When I entered the bedroom, I found Little Bulb fast asleep, his chubby little face relaxed and serene. Every time I felt stressed, just looking at him made everything better.
I heard the ringing stop abruptly in the living room, and Malcolm soon walked back in. "Did I wake up Little Bulb?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
I shook my head.
Malcolm sat down next to me, his arm naturally draping over my shoulders. "Last week, the paparazzi caught us at the baby store."
Before I could respond, Malcolm gently rubbed the back of my neck, soothing me. "Don't worry. The studio has bought the photos, so neither you nor Little Bulb's pictures will be made public."
I suddenly felt a pang of guilt. If I hadn't taken Little Bulb out for dinner with my sister that day, Malcolm wouldn't have had to leave work early to pick us up, wouldn't have gone to the baby store to check out cribs, and wouldn't have been photographed by those pesky paparazzi.
Malcolm might be a towering Best Actor in the public eye, but at home, he was an amazing husband.
Since Little Bulb was born, even though we have two nannies taking turns to help, Malcolm insisted on changing diapers himself whenever he was around.