Page 47 of That Baby (That Boy 3)
Angel runs out of the closet with a pair of my underwear in her mouth. She's always stealing dirty clothes out of the hamper.
"Angel, no! Give," I say in the deepest version of my voice.
The dog grins at me, pink lace hanging out of her mouth, and runs around the room, throwing my underwear up in celebration.
"Angel, no. Give," Phillip says.
The dog stops, sits on her butt, and drops the underwear.
"I hate you," I say to Phillip as he picks up my underwear and hands Angel a chew toy in return. "How was your run?"
"It was good," he says walking into the bathroom and stripping off his sweaty clothes. "Danny joined me."
"You got on his ass last night."
"He deserved it. Not to compare Lori to a dog, but if he doesn't let her know who's boss, she's gonna keep acting like that."
"We offended her, Phillip."
"No, we didn't. We took care of her child as a favor and did a damn good job of it. She should have thanked us. And if she didn't want us to give her baby formula, she should have given us enough breast milk to last. The reason Danny went running with me is because he wanted to know everything we did last night. Apparently, Lori nursed Devaney when they got home and Devaney was crying again."
"Interesting," I say, getting out of bed to brush my teeth.
"What are you wearing?" he asks.
I look down at the blue skull cotton boy-short undies of Phillip's that I have on. They are all I have on. "I stole your underwear. They're comfortable because the waist is big and they fit low on my hips just under my bump. You got them in the white elephant Christmas gift exchange, I didn't think you'd mind."
Phillip leans his sweaty body into mine. "Oh, I don't mind at all. In fact, I think they're pretty damn sexy."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dear Baby Mac,
We are starting our eighth month! We're on the homestretch here.
Although, from everything I have read, this is when women start to get uncomfortable. I remember Danny telling us how Lori had bought a body pillow about this time.
I didn't get a pillow. I just drape myself over your dad.
So far, he doesn't seem to mind.
You're about 4 lbs. and while we get everything ready for your arrival--like buying those teeny little diapers, adorable onesies, and getting the nursery ready--you are getting ready to be born. You're practicing breathing, kicking, sucking, and swallowing.
Chelsea and I have been talking and texting a lot. It's nice to have someone to go through all this with. I was worried about her last week because she'd been having fainting spells. They were concerned about gestational diabetes, but it turns out her blood sugar was just getting a little low, so she has to make sure she's having snacks in between meals. After a long search, she and Joey found a really cute house about five miles from where we live in one of the neighborhoods they really liked.
We purchased a super safe--as in your father researched them for days--carseat. So we're ready for your trip home from the hospital.
I haven't been jogging as much. I was having some shortness of breath and it freaked your dad out. But the doctor says it's just because my uterus is pushing up against my diaphragm, which is completely normal. He says once you drop in preparation for birth, it will go away.
Speaking of that. You've been giving me a lot of swift kicks to the ribs. I don't know what all you're doing in there, but you must be having a good time.
I'm a little worried about something though.
I'm afraid when you're older that you won't mind me.
Why, you ask?
Because I'm failing as a dog parent.
Angel NEVER listens to me.
August 6th
All look the same.
"Phillip! You're finally home!" I say as he steps into the house. I grab his hand and drag him into the nursery. "I need your help!"
"Well, my first piece of advice would be to paint the walls all one color," he jokes, scanning the nine different squares of blue painted on the walls.
"Very funny. Tell me which one is your favorite."
"Uh," he says, his eyes moving from swatch to swatch. "Can I be honest?"
"Yes, I want your honest opinion."
"They all look the same to me."
"Phillip, they aren't the same!" I point to the color closest to me. "Like this one, see how it's more blue? Almost a baby blue?"
"Mhm."
"And this one, see how it's got a more yellow undertone and is a little more aqua colored."
"Okay," Phillip says. "Which one is your favorite?"
"No, I want you to tell me which one is your favorite." Phillip starts fidgeting. "Do they really all look the same to you?"
"They all look blue," he says. "But okay, this one looks too baby blue, which I don't think we want since it's supposed to be gender neutral, right?"
"Yes! Keep going."
"This one looks really washed out. This one, here," he says, pointing to my favorite, "is more grey. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"That's my favorite. Do you like it?"
He pulls me toward him, my bump hitting his stomach. "You're my favorite," he says. "I can't believe you picked out all these colors."
"I want the perfect shade, Phillip."
"That's part of why I love you. Although we're getting close and, so far, we haven't made much progress in here. All we have is the changing table and a whole lot of clothes. Will it be done in time?"
"I hope so. The painters will be here this week. I've ordered the crib. I've got more swatches coming in for the rocking chair, but I needed to choose the paint color before I made a final decision. I ordered the chandelier and when the electrician installs it and the twinkle lights, he's going to add a dimmer. I have some curtains picked out but I was waiting to decide which color pompoms I want on the edges of it. I still need to find a rug . . ."
Phillip laughs. "Okay, I got it. You still have a lot to do."
"Yeah, but even if it's not completely ready in time, that's okay. The first few weeks the baby will sleep in its bassinet in our room. Trust me, the crib is so gorgeous it's worth the wait."
"I'm sure it will be. What is that big box in the garage?"
"Oh my gosh, Phillip. Your mom is going crazy buying stuff for the baby. That is a Little Tikes play kitchen. It's for ages two and up."
"There's more than just a kitchen. I could barely get my car in."
"Yes, we're going to have to find a home for all the toys she's buying. There's a slide and a basketball hoop too. I'm thinking we're going to need a playroom."
"Where do you want to put it?"
"That's what I've been trying to decide. You want a playroom close to where you're going to be. So most people want them by their kitchen, so that they can cook and stuff while the kids play. Once we have kids, I'm going to want to work from home, so it would make the most sense to have it upstairs by my office. But I don't want to take up another one of the bedrooms, especially if we really do want four or five kids. It'd just be a short-term solution. So I was thinking we have that big room down in the basement that we're not doing anything with right now."
"That's supposed to be my future home theater," Phillip says tentatively.
"I know, but what if we eventually finished the storage space under the garage instead? It's got a lower ceiling and is all concr
ete. The acoustics will be amazing. And we spend a ton of time in the basement. So while we have our friends over to watch football, the kids could be in the next room playing. There are French doors out to the backyard, so when they are older, they can go outside and play and I'll still be able to keep an eye on them."
"So you want to make that room both your office and a playroom?"
"Exactly. It's not something we need to do right away though."
"Actually, I'd prefer to do it now while we're not busy with a baby. What do you want to do with the room? Have you thought about it?"
I can't help but chuckle.
He grins. "Of course you have. Did you draw it up for me?"
I drag him downstairs, get him a beer, sit him at the island, and run to grab my dream house book.
"Ahh!" I scream. "Oh, shit!"
Phillip comes rushing into the laundry room. "What's wrong?"
I point at the gnome, whose head is sticking out of my tote bag.
Phillip's face breaks into a wide grin.
"Why are you smiling?" I glare at him. "Did you put it there? You can't do that! I've heard pregnant women can pee if they get scared!"
"I didn't do it."
"Then why do you look like that cat who just ate the canary?"
"Danny must have done it before he left for training camp. It's been a while since we've played the gnome game. I think it's a good sign. Like maybe he's getting back to normal."
"Gosh, I sure hope so."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dear Baby Mac,
While you are packing on the pounds, you are also adding to your brain. Making it bigger and getting smarter. They say, anytime now, you will move into a head-down position that will make it easier to start the birthing process.
But if I were you, I might wait a while before I did that.
Standing on my head for six weeks would give me a massive headache.
Your playroom, my office, and your nursery are coming along nicely. Really, your nursery is completely done except for two things.
The crib and rocking chair that I ordered are still not in, but we have plenty of time.
I'm starting to have Braxton Hicks contractions.
The doctor calls them practice cramps and says they are my body preparing for the big day.
