Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Or how about we just bring the bassinet upstairs at night?” I shake my head. “We don’t need more baby gear. Our parents already have one of everything in their houses, just in case.”
I put my hand on his shoulder and lean down to kiss our son’s soft head before I kiss Jaxon’s lips. “How are you feeling, baby?”
“Sleep deprived,” I admit to him, “but couldn’t be more happy.” He reaches for my hand that has my ring on it, bringing it to his lips.
“Why don’t you go back to sleep?” he urges softly. “I’ll bring him in when he’s hungry.”
“Or you put him down,” I counter, “and come and hold me.” He looks at our son and then looks at me. “Wow, you even have to think about it, Jaxon Stevenson?”
“Baby, why don’t we bring him with us”—he gets up and I shake my head—“I’ll go get the bassinet and we can place him by the bed.”
“That means you are going to have to put him down to get the bassinet,” I tell him and he looks over at the crib and then down at his son.
“Okay, how about I just stay here and you can go back to bed,” he suggests, and I lean to kiss his lips and then kiss our son.
“I’m going to go and take a shower.” I turn to walk out of the bedroom. The idea of taking a shower now is the only thing I can think of.
“What if he wakes up and you are still in there?” The panic sets into his voice.
“I’m sure you’ll handle it,” I throw over my shoulder and walk away from them. It takes me a full thirty minutes in the shower and I even have time to wash my hair and then comb it out. I literally feel like a brand-new woman when I walk out of the bathroom and head to the closet, when I hear Jaxon’s voice coming from the monitor.
“We are going to change your diaper and then go in search of the goods,” he coos and I hear my son grunting.
I head over to my drawer full of lounge wear that my aunt had shipped to me the week before I gave birth. I pull on a pair of light gray lounge pants before slipping on one of my white nursing tanks, then grabbing the matching short light robe with wide sleeves. I walk out of the closet at the same time as Jaxon walks into the bedroom.
“There she is,” he announces to our son, who is now sounding like a squawking bird. “I told you she was coming.”
“I’m going to go and nurse him downstairs,” I tell him as I take him from his father.
“I’m going to jump into the shower.” He kisses me on the lips and his hand goes to my ass where he squeezes it and then groans. “Love you,” he mumbles to me and then kisses Jagger’s head. “You too, buddy.”
I walk down the steps with Jagger squirming in my arms. “It’s coming,” I tell him as he goes from zero to a hundred in three seconds. He also has his father’s temper and expects things to happen right away. I head over to the kitchen, filling my water bottle with ice and water. His voice is going higher and higher, as if we have been starving him for the past five days.
The front door opens and I hear two sets of footsteps. “Why is the baby howling like that?” I hear my father before I see him as I get comfy on the couch.
“Hey.” He walks in with Manning behind him, both of them dressed to go and play golf.
“We were going to play golf,” my father states, “and thought we would bring you guys some breakfast.” He holds up the brown bag. “Why is he crying?”
“Because my nipple isn’t in his mouth,” I tell my father, who comes over and kisses me on the head and then kisses Jagger, who is now moving his arms and legs.
“Do you want to eat and do that?” He points to the baby and then my chest.
“What did you get me?” I ask him and he opens the bag.
“A bagel with eggs, sausage, and cheese. Cup of fruit.”
“I’ll take the cup of fruit now,” I tell him, grabbing my nursing pillow, “and then eat the bagel when I hand him off.”
“He’s got a set of lungs on him, like his dad.” Manning smirks. “He was the worst, and he had zero patience.”
“He never grew out of it,” I mumble as I rub my hand up and down my son’s cheek. “It’s coming,” I tell him, placing his stomach toward my breast and pulling the top down before grabbing a blanket to cover myself. The room goes instantly quiet and he latches on and gulps down. “There you go.” I look under the blanket at him nursing with his hand in a fist lying on my breast. “You survived.”