Ingrid was done being pregnant. One hundred and ten percent, absolutely, positively, done. Aside from the extra weight and obviously protruding belly that gave her a distinct waddle these days, the Florida heat made it even more unbearable. She was doing whatever she could think of, and had read on mommy-to-be sites, to induce labor, but baby Beauchamp was a stubborn little thing and hadn't budged. She'd contemplated going to the doctor and arranging to be induced, but she definitely wanted to do things naturally in their own time. So she had taken to walking and when Freya was free, it was wonderful sister time full of exciting talk of what the future held for them.
She had been strolling at a decent pace when a voice called out. Her long ponytail brushed over her shoulder as she turned to look toward it and gave a slight shake in response. "Gonna have to be more specific than that I'm afraid," she replied. "Quite a diverse group of people here and a lot of them have little ones."