Page 35 of Better Than Baby
I deleted the message without listening to it, shut off my computer, and headed home.
thirteen
Aaron loved Christmas.
He really, really loved it.
Seriously. He decorated two trees—one for the living room and another in the great room. Our dinnerware and glasses were holiday themed. There were Santa pillows strewn on the sofa, evergreen and cinnamon candles were…everywhere, along with random Christmassy knickknacks.
He also put fresh wreaths with red bows on the windows and an extra-large one on the front door. There were lights on the roof, a reindeer on the lawn, and poinsettias in pots on the porch. It was a lot, but it was very pretty. Our house could have been featured in any home and garden magazine dedicated to seasonal entertaining. And trust me, we did a ton of entertaining.
We hosted family and friends, and included Lena in almost every gathering. Aaron’s rationale was that this time next year, we’d have a little one to consider and we’d probably want to step away from big parties for a while.
It was all fun and lighthearted. Even my parents’ weeklong visit between Christmas and New Year’s Day hadn’t been so bad.My mom was over the moon about being a grandma again, and the baby was the only thing on her mind.
The biggest challenge had been ignoring her meddlesome opinions regarding the nursery. She was convinced the colors were all wrong, the lighting was garish, and that the blinds would let in far too much light. She didn’t realize that Aaron had purposely left the room unfinished to avoid any unnecessary clashes or bad mother-in-law juju. His words, not mine. He told her we wanted to wait till after the baby shower, and in a twist, that ended up being a good call.
Jay and Peter went all out on the “winter wonderland” catered event. There had to be fifty or sixty people at their house, which was decorated like Narnia, the baby-friendly version, with paper icicles and faux snow-flocked trees. It was beautiful and heartwarming. Everyone showed up and literally showered us with enough clothing and baby goods to open our own store.
I had no idea how to use some of these things. For instance…
“Cool, thank you. Uh…is this a coffeemaker?” I’d asked, brow creased in confusion.
Aaron had snickered. “No, honey. It’s a portable baby formula maker.”
“Oh, right.”
And then there was a white-noise machine. What the actual fuck was that supposed to do?
“That, my friend, is a godsend,” Jay had gushed. “It will lull your little one to sleep and block out all kinds of pesky sounds that might disturb precious slumber. You will love this!”
Okay.
There were travel packs, bottles, nipples and brushes to clean them, toys, and pint-sized socks that fit on my thumb. And diapers, baby wash, soft towels with animal-themed hoodies, and two infant bathtubs.
We’d been overwhelmed…and touched, too. To be surrounded by loved ones who’d supported us from the very beginning and were thrilled to be part of our child’s future wasn’t something we took lightly.
It was an amazing holiday, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait to resume our usual schedules in January. We each had to wrap up a few professional obligations to prepare for paternity leave.
I finalized contracts, forwarded incoming work to my staff, and spent my spare time assembling bookshelves, strollers, and of course, the crib while Aaron sorted through the mounds of baby clothing we’d received at the shower. He washed and organized teeny-tiny outfits, onesies, crib sheets, and receiving blankets—and somehow managed to record multiple podcasts to be sure he had content to spare.
And once the last item had been laundered and the go-bag was packed and sitting next to the door, there was nothing to do but wait. All the fear and apprehension had been replaced by a sense of wonder and optimism. There were no legal loopholes, no surprises on the horizon other than finding out if we were having a boy or a girl.
It was all good.
And then…this happened.
Buzz buzz
“I was going to make a salad, but there’s a lot of veg in the pot pie. Do you think we need it?”
“Salad. Good.” I squinted at the flat-screen, my gaze locked on the Steelers’ QB as he scanned the field looking for an open man. “Throw the fucking ball. Metcalf is open. Go, go, go.”
Aaron snorted. “Salad good? These endless football soirees are turning you into a caveman, Matty.”
“Sorry, I—” I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees when the ball flew toward the end zone. Terrible pass. We were down by three with one minute left on the clock. If this playblew up, the season was over. And…sure enough, the ball was intercepted at the five-yard line. “Fuck.”
Buzz buzz