“Dinner is served!” I announced in my most haughty but awful impression of an English butler.

“Oh, how darling of you, James!” Maggie replied in her spot-on impression of an English countess.

“Wow, you’re in a better mood! What did Mama say?”

“Oh, the usual about how everything is going to be fine and not to worry. She wants to come over here tomorrow after she closes the flower shop, so I invited her to dinner. I hope you don’t mind but she specifically asked if you would be here and I said you would.”

“Well honey, honestly, this may not be a good time to be asking me this. I’m tired and feeling very on the fence about Mama and the home birth thing.”

Maggie looked at me with that look and said, “Jim, I’m not going to let the doctors drug me and Layla and just slice me open like a watermelon and lift our baby out, no way!”

Whenever she addresses me as Jim I’m on high alert for “The Maggieness” as I refer to it. It’s never pretty when Maggie puts her foot down.