Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“He’s going to love it and will appreciate it more after,” she says softly, referring to the photo on my phone.
When the photographer started bringing out the props, we went with the traditional ones. The sleeping baby snuggled on a billowy cloud, him wrapped tightly in a blanket in a basket, and even one of him sleeping on his belly, his knees tucked under him and his cute little bare butt up in the air. Of course, we had to move quickly on that one so we didn’t have a Peegate incident all over her photo display.
Gwen had brought one of Harrison’s All Fit tees. The photo they took was of Sophia sitting on a wooden crate, her cute little baby rolls on full display. She’s holding the shirt, the name of the gym proudly visible, while eating the sleeve. It was the cutest stinking thing ever, and wasn’t completely staged that way. So when it came time for Milo’s photos, I asked to use the shirt too. For Chase’s version, the photographer laid it out and positioned the baby boy right below the logo. Milo was awake by then, his blue eyes gazing up at me, so bright and trusting. That’s when she snapped the photo.
“I hope so,” I finally reply, looking down one last time at the moment captured on my phone.
“And the other one, you did the right thing there too.”
My eyes burn, and this time, I’m unable to stop them. Silent tears fall as I think about the other photos we took. The ones with Milo sleeping on the U.S. Army jacket. It was another impromptu take, but the moment I saw the old jacket hanging with the other props, I knew it was needed. The photographer explained it was her husband’s jacket, and she’ll occasionally use it as a prop for military families who may not bring in their own memorabilia.
I don’t reply with words, but choose to nod instead. I’m not sure I could get words past the massive lump in my throat. Fortunately, I’m saved from the painful emotions bubbling to the surface when our server arrives, relaying today’s lunch specials. Gwen and I each order a sandwich and water, with a shared order of fried green beans.
When she walks away, I wipe my face and change the subject. “Harrison’s going to work you out extra hard tonight because of those fried beans.”
My sister looks down at the table and smiles. “I think he’ll go easy on me.”
There’s no missing the way her cheeks blush and a beautiful smile crosses her lips. In fact, if I had to wager a bet, I’d say she was glowing….
“No!” I holler, drawing the attention from those around me.
“Shhhh!” Gwen hisses back at me.
“You’re pregnant?” I whisper, practically bouncing in my seat.
“Shhhh! No one knows yet. Well, no one besides Harrison,” she mutters, glancing around to make sure our conversation isn’t overheard.
“How far along are you?” I ask quietly, not wanting to spoil her secret.
“Not far. About six weeks. We haven’t even been to the doctor yet,” Gwen says.
“Holy shitballs,” I state, looking over at my beautiful niece sitting in the high chair. “I thought you wanted to wait.”
“I did,” she practically growls, “but apparently Harrison’s supersperm had other ideas.” Gwen sips at her water, trying to look annoyed, yet I can tell by the hint of excitement on her face, she’s anything but.
“Well, congratulations. Or should I say congrats to my brother-in-law’s supersperm.”
“That’s not necessary. Harrison’s ego is already inflated enough. He doesn’t need any more accolades to the fact he knocked up his wife while she was on birth control.”
I giggle and glance over at the baby in the carrier sitting beside me. Milo is wide awake, watching my every move. I smile instantly and unbuckle his straps. He fits so comfortably in my arms, and that familiar feeling of melancholy slips up my spine and stabs me in the heart. “So, let me get this straight,” I start, taking the bottle of nursery water from the diaper bag and pouring in the formula. “Last week, when you came over and chewed my ass for not telling you about Milo yet, you were pregnant.”
Gwen takes a bite of a cracker from the breadbasket. “I didn’t know.”
With Milo latched on to his bottle, I glance back across the table. “Are you nervous this time around?”
She shrugs. “A little. I’m trying not to worry.” Gwen had gestational diabetes while pregnant with my niece, which resulted in a lifestyle change for a few months. Her husband went a little overboard with the overprotectiveness, always making sure she was eating right, exercising, and feeling okay. I understood his concern, his fear, but my sister said it was a bit suffocating at times.
Milo finishes his bottle just as our food is delivered. The moment I smell the deep-fried grease, my stomach rolls and I break out into a sweat. I realize what’s about to happen in just enough time that I’m able to hand Milo to my shocked sister and run to the bathroom. The moment my knees hit the floor in front of the toilet, I empty my stomach contents, trying not to think about the fact I’m kneeling in a public bathroom with my head in the toilet.