“Well, of course, but you'll eventually be able to do what you love again...” Maybe. Hopefully. “I was sort of joking, anyway,” she mumbled. “I still want you to have time to paint and whatnot. That wasn't part of the joke.”
The fact of the matter was, she'd told him all she knew about what happened and what she thought might've caused it. Some things were as much a mystery to her as they were to anyone else. “All right, so it was a stupid thing to say. I was aiming for some optimism there. I only meant I'd try to do the things I've been doing differently.”
Leah frowned, irrational anger rising. “I have been relying on you and everyone else for basically everything these last few weeks. I take walks, I sit around on my ass and rest, I look after Marigold, and the yoga I've been doing a couple mornings a week involved stretching, not contortion. I don't know what the fuck more you want me to do or what more I should stop doing, but if it makes you worry less that I'm trying to hurt our baby, I'll do it.”
“I plan to.” She didn't see anything wrong with her idea. Not all kids were born in a hospital room.
She nodded and started out the door again, glad to be leaving such an intimidating place as the infirmary.