Page 131 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“Or a pineapple sherbet seltzer?” Becca chimed, holding up a pitcher of a godforsaken lumpy mixture.
Georgie stared out at their friends and family, then her gaze landed on him.
Her bottom lip trembled. “What if our child wants to enter beauty pageants? There will be so many things out of our control, Jordan. Maybe keeping the pregnancy from my mom was my attempt to hold on to some semblance of control? And more than that, is our child going to think we don’t have his or her best interest at heart? What kind of mother will I be? Will I be a total control freak and not allow them to figure out who they want to be? Am I strong enough to let them reject everything I stand for to allow them to find their way?”
Sweet self-help soliloquy! This got deep quickly.
The room erupted into a flurry of reassuring comments when he said the only thing that he thought could ease her mind—or at least distract her from her worries.
“I signed up a dual sex baby for toddler trombone lessons and the baby NFL.”
The chatter stopped.
“You did what?” Georgie asked as Barry took a step toward him, camera in hand.
This guy was going to hit the baby shower bizarro moments mother lode.
“What’s a dual sex baby?” Hector asked, sharing a look with Bobby, who shrugged.
Jordan looked out at the group of people, all staring at him as if he had ten heads.
“It’s a baby with a penis and a vagina,” came one of the blue-haired brigade members, holding up her smartphone.
“Georgie’s baby has a penis and a vagina?” asked another.
“This is what the phone says.”
Becca frowned and crossed her arms. “I didn’t think you learned the sex! That could have helped me with planning the games and added a whole new dimension to this party. The only interesting baby game I could find on the internet was when you melt a bunch of different chocolate bars into diapers to make it look like poop. Then, everyone gets a taste of each baby candy poop diaper, and they have to guess which candy bar it is,” Becca said, her pout still in place.
Brice winced. “Oh no! I ate them all. I didn’t think you needed those for the shower.”
Jordan raised his hands to get the group’s attention. While he was grateful they wouldn’t have to sample chocolate baby poop, he needed to clarify the dual sex baby comment.
“What I meant was that I made up a boy and a girl baby profile and put our child on two waiting lists.”
“I thought we agreed not to do that?” Georgie said with a pinched expression, which could either mean she was pissed or having another Stevie Nicks practice contraction.
“We did,” he conceded.
“Then why did you do it?”
He held her gaze. It was the moment of truth.
“Maybe for the same reason you didn’t tell your mom—wanting some control over the unknown.”
Her lips twisted into the hint of a grin. “You really are the Emperor of Asshattery.”
He grinned right back at her. How he loved this woman!
“We can’t have you being the only one freaking out about losing control,” he said, leaning over to press a kiss to her temple.
“I think you guys are missing the point,” Brice said, through a bite of a pineapple scone.
“And what’s that?” Georgie asked.
“Control is an illusion. Things always change, Georgie,” Brice said, tossing the final bite into his mouth, then reaching for another flaky pastry.
Georgie leaned forward and stared at the man. “Did you call meGeorgie?”
