“Don’t want to miss a goddamn thing, Sunshine. So, yeah, just like that,” he says, pulling me to my feet and wrapping his arms around my shoulders, he bends at the knees and claims my mouth.
He kisses me thoroughly as the sound of our baby’s heartbeat echoes inside my head and I silently thank God for the first time since the tragic fire.
I thank him for letting me survive.
Because surviving wasn’t so bad.
Especially when I had so much to live for.
No, surviving was a blessing, the first of the many I have been granted.
Chapter Fourteen
I dare someone to tell me that being a mom is an easy job. While it is the most rewarding job I’ve ever had, it is also the most exhausting. I’m fucking tired as hell and if I’m being honest, I have no idea how my mother did it. I mean she was by herself with two kids and always seemed to hold it together. Me? I have a gallon jug of Carlo Rossi Sangria in the fridge at all times.
Eric is perfect.
The best little boy in the whole world—when he’s sleeping. The first few months was easy, he ate, slept and pooped. Then he turned eleven months and found his legs. Eric took his first steps and life as we knew it changed forever. He’s constantly running around, getting into things he shouldn’t be—hence the wine.
Between the work out I get from running after a toddler and the one Riggs gives me every night, I’ve officially lost all my baby weight. Don’t get me wrong there is no denying my body has changed from my pregnancy. I still have that bitch of a pouch above the scar from my cesarean and the stretch marks over my stomach never really faded much either. I’m okay with the changes though and that’s mainly because of Riggs. He calls my stretch marks my colors and tells me to own them. He tells me the scar hidden under my panty line is my patch, branding me Eric’s mom. He takes the MC thing a little too far but with him it’s go big or go home. It’s all part of his larger-than-life personality.
“Eric, no!” I groan as he grabs a handful of SpaghettiOs and flings them at me. He giggles mischievously. Yeah, there’s no denying Eric’s got his daddy’s personality.
Heaven help us all.
“That’s a bad boy,” I scold, wiping the spaghetti sauce from my cheek, sure I missed some as I dig the spoon back into the dish and try to feed him some more.
I try to make those silly airplane sounds and bring the spoon to his mouth only for him to smack it away with his chubby hand and shake his head.
Yeah, I was acing this motherhood gig.
I shove the spoon into my mouth and take a bite. Don’t judge me, at least it’s not one of those puff things that melt in your mouth. Usually, Eric and I share a tub of those for lunch.
“Okay, you’re done,” I declare as he smashes the few SpaghettiOs that fell onto the table into his shirt. I unclasp the harness from his body and lift him out of the chair, placing him down on his feet and watch as he waddles off into the unknown.
I take a minute to throw the bowl and spoon into the sink, figuring that’s how long I had until he made another mess out of something. Riggs baby-proofed the apartment, well, sort of. He bought those foam noodles you buy for the pool, cut them in half and duck taped them to every straight edge and sharp corner. I tried explaining to him they sold all sorts of gadgets, and he didn’t have to make his own but there wasn’t any way to convince him. The other day when Eric started opening the cabinets, I went to Babies R Us and bought the baby proof locks before Riggs engineered some sort of device to keep them closed.
The thing about baby proof locks is sometimes they work so well the adults can’t open them either. The locks went out the window when Riggs wound up pulling the cabinet off the hinge. Now, if you look at our kitchen, there are chain links tied around the knobs, and every cabinet is secured with a padlock. I don’t even remember the code to open the fucking things and gave up trying to figure them out.
I turn around just in time to watch Eric rip his diaper off and run around the coffee table naked.
Please don’t poop.
Please don’t pee.
The doorbell rings as I chase Eric around the table, attempting to put a new diaper on before I had a bigger mess. I’ve learned how to put his diaper on while he stands. I’m like a damn magician when it comes to those things, that Brady Bunch lady ain’t got nothing on me.
I grab Eric, lift him in the air as the bell rings again and yank the door open just as my sweet baby boy pees all over me.