Page 82 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
Georgie startled. “Sorry! Sometimes, I forget I’m holding it. I’m so used to carrying it everywhere,” she answered, setting Faby on the kitchen table, then swallowed past the lump in her throat.
This was it. No more mannequin infant—at least, for the next few hours. But they were ready. They’d practiced diapering and feeding. Yes, it was on a doll, but it was better than nothing.
“You’re going to spend some time with Georgie and Jordan tonight, big guy,” Thad said to his son before placing the child in her arms.
And…wow!
The little boy looked up at her with twinkling eyes, pursed his real baby lips, then blew another raspberry.
“You’re very good at making that noise,” she said, holding the child’s gaze and swaying side to side.
The motion came naturally as she adjusted the baby in her arms. Not surprising, Ollie weighed a heck of a lot more than Faby. But it wasn’t only his size that had her heart hammering. The warmth of him and the gentle movement of his chest as he breathed sent, not a shiver through her body, but more of a wave—a calming shift, triggering a soothing sensation.
She felt her husband beside her and met his gaze. The mountain of a man patted the baby’s head as a look of wonder overtook his features, and she knew he was thinking the exact same thing as she was.
In a matter of months, this would be their life.
“Here’s the bottle,” Briana said, handing it to Jordan, then retrieving her purse from where it sat on the kitchen island.
Thad’s face lit up. “We don’t have to take the diaper bag with us tonight.”
“Or the stroller or the wearable sling,” Briana listed, grinning ear to ear.
“Or the baby booster seat,” Thad finished.
Georgie glanced between the parents, who’d grown positively giddy.
“We’ve got the emergency numbers tacked to the fridge, and you can’t miss Ollie’s room. It’s the one with the crib. He’s already in his pajamas. So, you should be good to go,” Briana said over her shoulder as she and Thad high-tailed it down the hall and out the door.
And then, it was the three of them.
Georgie glanced around the kitchen, hardly able to believe that she and Jordan were truly tasked with caring for a human baby.
“I think they wanted a night out,” she said, staring at the closed door.
“You’d have to be pretty desperate. I don’t know if I would have left my kid. You accused the dad of leading a double life, and I asked them if they’d enrolled their child in an infant football league,” he replied, running his hand down his face and shaking his head when little Ollie opened his mouth and belted out quite a yawn.
“I think this fellow is ready for bed,” Jordan said softly.
As if on cue, Ollie nuzzled into her and let loose another sleepy yawn.
“He’s awfully relaxed,” she replied, adjusting her hold on his cherub-chub body.
Jordan looked around. “Where do you think we should give him his bottle? Out here or in his room?”
She scanned the kitchen that led into a cozy living room. “Briana said he liked to be rocked, but I don’t see a rocking chair out here.”
“Let’s try his room,” Jordan said, then turned to head toward the other side of the house.
“Wait,” she called.
“What is it?”
She grinned up at him. “Why don’t you carry the baby.”
“Me?” he asked with a stunned expression.
“Yeah, it’s amazing. You’ve got to hold him.”
