Page 81 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
Georgie caressed her little bump. “A couple days shy of eighteen weeks.”
“That’s when I was itching to tell everyone I was pregnant and not some wild woman downing pints of tapioca pudding.”
Georgie switched Faby to her other arm. “When did you share your pregnancy news?”
“A little after I was twenty-two weeks along. After the ultrasound where we found out the gender and learned this sweet boy was on his way,” Briana answered, tapping the tip of her baby’s nose.
Georgie shared a glance with her husband. “You did? You waited that long?”
Briana blew out a tight breath. “We did. My family is great, but they can go a little overboard. I’m not sure if you can relate.”
“I can,” Georgie replied, and the worry she’d been carrying from the moment the first set of pink lines appeared waned a fraction.
Perhaps she wasn’t a terrible person for keeping her mom out of the pregnancy loop.
Briana opened a canister printed with a baby’s face, then frowned. “Thad, we’ll need to pick up some more formula on the way home tonight. We have just enough to make one more bottle.” She turned to them and sighed. “We’re constantly forgetting to buy baby formula at the grocery store. With me going back to work, we switched from breast milk a couple of weeks ago,” she finished, filling the bottle with water, then adding the last of the formula powder.
“Have you started him on solids yet?” Jordan asked, and Georgie’s ears perked up.
Someone has been doing a little late-night baby research.
“We’ve introduced a little bit of rice cereal,” Thad answered.
Jordan nodded, then shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Have you signed Oliver up for the baby NFL?”
Thad and Briana stared at her husband.
“There’s a football league for babies?” Thad questioned.
Jordan shook his head. “No, it’s not a baby football league. It’s something I’d heard a few dads talking about.”
The doctors nodded warily, but her husband didn’t seem to notice their perplexed expressions and pressed on.
“Have you looked into trumpet lessons or having your son play the viola?” he continued, and ding, ding, ding! Her little double life outburst was starting to look a lot less crazy.
At least she wasn’t the only one who would make a fool of themselves tonight.
Thad glanced at his son. “Oliver’s not even able to use a spoon. How would he hold a bow or manage a trumpet?”
“Great point!” Jordan replied, clearly going for nonchalance but tanking. “I’d heard a few things, here and there, when it came to raising a well-rounded child.”
“We’re going to let Ollie be a baby,” Thad answered.
Jordan gave an exaggerated nod. “Right! Because he is a baby. He’s a real baby. No offense, Faby,” he added, addressing the fake baby in her arms—as nutjobs do.
“Will Ollie need to be bathed?” she asked Briana, doing her best to change the subject.
It was that or stuff Faby’s head into Jordan’s mouth before he asked another wacky child-rearing question.
Briana shook the bottle, then tested a drop of the liquid on the back of her wrist. “No, Thad bathed him before you got here. It’s getting close to Ollie’s bedtime. All you’ll need to do is give him his bottle and rock him a bit. He’s a good little sleeper. I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble. Thad, why don’t you pass Ollie to Georgie and let him get used to her.”
The man, who was not her obstetrician, glanced at his wife.
“Honey, we’re getting a night out,” Briana said, raising an eyebrow.
“Right!” the guy replied, springing into action.
“Are you able to put the doll down?” Briana asked.
