Page 141 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
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Jordan
“The baby’s coming! This is it, Georgie!”
His wife stared at him, looking as bewildered as he felt.
“What do you mean this is it? We have to have brunch first. We’re going to have the shower here. Aren’t we supposed to eat chocolate baby poop? And we haven’t picked up any cookie dough, and we don’t even have my hospital bag,” she rambled, the moment hitting her like a ton of bricks.
“Eat what?” Lorraine exclaimed.
“Remember, Virginia, I ate all the candy bars,” Brice called.
Two for four—poor bastard.
“Okay, so no chocolate baby poop,” Georgie repeated. “But, what about my bag? We don’t have it. And what about Mr. Tuesday? He’s at the shop.”
“I’ll call the store and let Talya and Simon know that they’re on dog duty. They’ll make sure he’s taken care of,” Becca said, pulling out her cell.
“Mia and Mya are with them at the shop. Tell them to take Mr. Tuesday to my house when they bring the girls home,” Maureen added.
A flurry of activity buzzed around them as a life-altering event materialized before them.
He cupped Georgie’s face in his hand. “See, we’re all good.”
“What about Faby? We didn’t even make a plan for our fake baby.”
“I’ll take care of your fake baby,” Brice called.
Georgie leaned forward as another contraction hit. “Can we trust him with Faby?” she bit out.
This was not the birth plan they’d been practicing, that was for damn sure!
“I think so.” He handed the doll over. “Just don’t pop Faby’s head off.”
Brice cradled the fake baby in his arms. “That’s what Briana says to me when I babysit Ollie, and he’s still in one piece.”
Jordan nodded, not one hundred percent reassured, but it was better than nothing.
“We have to get to the hospital. Lorraine, can we take your car? The one we came in is out of gas,” he called.
“You’ll never make it,” she answered with a Botox version of worry written all over her face.
“What do you mean? The hospital is only fifteen or twenty minutes away from here.”
“If Georgiana is anything like me, my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother, my great-great-grandmother, or my great-great-great-grandmother, this baby will be here in minutes.”
“Minutes?” he and Georgie echoed.
“Yes, the women on my side of the family have exceptionally short labor on account of our exceedingly flawless cervixes,” Lorraine explained.
Dr. Beaver must have been serious when he’d complimented Georgie’s lady parts.
“I can’t believe it!” Georgie replied, then gripped his wrist as another contraction hit.
But he believed it. They had to act—and fast.
“Help Georgie over here, so she can lie down,” his father called, removing the throw pillows from one of those fancy half-couch half-bed-looking things.
