“I’ll bring him to you.” He stood up and went to Foster’s room.
I laid my head back down and closed my eyes.
“Babe,” Dodger said.
Fuck was he back already? I opened one eye and he was standing over me holding the baby. I could have sworn he just walked out of the room. A few seconds sleep wasn’t enough time. I sat up and took our son. Thankfully he didn’t take long to eat and pass back out. The one good thing about Foster was that he never got his days and nights mixed up. And honestly, we were pretty lucky considering he would take three hour stretches between feedings or waking. We’d only just put him in his own room. When we came home from the hospital, I wanted the baby right next to me. I found out though that I was waking up to every grunt and noise he made, even if he wasn’t waking. The lack of sleep was making me delirious. Dodger made the decision, much to my dismay, to put Foster in his own room so that we all slept a little better. He made the right choice. That first night, instead of waking up every hour, we went to that three-hour stretch. It was heaven.
The next morning when I walked out into the kitchen with the baby, I was happy to see Dodger standing against the counter with messy bed head and a cup of coffee in his hands. He passed it over to me, and took Foster.
“Jesus, that was a long night.”
“Mhmm.” I agreed.
“Any idea when babies start sleeping through the night?”
I almost laughed. “No. Remember, I’m a newbie too.”
“Fuck.” He looked down at Foster and smiled. “Good morning, little dude. How did you sleep, champ?”
“I think I’m going to look up Georgia law and if it’s wrong to drug your newborn to sleep twenty-four hours.”
“Macie,” Dodger scolded.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” I sat down at my usual spot. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Some. I can take Foster for a couple hours if you want to go back to bed.”
“No, it’s okay. I need to run to the grocery store in a bit anyway. Your mom asked if I could bring my deviled eggs again, and we are all out of relish.”
He poured another cup of coffee and Foster made a cooing noise. “Dinner better not be a shit show like it was last time. At least Wrigley will be back at school and he won’t be there stirring the pot.”
I kicked my foot up on the chair. “Don’t be so hard on him. Even you thought he was being funny. Now if he’d get his head out of his ass and see that Hadley girl has it bad for him, he’d be a whole lot better off.”
“Wrigley’s head can’t be removed unless it’s done surgically.”
Two weeks ago, I was ready to venture out of the house with the baby. I was becoming stir crazy not going anywhere. I had no clue what day of the week it was, if I’d showered, changed my underwear, brushed my teeth, up from down. Donna insisted that we come for family dinner. Wrigley was home for a short break and he wanted to meet his nephew. I was more than happy to go and get some fresh air.
We walked in the front door and Donna practically came running from the kitchen. She took the car seat with Foster in it and immediately started baby talking.
“There he is. I need to get my hands on my grandson.”
“Well, damn, Mom. We used to get a hug when we came in the door,” Dodger called after her.
She waved him off as she walked back to the kitchen. “We can hug later.”
I was still standing in the entry way, watching the exchange. I burst out laughing.
“Well, damn. You’re chopped liver.”
Dodger frowned. “I’m not the one that’s going to take it the worst. Wait until Camden gets here. He’s the ‘Golden Boy.’”
These boys . . . and they claim they aren’t momma’s boys.
We walked into the kitchen where Donna already had Foster out of his car seat and tucked under one arm while she was checking her roast with the opposite hand. I’d have to watch her and take notes. Donna had skills. My parents had come over after we’d gotten released from the hospital, my dad wanted to bring us food. Mom held the baby, and it was a little awkward. She got after me and said I was her only child and it had been years since she’s held a baby. She would get used to it again. My parents were so happy about Foster being here that they were already talking about family vacations and a new generation carrying on traditions. It absolutely melted me that they were so in love with him.
“How are you feeling, Macie?” Paul asked as he walked in from the garage.
“Pretty great actually. I just went in for my postpartum checkup and everything was as good as could be expected. Even better, I’m already at my pre-pregnancy weight.”
“I never doubted that you wouldn’t get back to your old size,” Donna interrupted.
“I noticed that ass was looking pretty fantastic.” Wrigley came strutting into the kitchen.
“Watch it,” Dodger warned.
I laughed. “Good lord, you boys are always getting after each other for flirting, yet you all do it.”
Wrigley shrugged and came to hug me. I noticed he was almost identical to Camden. Out with the high school boyish looks, in with a more masculine appearance. His jaw looked much more angular, and his brown hair was cut short. He had blue eyes just like Dodger, but everything about him was Camden.
“Do you see this, Mom?” Dodger pointed at me and Wrigley. “They are doing this thing called hugging.”
She looked up from Foster and sighed. “For heaven’s sake, would you come over here and give me hug so you stop griping.”
He went and wrapped his arm around her side. “Pretty perfect, don’t you think?”
“You did good, kid.”
“Let me take a look at the new little rug rat,” Wrigley said.
Donna twisted so he could see. Wrigley smiled down at him, and stuck his finger in Foster’s balled up fist. The baby was sleeping, but they still grasp even when they are napping.
“Cute kid,” he said nonchalant. “He’s all Macie.”
Dodger punched him in the arm. “This kid is a Brooks. Wait until he’s awake and you can see his eyes.”
“Hey now.” I looked at Dodger. “Some of those genes are me too.”
He back pedaled when he realized he may have insulted me. I really wasn’t though. He was right. Foster looked just like Dodger did as a baby, and I was okay with that.
Wrigley leaned in and said, “You certainly didn’t get this one from a good ol’ donkeypunch now did ya?” He laughed hysterically at his own joke.
Donna furrowed her brows and said, “What’s a donkeypunch.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Dodger growled at his little brother.
“Look it up on Urban Dictionary, Ma.”
I piped in, “No!” Shaking my head. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. Wrigley, I swear to god.”
“Sounds like it’s something that doesn’t need to be talked about.” She glared at her son.
He held up his hands in defense. “It’s a joke.”
“What’s a joke?” Camden asked.
Keegan came in sight and waved hi to me, but went straight to the baby. I better get used to it being that way from now on. Foster was the center of attention.