Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“For Mama,” our daughter said, handing me a giant hydrangea head she’d carefully cut with her little kid scissors.
I’d planted the Annabelles in the backyard for our first wedding anniversary, carefully placing them so she could see them from the kitchen window and the primary bedroom.
We were gathering some to put on the table for when I went to pick her and our third baby up from the hospital as soon as Zeno—late as ever—showed up to watch our other two.
To be fair, he’d gotten a lot better with time management (and life management) ever since he’d found the right woman to help figure out the correct systems to make their lives flow more smoothly.
But he would never be someone who showed up on time. Let alone early.
Still, the kids loved their Uncle Zen and his crazy tattoos and funny clothes.
“She’s going to love it,” I assured her, tucking it in with the others I’d already picked.
“Baby brother?” she asked, those big, round eyes making me want to scoop her up and give her a hug.
“Yes, baby brother will love them too,” I assured her.
She’d been very concerned about what the baby would and wouldn’t like. Would he like Goya (her personal best friend in the whole world)? Would her older brother’s loud way of dumping out his toy boxes make the baby cry?
She was taking the role of big sister very seriously. And she reminded me so much of her mother in that way.
Meanwhile, our son wanted to know how long until he could drag the baby around behind his bike. He didn’t love it when we adamantly told him “never.”
Our eldest didn’t remind me of either of us, looks aside. Or even any of my siblings. But there were moments, here and there, when I saw a bit of Matthew in him: the charm, the joy, the complete and utter disregard of consequences.
I wouldn’t lie and say there weren’t times when I missed Matt. Despite the betrayals and the lies, he’d been a huge part of my life for so long.
Besides, I could never truly hate the guy.
He was the one who brought the woman of my dreams into my life. He was the reason I had my wife and children.
Fate might have worked in strange ways, but I had to admit it got things right this time.
“Where are my niblings?” Zeno’s voice boomed through the house, making both of my kids squeal and run inside. Goya was close behind, tail wagging.
When I finished putting the flowers in a vase, I made my way out into the living room to find Zeno on the floor roughhousing with my son while my daughter looked for the art she’d made for her uncle amongst the pile of ones she’d made for everyone else in the family.
“You good?” I asked my brother, getting a thumbs-up as he got tackled.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.”
With that, I headed out and back to the hospital.
“How are you doing?” I asked her as she sat on the side of the bed in her going-home outfit, anxious to get out of the hospital.
“Well, I have ice in my underwear,” she said, shooting me a smile. “But good. Ready to go. They’re taking forever with the paperwork.”
“They always do. How’s he doing?” I asked, looking down at the baby in her arm.
“He’s got a set of lungs on him,” she said, shooting me a bemused, but tired, smile.
“Has he gotten the hang of latching?” I asked. We’d had the lactation nurse in three times since she delivered because he just didn’t seem to be getting the hang of it.
“Not really. Which might be why he is so grumpy. But when we get home, we can supplement with the bottle. Without the judgment,” she said with an eye roll for the lactation nurse who had been urging her not to use the bottle.
Of course, Blair wanted to nurse if at all possible. But we were also realists. And wanted what was best for the baby. Which was fed by any means necessary. Because a fed baby meant a full belly and a nice, long nap. Which was good for all of us. Especially this go around when we had two other kids at home who needed us.
“The kids picked flowers for you,” I told her. “Well, one of them picked. The other trampled. I’ll leave you to decide who.”
“Those flowers are going crazy this year.”
Whatever Blair was about to say was cut off by the wail from our son who, yeah, had quite the lungs on him.
Luckily, his screaming seemed to hurry our discharge papers.
Somewhere in the distance, the news was on the TV, telling a quick story about an American family—wife, husband, and two sisters—who’d just gotten arrested in Argentina for an elaborate scam.
But we were too distracted with our growing family to notice.