Page 93 of The Game Plan
“Is it true you poop when you deliver?”
“Cody!” Brynn and Chloe shout, but it’s Chloe who smacks her boyfriend.
Sav giggles, and I turn the camera so they can see the sleeping bundle in her arms. Chaos erupts. It’s a cacophony of coos and awws.
“You guys! She’s beautiful,” Chloe says.
“You did great, Sav,” Brynn congratulates.
“Fatherhood looks good on you, Campbell,” Cody says.
I nod and look down at my girl. “Thanks, man. She makes it easy.”
“Q has a bye at the end of October; we were hoping to bring Cleo and come for a visit,” Brynn says, reaching down and picking up her daughter. “Cleo, meet your new bestie.”
Quinton and Brynn’s eight-month-old daughter stares at the screen and smiles.
“Hi, Cleo,” Sav coos as she adjusts Lennon. “Look, Len. This is Cleo. She’s your little bestie. Your only friend right now until Auntie Chlo and Uncle Cody add some chaos to the mix.”
Cody nearly chokes. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s slow down for a minute. Let me get a ring on her finger first.”
“Speaking of a ring… What the hell are you waiting for?” Brynn scolds.
“Relax, Wilder,” Q calms his wife.
The six of us catch up for a few more minutes. Sav talks about the delivery, and Cody gags some more. The conversation switches to football and mine and Q’s seasons. We ask Cody and Chloe how they’re adjusting to Cleveland—they love it. It feels like old times, and I’ve never been more grateful for technology.
When we hang up, the room settles into a soft hush again. Sav rests her head on my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer to my side.
“That was nice,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “But this part is better.”
She snorts, and Lennon makes a strange sound. “Sounds like someone dirtied her diaper.”
I slide my arm free and reach for my daughter. “I’ve got her.”
“Grant.” Savannah chuckles. “I’m going to have to change a diaper, eventually.”
“Eventually, but not right now. Rest, Peach. Let me take care of you while I’m home.”
She sighs. “This is a dream come true.”
And it is. This right here is better than my wildest dreams.
Our tiny living room has morphed into a makeshift nursery, with blankets and burp cloths scattered alongside laundry, both dirty and clean. The coffee table holds bottles I still need to wash and an empty coffee mug from this morning. Slowly, I’ve let the apartment transform into a disaster zone. But among the chaos, our daughter is curled in her Boppy next to me, bundled in a pink zip-up sleeper patterned with white bunnies. Her tiny chest rises and falls in rhythm with my typing.
My laptop warms my legs as I stare at the screen. On one side is my assignment, and on the other, a blank document mocking me with its emptiness. I’ve read over two of the three case studies required for my mock treatment plans. My eyes are blurry and unfocused, even though I know what I want to write. The plan exists in my head, but transferring it to the page feels like a battle when every thirty minutes I’m either rocking, changing, feeding, or mesmerized by the tiny girl who just arrived and completely changed my world.
I glance at the time and see it’s almost four. It’s been a little over an hour since her last bottle, and she should be asleep forthe next hour, in time for Grant to come home from the field. This is when I should be writing. I need to power through and finish this assignment. But instead, my eyes drift to Lennon.
It’s amazing how little newborns do. I was terrified I’d be drowning in meltdowns and dirty diapers. But so far, she’s been easy. Her sleep schedule is incredible, giving us four to six hours at a stretch at night. I stare at her soft features bundled in her swaddle, which she loves. There’s a soft whistle coming from her nose. A tiny dribble of milky drool dots the side of her face. As much as I want to wipe it off, I don’t, not wanting to risk waking her.
She’s my whole world.
But in the back of my mind, something is off.
Brynn reassured me that motherhood would come instinctively. That I’ll know what she needs, when she needs it. But mine aren’t exactly screaming confidence. There’s a lot of self-doubt floating around.
