He Proposed. Seven Months Pregnant. On a Napkin. Perfect.

So Marcus took me back to Mitch’s Tavern last night. Same corner where I told him his music taste was pretentious indie garbage two years ago. Same sticky table. Same terrible lighting. Except this time, I’m seven months pregnant and waddling like a penguin in heels I probably shouldn’t be wearing.

He gets down on one knee RIGHT THERE in the middle of the bar, and my belly is literally in the way of the whole romantic moment.

He Proposed. Seven Months Pregnant. On a Napkin. Perfect.

Here he is this morning, proudly showing off the napkin where he sketched the ring design first because OF COURSE he did. My graphic designer boyfriend drew my engagement ring on a Mitch’s Tavern napkin and I’m not even mad about it.

I ugly-cried. Like, UGLY ugly-cried. Mascara everywhere, pregnant hormones in full swing, the bartender actually applauded when I said yes. Some random stranger bought us drinks – mine was water because, you know, baby. Marcus looked at me – swollen feet, messy hair, seven months of baby stretching my dress – and said I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Very on-brand for us.

The ring is perfect. Modest, classic, exactly what I would have chosen if he’d asked (which he didn’t, but the napkin sketch was surprisingly on point). We’re getting married, you guys. With a baby. This is happening.