's amazing for a twenty-eight-year-old mother of three.
     "I don't mind hugging you when you're all covered in dust and dirt and all that -- clothes can be washed, people can be bathed.  Hugging you after you've obviously done a hard day's work caring for the Terrible Trio?  Practically mandatory, love."
     He kissed the curve of her neck.  "So, am I still mad?"
     "Yes," she murmured, twisting around in his arms, looking up at him.  "You're still mad and I'm still beautiful."