Page 40 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“Then, it’s a boy,” he answered.
Georgie pursed her lips. “I get that, but wouldn’t it still be a little strange?”
“I would think a boy with no penis would be stranger,” he offered.
Were they debating a baby doll’s anatomy?
She stared at the diaper. “You’re probably right.”
Probably? But he wasn’t about to go there.
“Let’s just look,” he added, gingerly taking the doll from his wife.
He placed Faby on the coffee table and tried to pull the cloth diaper down like a pair of trousers.
“Am I doing it wrong?”
Georgie pointed to the side of the diaper. “I think there’s Velcro. Try that.”
“Good call,” he replied, peeling back the tiny strips of adhesive to reveal…
Now, he was the one cocking his head to the side. “There’s nothing.”
Georgie leaned in. “Is it a girl?”
He frowned and inspected the fake baby. “It’s like a Barbie or a Ken doll. Nothing downstairs.”
A mischievous grin pulled at the corners of his wife’s mouth. “How do you know what Ken and Barbie look like naked?”
“Hey, I had a very progressive mother. It wasn’t just race cars and robots lining my toy box,” he answered with mock incredulity before his chest tightened with emotion.
What would his mother think about how his life had turned out if she were still here?
His gaze traveled from the genderless toy doll to his wife. His mother would have loved Georgie. She would have adored Jensen’s Bookshop. The two would have talked classics until late into the night, debating the finer points ofPride and Prejudice. It was his mother’s love of reading that had led him to comic books after she’d passed away.
And those stories had become his escape after her death.
He’d find an isolated corner of the library and lose himself in the lives of Peter Parker and Clark Kent. In those moments, he wasn’t a scrawny, picked-on kid with a father wracked by grief. No, he’d become those superheroes, overcoming hardships, beating the villains, and saving the day.
“Look, Jordan,” Georgie said, pulling him from the past.
He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand as they watched Mr. Tuesday sniff and prod the mannequin infant with his nose.
“It looks like he approves of Faby, our no-sex baby,” Georgie remarked, patting the pup’s head.
“It’s got to be a good sign,” he answered, feeling pretty damn proud.
Look at them, introducing their beloved pet to a plastic model infant!
They were excellent dog parents. Sure, human babies were probably more work, but they’d get there. Granted, they didn’t have a clue about the baby NFL or fencing for toddlers—which, after everything he’d learned from the waiting room dads today, probably was a thing. But Lenny and Stu seemed well-connected in this new universe, baby-verse, whatever you want to call the phase of life they were about to enter. And despite their outfits, the men seemed as if they’d be able to provide them with everything they needed to know.
Baby 101, here they come!
He was about to tell his wife they should google toddler fencing to see if it existed when she gasped.
“What is it? Is it the baby? Do you need to hurl again? Should I get a bucket?” he blurted, morphing into a high-alert expectant father.
Georgie waved him off. “It’s nothing like that! I remembered that Irene said that Mr. Tuesday loved cuddling into her pregnant belly while we were in Fiji.”
