"Mama's having a baby!" Solana announced to everyone at the grocery store, her seven-year-old voice carrying across three aisles.

"Solana!" I hushed her, my face burning red as shoppers turned to stare at my still-flat stomach.

"But you are!" she insisted. "You've been throwing up every morning, and Daddy's been bringing you crackers in bed."

"Very observant," I muttered to Dominic, who was trying not to laugh.

"She gets it from you," he said. "Nothing gets past the Rossi women."

I was ...