''It's now or never, Bob. I'm 54.''

''What about Gracie?'' he replied, referring to our dog.

''She's fine with babies.''

So we took the plunge. Yes! We've been expecting - a puppy.

In January, the mom dog was nursing. I could have done it. Heck, I was lactating anyway when we'd visit.

I had so many symptoms, like mood swings and food cravings, that I found an e-newsletter for expectant moms: whattoexpect.com. I felt funny lying, so I registered Bob's name - Roberta. Under due date, I put Feb. 3. That's what we were told, so I wasn't lying.

Man, the final stage was no piece of cake. Actually it was, since that's all I ate.

''Bob, like the newsletter says, I can't sleep on my stomach!''

''I wonder why,'' he said, reaching for my chocolate cake.

''If you take that,'' I said, ''I will have to kill you.''

Roberta, I mean Bob, logged in. ''Welcome to the wonderful - and sometimes wacky - world of pregnancy hormones!'' He read that they were making me weepy. Plus, in a second, I could go from elated to furious. They advised not to take my fluctuating moods personally. I tenderly kissed his neck. He was having a hard time reading, with me eating behind him, shouting, ''Cake mine!'' while using my other arm to hold his neck in a headlock.

Later, while swirling around in a cleaning frenzy, I showed Bob that the Web site states my ''domestic overdrive'' was hormonally induced ''nesting.''

''You're not pregnant!''

''What do you call this?'' I pointed to my belly.

''A sports dome.''

I unscrewed every light bulb in the nursery to check for swarming wasps in the sockets. I inspected the puppy's crate for open scissors.

At dinner (cake), I cried. ''What if my water breaks in the supermarket?'' He kept eating - a salad. Ugh. ''Bob, that salad's smell makes me want to puke.'' He ate in the den.

I followed him, grabbed his salad and tasted it. ''Delicious.'' I kissed his forehead. But then the crying continued. ''Don't cry, Bob. It won't be long.'' Then I panicked, ''What if I deliver in a taxi?''

''You're not preg-'' He stopped because I was standing with his salad, poised to plop it on his head.

Roberta got daily e-mails. They said my worries were normal, but generations of women had given birth.

''Feel better now?'' Bob said, patronizingly.

''Generations of men are just plain dead! Feel better now?''

That night I said, ''There's no kicking! I need an ultrasound.'' Screaming this into Bob's ear resulted in waking him.

''They'll see a moving cake.'' It was hard hearing him with the pillow I put over his head.

''They said sex helps induce labor. Ready?'' He didn't seem ready. ''I want this thing out of me!'' I started breathing hard. ''These are breathing exercises - for labor. If I hyperventilate, get me a paper bag.'' He got one and put it over my head.

Well, Becky is finally home. I hold her to my chest so she hears my heartbeat. Since I'm retaining water, my belly makes a perfect seat.

As I look down at her beautiful face, I'm in awe of her innocence. She hasn't even seen a tulip.

Bob and I have ''our'' song. Her eyes close while I sing, ''I'll be loving you ... always.'' She nestles in the safety of my arms. ''With a love that's true ... always.'' I breathe in very slowly so I savor her sweet puppy breath. ''And if a bee should sting you, remember, 'Days may not be fair ... always.''' Her tiny body twitches in dreamland. ''That's when I'll be there ...

always'.''

''Not for just an hour. Not for just a day. Not for just a year. But ... always.''