We were eating dinner at a kitchen table, when the big yellow truck pulled up with our queen sized mattress, with the next fifteen years of our lives all wrapped up in plastic in the back. John he went running outside to greet the driver and show him where it would go, in the center of our living room.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, eating my bowl of Mac n cheese, trying not to make eye contact with the delivery driver. I knew what he was thinking. He sees how young we are. He feels a little bit sorry for us. He wonders if we’re really going to make it. He’s wondering how long we can last with our bed in our living room and a baby on the way. And I’m wondering the same thing.

• I Feel Like I Should Leave This Here, but I am thinking about adding more**