Page 94 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
14
Georgie
“Georgie, you’ll never believe where I think we’re headed!”
She nodded but kept her eyes closed, hovering in that comfortably cozy place between being asleep and waking up.
After the botched hospital dry run followed by the lovely, yet ill-timed run-in with an officer of the law, all she’d wanted was to go back to bed. Her weary body ached to slide back under the covers. Then, after at least a solid two-hour nap, she’d wanted to wake to the scent of pineapple muffins warming in the oven. Jordan made them for her every morning before he assembled his protein shake.
Warm in bed, she’d lie there, savoring the warmth. The pregnancy was progressing without any problems. Their alien blueberry peanut was chugging along with no complications. And a few weeks ago, they’d succeeded at keeping baby Ollie alive. In fact, they’d done better. They’d enjoyed their time with the cherub-cheeked five-month-old.
She even felt like a million bucks on the Lorraine Vanderdinkle-front. They had a plan on how they would break the baby news to her mother and Howard that didn’t leave her wanting to crawl into a hole and disappear.
And on top of all that, she’d become a master organizer. She’d acquired ninja skills in the folding department. And there was no stopping her when it came to pantry prioritizing. In the wee, predawn hours this morning, she’d checked the use-by date on every canned good in the house, then fired up her laptop and knocked out an expiration date database. This feat of organizing excellence had earned a thumbs-up from her trifecta’s resident detail-oriented, fictional know-it-all witch, Hermione Granger.
Georgiana Jensen-Marks, organizer extraordinaire.
Did she have a nesting chip on her shoulder?
Possibly.
But feng shui had nothing on her!
She’d spark joy alphabetizing her bookshelf, then slip into something sparkly or frilly from back in the day and make sparks with her sexy bed-headed husband. Who would have thought that the pageant costumes she’d despised as a teenager would turn out to be so useful in the dirty girl department?
She inhaled, wondering if she’d entered afarting-without-knowing-itphase of her pregnancy. But all she smelled was crap—like, actual manure.
Could that be right?
She didn’t have a second to consider the smell when the gentle hum that had lulled her to sleep was replaced with a violent shake.
An earthquake?
Did they get earthquakes in Denver?
She jolted upright. “I’m awake! We have to get out of here!”
“Georgie, it’s just a gravel road,” her husband said with a reassuring pat to her leg.
She collapsed into the seat. “For a second, I forgot we were in the car.”
“You’ve been out like a light for most of the drive.”
She nodded and smoothed her dress. Thankfully, they’d had enough time to race home and grab a shower before leaving for the Battle of the Births event.
“Look, messy bun girl! Check out where the gender reveal challenge is being held,” Jordan said as they continued up the bumpy road, and her jaw dropped—like,catch-all-the-fliesdropped.
“The baby goat yoga farm?” she said, hardly able to believe her eyes.
“Yeah, crazy, right?”
She rested her hands on her baby bump. “Thank goodness I was able to cure you of your goat phobia. Who knows what kind of scene you would have made today?”
Jordan chuckled. “I’m a lucky guy,” he said and rested his hand on top of hers.
“A lucky guy who’s no longer afraid of baby farm animals, but alpacas—”
“Hey,” he shot back, cutting her off playfully. “We agreed. Alpacas can be real assholes when they want to be.”
