âI know, I know, but Hanna-a,â it was his turn to whine now, âItâs still a picture of our baby, so itâs black and white, and blurry as hell, but itâs somethingâ He smiled, his attention still on the road, no matter how much he wanted to look at Hanna. âHey, donât insult my baby,â he chuckled, lifting one hand off the steering wheel, to rub at her stomach, âPlay nice for Mommy, okay, little one.â If he wasnât driving, then heâd be leaning down, speaking directly to her bump, but all he can do at the moment, is glance down.Â