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Chapter Twenty Five: It's Been a Hard (Few) Days' Night(s)
Hannah's POV
It had only been a few hours since Punk had left to go back on tour, and already I was feeling the strain. I was so used to him being around, like he had been for the past few months, and even the few times he had flown out to wrestle, he made his trip as short as possible and sacrificed sleep to take the red-eye flights back so he could be home quicker. He even flew out a few days before my due date, keeping me on edge for hours. Well, I was with Edge—and the rest of the guys while he was doing Monday night's show. To say I was relieved when I saw him when he got home was an understatement. Even though he was tired, jet-lagged and still in pain from the injuries he sustained at the last pay-per-view, he knew I was in more discomfort then he was, and he flew home as soon as possible to be with me—and he didn't want to miss the birth of our first child. I told him that if he missed it, he would never—and he knew I meant never, hear the end of it. I was so incredibly happy when he arrived home, slightly disheveled from his flight, but still my handsome husband. The guys were also relieved to have Punk back, not having to attend to my ever whim and need. I was not fun to be around—a lovely heat wave coursing through Chicago, in combination with being nine months pregnant had me on the verge of insanity, the guys most likely as well. Punk had asked them to take care of me while he was gone—which was only two days, because he knew I wouldn't be able to get around and do things for myself. The guys had no problem pitching in and helping, until I yelled at all of them (multiple times); insulted them (only a handful of times); and cried in front of them (about every hour). When Punk came home, I thought everything was better and it was—he being home made me more relaxed even though I was far from comfortable. I had grown so uncomfortable in my last two weeks of pregnancy, and if I thought I needed him to do stuff for me before then, the last few weeks were the worst—I was more than thankful when Matthew was born and I no longer needed to depend on him so heavily. I didn't realize until he was gone how much I did depend on him though. Not having my husband was harder than I thought it was going to be, and it had only been a few hours—how was I going to survive the whole week, only for him to do it all again.
After Punk left, I had to change Matthew, feed him and take Rocky out for a walk—meaning I had to carry Matthew on my chest in the sling. It took me a little longer than usual to get out of the house, even for a small outing without the other pair of hands I had become accustomed to having around. I managed to deal with the outing, and walked the short distance back to the house. I let Rocky off his leash and ascended the stairs, intent on putting my baby down in his bassinet. Once I tucked him in, I got settled in bed, opened my laptop and began to write. I wasn't writing like I usually was—either emails to the members of my publishing house, or parts of my novel like I had been last year. I just felt this overwhelming need to write, and considering my lack of company, I did. I had no goal in mind—no topic I needed to describe in length, so I simply wrote about what I was feeling at the moment. It was always easier for me to write down my emotions, rather than trying to convey them out loud, my delivery and anxiety always getting in the way. I started to write about how alone I felt, but the second the words left my brain and were transferred onto my computer screen, my finger slid over to the backspace key and deleted it all. I knew I wasn't alone—I may be alone for the time being, but I was not alone. I still had my husband, even if he couldn't be with me at the moment; I knew it wasn't by choice, and that he was doing for Matthew and I, and not to hurt us. I looked over to my sleeping infant, and I realized the sacrifices my husband was making for him, and I hoped—no I knew one day that he would understand all that his father did for him—for us. I began writing, the words flowing out of me faster than I could even type them—my feelings, thoughts, wishes, memories and hopes appearing on the page, filling one up after another. It felt incredible to be writing again, not having done it since I was pregnant—very early in my pregnancy. I felt the urge to get down on paper somehow all that I wished for my son—all that I hoped and wanted him to be. I wrote about how much his father and I loved him, and would go to the ends of the earth to do anything for him. I had promised my husband that our son would know him and his sacrifices, and here I was keeping my end of the promise.
In these words to my son, I conveyed how elated his father and I were when we found out we were expecting him—one of the best days in our lives. I remembered the joy and fear we both felt at that moment, unsure if we would make decent parents to our baby. I wrote about how Punk was brought up—with a lack of love, support and compassion, and I vowed to our son that he would never have to endure the hardships my husband suffered through. Ultimately these experiences made him a stronger person, but there was no need or way our baby would have to go through them. I described how nervous we both were when we found out we were going to have him—Punk worried if he would be a good father due to his lack of love from his parents. I tried my hardest throughout my entire pregnancy to quell my husband's fears, chalking it up sometimes to him just having first-time parent jitters. And then I soon realized it was deeper than that, and tried even harder—determined as hell to make my husband see how good of a father he could and would be. I truthfully didn't think he believed he would be a good dad until he held Matthew for the first time.
I remember my son's birth as the happiest day of my entire life. Every good or even great day—perfect even that you think you have in your life pales in comparison to the day where your child is born. We had planned and planned for it, getting the baby bag ready weeks in advance; doing test runs to the hospital, trying to find the quickest route; we had watched birthing videos (that were so horrible); and we had taken the parenting classes with other first time-parents. We were as prepared as we could be—but even with all of the planning, neither of us expected for my water to break at the wedding rehearsal of our best friends, I wrote to Matthew. I told him that we didn't think he would even come until after the wedding rehearsal, not wanting to upstage his "awesome" uncle and his fiancée. I recalled feeling the beginning pains of labor earlier in the day, after Punk and I had spent the entire afternoon trying to induce labor. I was so desperate to meet our son and be rid of my discomfort, that we tried a whole bevvy of things—and only some of them I told Matthew in my "letter" to him. Despite my water breaking at the wedding rehearsal, and being labor for multiple hours, everything was worth it once I gave birth to our baby.
And I knew that everything Punk and I were going through now, and I wrote that down for my son. I wanted him to be well aware of the sacrifices we were both making in order to give him a good life. I removed my hands from my laptop and closed my eyes for a moment, letting out a deep breath. I knew this was going to be hard, and it would all be worth it one day, and it would make Punk's homecoming all the sweeter, but it just sucked. I missed him so much, and I couldn't wait for him to come back, even if it would only be for a short time. He had just arrived at the arena and had training all day long. He told me that he would call me before I went to bed, the time difference a little off. I stood up from the bed and moved near the bassinet, Matthew crying and needing to be fed. Rocky watched me from his place by the bassinet and I knelt down for a second and scratched behind his ears before picking Matthew up and carrying him back to the bed. I supported his small frame against my torso with the nursing pillow and fed him with ease, it getting easier ever single feeding. I finished up feeding him, and carried him with me downstairs so I could make something for myself to eat. I placed my son in the carrier on top of the table and assembled a quick dinner for myself, eating with my son—who was fast asleep in his carrier. I looked down at my feet and saw Rocky lying there, providing my only company, I finished up, cleaned the kitchen and made my way back upstairs, intent on going to bed early, knowing that I would be the only one getting up in the middle of the night.
The first few feedings went okay, it wasn't super late and going to bed early had allowed me to get some rest, not much but a few minutes was like gold to a new parent. When Matthew woke up to be fed for his two am feeding, I throw the covers off of my body, wiped the sleep from my eyes, tripped over something on the floor and walked over to my crying baby. I held him in my arms and tried to shush him, but he wouldn't stop. I walked over to the bed, propped him close to me with the help of the nursing pillow and tried to feed him, but he was too fussy and clearly not in the mood to be fed. I checked his diaper and he didn't need to be changed or fed obviously, so I simply rocked him in my arms, humming something softly to him, and that usually did the trick. Well it was not working this time, he continued to cry and I was running on no sleep, alone and almost out of options. I remembered what my husband did when he wanted to quiet him down—he would pace the room back and forth and rub our son's back. I tried it for a few minutes, and nothing—it had no effect. I was starting to grow anxious, wondering if Matthew was sick or something. I walked the short distance to the nursery, took his temperature and deduced that he was fine—which made sense considering he didn't look or act sick this morning. I sat down in the rocker, swaying slowly, trying to soothe him. The rocking further agitated him, and he cried harder.
At this point, I began to tear up as well, wondering why I couldn't get my baby to go back to sleep. I was starting to feel inadequate as a parent, confused as to what was the matter and why he couldn't fall back asleep. I held him close to my chest, hoping the contact would relax him. He stopped screaming, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I decided to try something else that my husband did with our son, hoping it would work as well when I did it. Matthew was still crying, minus the screaming, so that was a small accomplishment. Next to the rocker in the nursery was a stack of comic books—all of my husband's favorites, and sometimes when he was trying to get our baby back to sleep, or even to spend time with him—he would read them aloud, using different voices for all of the characters. I decided to give it a shot, swallowed my tears and began to read to him—but he did not care for it at all. He started wailing again, causing me to grow more and more upset as well.
"Matthew, please calm down baby, please stop crying baby. Mommy's trying everything she can—please stop baby, please, please" I pleaded with my two week old son.
I shifted him onto my shoulder and tried pacing again. That did nothing; I had done everything I could, short of driving him around the block. I looked at the clock in the nursery and saw it was after three am. I continued to rock him, contemplating if we should go for a quick drive. I walked back to my bedroom, placed him in his bassinet momentarily, threw a t-shirt over my camisole covered torso; slipped on a pair of sweats rather than sleep shorts and a pair of flip-flops; gathered up my keys and phone and picked him up, carrying him downstairs. Luckily Rocky was sleeping in the kitchen tonight, so I didn't have to worry about having to take him with us. I loaded my baby into his car seat in the kitchen, and carried him out to my SUV. Within seconds we were buckled and ready to go; the entire time, Matthew crying. I started driving around the deserted block, no other cars out during the ungodly hour. I made multiple trips around the block, eventually extending it to a multiple block radius. After that failed to quiet him, I drove back home and made my way back upstairs.
I left him in his bassinet for a few moments, leaving him there and wondering if he would fall back asleep on his own. He didn't and I felt horrible, picking him up again. I tried feeding him once more and he quieted down enough for that, but started crying again when he finished. I was on the verge of falling apart, forced to take care of my newborn baby without my husband—and I really needed him right now. I had no idea what time it was where he was, but I had no choice but to call him, needing him. I dialed his number, desperately hoping for him to pick up. It rang for a few moments, and my nerves continued to grow. Thankfully he picked up, and with sleep in his voice, asked me what was wrong. I couldn't even answer properly; sobbing obstructed my ability to talk. He did his best to quiet me over the phone, sounding more awake and needing me to calm down before I could tell him what was wrong.
"Baby, I need you to stop crying so I can help you with whatever's wrong. I'm not mad or upset that you called and woke me up, but I need to know what's wrong so I can help you, ok? Please stop crying honey, I hate it when you cry" he said to me.
I took a few deep breaths, and began to get my breathing back to normal, although it was slightly erratic. I shifted Matthew to my other arm, tears still streaming down his face.
"Punk, I can't do this—he won't stop crying. He's been crying for over an hour and nothing I do is helping. I've tried nursing him, changing him, rocking him, walking with him, singing to him, reading your comics to him, and I've even driven around the block for a while with him, and nothing's helped. I'm a failure as a mother" I told him, crying silently.
"Honey, stop crying please. Everything's going to be alright. Is he sick?" he wondered.
"No, he's not warm and I checked and he doesn't have a fever or a temperature. And he doesn't look sick at all."
He let out a breath over the other line.
"Did you try just leaving him and seeing if he would cry himself out?"
"Tried and that clearly didn't work. I don't know what to do."
"We're going to figure out what to do, don't worry. He's going to be fine, and so are you."
I nodded, wanting to believe his words.
"I just wish we knew why he was so upset and irritable" my husband stated.
"I don't know why—I've tried everything and nothing's working."
"I know babe, and you're doing your absolute best. Just let me think for a minute, ok?"
I didn't respond and I could picture him deep in thought on the other end.
"Okay, I have an idea. Sit on the bed and prop him as if you're going to nurse him. Hold him close to you, and turn the phone on speaker" he instructed.
"Wait, why?" I asked.
He let out a small laugh.
"Just try it babe."
I obliged, setting myself up with Matthew the way my husband wanted. I heard Punk ask me if I did as he wanted over speaker; I told him I did over our son's crying. And then Punk stopped talking—to me that is.
"Matthew, it's daddy. What's the matter buddy? I'm gone for a few hours, and you're giving your mother hell? She told me you're not hungry, you don't need to be changed, and you're not sick, so what's the matter baby?" my husband asked my son.
The crying stopped for a little bit—well it subsided.
"Is it working?" my husband asked softly.
"Yeah, I think so—keep talking" I asked, leaning my body back against the pillows of my bed, Matthew in my arms.
Punk obliged and continued.
"Well I think you're just missing your daddy, like your mommy is, and wanted to talk to him in the very early morning, silly baby. You don't have to wait until three am to do it, wake your mother up anytime and have her call me" my husband joked.
I muttered a "Not funny babe" over the phone, and he laughed in response.
"Anyway, there's no reason to cry baby, daddy's here. Daddy is just away for work right now, and I know you don't understand it now, but you will one day. Just please stop crying so your mother can get some sleep. What did I tell you about your mother? Be nice to her and don't be a meanie like daddy was. I love you baby, but go to sleep and I will check on you and your mother tomorrow—keep an eye on her" he told our baby with a soft chuckle.
"Babe, you were never mean to me."
"I wasn't always the nicest—I should have been better to you, maybe then I would be there now."
My chin began to quiver and my nose began to flutter at his words, meaning I was about to cry. Punk said nothing, and I looked down and saw our baby fast asleep. I put the phone on the bed for a moment, got up and placed Matthew in his bed softly. He was still sleeping, a miracle really. After two hours of struggling to get him, a few minutes of "talking" to his father he was out cold. I stifled a yawn and made my way back to bed, remembering my husband on the other end still.
"Sorry honey, I was just putting him down" I told Punk.
"Is he finally down?" he wondered.
I looked over at a sleeping Matthew and smiled.
"Yes, finally. A few minutes with you and he's out cold—I was the one who stayed up with him for two hours and drove around our entire neighborhood" I exclaimed.
He laughed over the phone.
"You did all the hard work when it comes to him—as usual, my part only takes a few minutes" he told me with a laugh, and I knew there was a smirk engraved on his face.
I smiled at his cheeky statement.
"Thanks for everything babe, I can't tell you how happy I am that you were able to get him to go back to sleep."
"Of course honey, and don't worry about calling me—I wanna be there as much as I can, even though I am here" he told me with a sad laugh.
I nodded my head.
"I know babe, and you talking to him really helped. I'm going to go to bed, sorry I woke you up. Love you, and I'll call you at a decent hour tomorrow" I told my husband.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow babe. I love you and one more thing before I go" he began.
I waited for him to continue.
"You're doing a great job with him and I am so proud of you."
Punk hung up after that and I replaced the phone on my nightstand and dove under my plush comforter. I curled up and fell asleep until Matthew needed to be fed and changed at four, so about twenty minutes. He fell back asleep after that and it seemed like hearing from Punk was what he needed—and I did too. Hearing from him really did help both of us, making it easier for him to be away. I woke up a few more times during the night to feed and change him, and each time he went back to sleep without as much as a fuss. I guess he just really wanted his father to hold and be with him, which made sense considering two am was Punk's feeding. Normally we both woke when we heard him crying and I woke obviously take the feeding part and he would stay up with me until our baby was done. If he needed to be changed or comforted, we would trade off and on who would take care of it, the other one getting some sleep. For some reason Punk always volunteered to take the two am feedings, and would change Matthew, and if he was still fussy after that, spend time walking with him or even reading to him in the nursery. When he woke up at two am this morning, I guess he was expecting his father to be the one to take care of him, and wanted him and only him. I was glad we had survived our first night without Punk—barely.
It was now a little after seven and I decided after feeding and changing my son to just get up for the day, it was futile to go back to sleep. Matthew was all smiles and looked cute as hell in his bassinet, awake and ready for the day. I shook my head and grinned when I picked him up, placing him on my shoulder and heading downstairs. Rocky was behind us and we all walked into the kitchen. I set Matthew down in his carrier on the table and fed Rocky. After brewing a warm mug of tea, I made my way over to the table, tickling and playing with my son. He gave me a toothless smile and my heart melted. The rest of the morning went smoothly, I spent the day in my pajamas, not bothering getting dressed, considering I was going to spend the whole day feeding and changing my son. Of course I didn't mind, but it was weird to be home alone, the big, quiet house echoing the silence around me. I took Rocky out and spent the rest of the day cleaning the house. In between cleaning the kitchen and putting in a load of laundry, I managed to nurse my baby once more, putting him down for a nap upstairs. I was about to make my way up to my room to fold the clean clothes I had just taken out, after putting in a new load, when I remembered that it would be a good idea if I ate something. I placed the basket of laundry near the table, made a quick sandwich and then heard Matthew crying over the baby monitor on the table. I didn't have time to actually eat my lunch, so I threw the monitor into the basket of cleaned clothes, grabbed my plate and made my way upstairs. I placed everything on the bed and went to go pick him up from his bassinet.
"What's the matter baby? Are you hungry?" I asked my son, walking over and sitting down on the bed.
I knew from his cry that he was in fact hungry and I propped him up using the nursing pillow and began to feed him, instantly quieting him. Rocky jumped onto the bed, lying down on Punk's side, keeping a safe distance to Matthew. I laughed at our pet, thinking it was adorable that he acted like a guard dog for a two week old. My cellphone began to ring from the bedside table and I saw it was my best friend Veronica. I smiled and immediately took the call.
"Hey V, what's up?" I asked happily.
"Nothing much, we got in from our flight back home this morning. We passed out immediately after getting home and just woke up a while ago. I wanted to check in and see how things were going on your end. How's Matthew? Was your first night alone okay?" she wondered.
"Not exactly—he woke up for his two am feeding and I couldn't get him to go back to sleep no matter what I did. I tried feeding him, changing his diaper, singing to him, walking back and forth with him, reading to him, rocking him and finally took a drive around the block a few times with him—and nothing worked."
"Why wouldn't he go back to sleep?" she inquired.
I let out a sigh, looking down at my precious son, wondering why he wouldn't fall back asleep.
"I think he missed Punk—he probably sensed that I missed him, and that affected him, and also two am is when Punk takes care of him usually, and he wanted his daddy to hold him."
"Aww, I'm sorry you had a hard night honey" she told me sweetly.
"It's fine, I ended up having to call Punk, and Matthew fell asleep listening to his father on speaker phone" I responded with a laugh.
Veronica chuckled.
"Only your son would need a phone call from his father across the country at two am to go back to sleep" she joked.
I laughed as well.
"Kid as you may, he went to sleep immediately after hearing Punk's voice."
"I believe you, I believe you. So other than that, is everything else going alright?"
"Yeah, aside from the fact I have yet to change out of my pajamas, it's going okay" I told her with a chuckle.
She laughed.
"That's good to hear. I can't wait to come and visit you guys—I miss my nephew" Veronica said sweetly.
I smiled at her words and shifted Matthew to my other side to nurse on.
"Yeah, after you settle in from being on tour, come over and stay for as long as you want."
"I just may take you up on that."
I grinned; I would absolutely love for my best friend to come and visit with us.
"So how was the tour?" I wondered.
We chatted for fifteen more minutes before Matthew grew fussy and I heard her husband ask her what to do with all of the luggage—and she told me she had to go for now, before he put everything in the wrong place. I chuckled and promised to call her tomorrow. I folded my legs Indian style and placed the nursing pillow on top of it, and then put Matthew there, supporting his tiny frame. He was no longer fussy, it seemed like he just needed to change positions. I played with him for a few minutes, tickling him and blowing raspberries on his tiny tummy. He enjoyed the tickling; his umbilical cord had fallen off yesterday—the day Punk left, and thankfully he was there to see it. We were giving Matthew a sponge bath in his little baby tub that goes in the sink, and it came off then. At first we were worried that we had caused it to fall off, but we realized it was hanging on by a thread and just fell off. The amount of praise we gave our son was almost comical—as if he had willed it to come off, or had any part in it at all. He simply looked expressionless at his crazy parents, but then started to cry, no longer wishing to be in the bath. Punk scooped him up in a fuzzy towel and carried him in the nursery as I drained the bath. Bath time was always an interesting time in our house, and the first time we did it after getting home from the hospital, Punk and I both got soaked, having no idea how to bathe a newborn and watch a dog at the same time. Rocky ended up bumping into me, and I knocked over the tub before we even had a chance to bathe our baby. My husband simply laughed and I proceeded to splash him with one arm, considering I was holding our newborn. He shooed our new dog out of the room, containing him in the kitchen so we could bathe Matthew. The rest of it went well after that, and I smiled at the memory.
I continued to play with my son, wanting to tire him out during the day so he would fall asleep a little easier at night. I really didn't want to have to call my husband every time I put our baby to bed. I heard my cellphone ring once more from beside me and I smiled when I saw it was my husband finally calling.
"Hi babe, how's everything going?" he wondered.
"Good, Matthew and I are playing in bed" I told him.
He let out a laugh.
"I wish I could play with both of you in bed" he responded with a chuckle.
I smiled at his words.
"Yeah, you'll be home soon enough. How was your day?" I asked, making silly faces to keep my son entertained.
"Okay—training's a bitch, especially since my ankle is still sore as hell."
I frowned slightly.
"Aww babe, are you okay?"
Punk laughed softly.
"I've been through worse, not being home hurts more."
"Punk, don't" I warned him, not wanting to get upset.
He sighed sadly.
"You're right, sorry honey. I'm glad everything is going better today than it was last night."
I couldn't help but nod in agreement.
"Yeah, I was scared s-h-i-t-l-e-s-s last night—I had no idea what was wrong and it frightened me to my core."
"I know baby, but it all worked out and he's fine now. And so are you."
I smiled softly at his words.
"I'm glad it all worked out too babe. Are you on break now?" I asked my husband.
"Yeah, just finished some training for today, so that's good. I was going to get something to eat at the canteen with some of the guys and then I have media for the rest of the day" he told me.
"It sounds as crazy there as it is here" I joked.
He laughed.
"I think it may be crazier on your end" he replied with a chuckle.
I smiled for a moment.
"It's alright now, I just got off the phone with Veronica so that was nice, and now I'm just chilling in bed, your son is getting sleepy though, so I may put him down in a minute."
"How is she? They got back alright?"
"Yep, she told me she wants to visit soon, and I told her whenever she wants she should come and visit."
"That sounds good honey, glad to hear she's doing well and they got back safe from the tour."
I laughed softly.
"What's so funny?" Punk wondered confused.
"The guys are right—you are such a softie."
He scoffed over the end.
"I am not" he told me defiantly.
"Yes you are, you're a mushball and I love it" I replied with a smile.
Punk chuckled.
"Whatever you say babe—I have to go, but I'll talk to you before you go to bed, and probably after then as well" he joked.
"I hope not—I really don't want to be up with him again like that—I hate not knowing when something's wrong with him."
"I know babe, but it was fine—it all worked out, and he's fine now. Really, call me if you need me, it's not a problem."
I nodded sadly at what he said.
"Ok, go eat with the guys, and tell them we say hi."
He laughed.
"Will do—kiss Matthew for me. Love you."
"I will, we love you too" I told him with a smile.
After talking to my husband for a little while, I placed my sleeping son in his bassinet, and got to folding the enormous basket of laundry on my bed. The next few hours went well until Matthew woke up screaming. I rocked him and rocked him, wanting to silence him. He wasn't hungry and it wasn't time for him to be fed yet, and I had already changed him. I swaddled him in a soft plush blanket and held him close to me. Rocky started to bark, thinking the baby was in danger. I knew he wasn't and tried to silence our new pet. Then I heard the dryer go off downstairs, further inciting the baby and dog. I groaned softly, cradled my son and went to go get the laundry, and then I remembered I left the basket upstairs. I groaned louder this time and went back upstairs, picked it up with one hand, walked to the kitchen, placed my baby in the carrier on the table and walked back to the laundry room. I scolded Rocky on my way there, wanting him to stop barking, which was only making Matthew more upset. I threw the laundry into the basket in one huff, walked to the kitchen and heard the home phone go off. At this point, I was on the brink of letting out a slew of curse words, but refrained with my son in the room. I took a deep breath, gathered my bearings, placed the basket on the floor, picked up my baby and went to retrieve the phone. The second I was about to pick it up, the doorbell rang, and that set Rocky off, and Matthew as well. I muttered a few curses under my breath, almost ripped the phone off of its holder and walked to the front door, my dog hot on my heels.
I threw open the door, not even looking at who it was. I was juggling my crying newborn son in my arms, the phone pressed to my ear, and my pitbull licking my bare legs, most likely needing to go out for a walk. In between rocking Matthew, I realized it was my mother on the phone, ironically asking if everything was okay. I didn't have time to laugh at the irony, or even look to see who was at the door. I glanced at the person who was still standing there and told them something in between trying to silence my son and mother at the same time.
"Oh it's just Veronica—oh my gosh, what are you doing here?" I exclaimed, once I realized it was her.
She smiled and looked at me with a playful expression etched on her face.
"I came to visit duh, and I brought a ton of gifts, so are you going to let me in or leave my ass on your front step for the whole night?" she joked.
I laughed and let her enter the house. I didn't even see all the stuff she had with her until it took her two trips to bring it all to the house. It was a mixture of luggage, grocery bags, various food bags, and a huge gift bag. She emptied the contents of her hands, placing the bags and her luggage beside one of the couches of the living room. She walked over to me and pointed to the phone with a smile. I looked at her confused for a moment, shocked that she was standing in front of me. I eventually put two and two together when I heard my mother calling my name over the other end. I shifted Matthew to my other arm and told my mom I would have to call her back later. She wasn't exactly happy, but agreed and hung up. I looked over and saw Veronica sitting on the couch, playing with Rocky. I walked over to her, shushing Matthew on the way there and looked at her confused.
"Why are you here V?" I wondered.
She looked up at me and smiled.
"Well hi to you too" she said with a laugh.
I rolled my eyes and chuckled.
"You know what I mean."
She nodded her head.
"Punk called…" she began, looking at me sideways, while playing with our pitbull.
I shook my head.
"I should have known—I told him everything was under control."
Veronica looked at me dead on and narrowed her eyes at me.
"That's what you call under control?" she asked, motioning to the front door, referencing what just occurred.
"That was for like a second, I was fine before."
She nodded, completely unconvinced.
"Sure you were Han" she told me with a smile.
I conceded and sighed.
"Okay, it's not fine. I'm just so surprised you're here, you just got home from the tour this morning, why the heck aren't you home in bed?" I questioned with a laugh.
"Because I knew you were going to have a hard time adjusting without Punk, and I wanted to come visit—I'm used to running on no sleep because of the tour. And I know you say you are too, but that's when your husband was here, and now that he isn't, I am."
I couldn't help but smile at her and moved to give her a one armed hug.
"So what can I do to help?" she asked cheerfully.
"Would you mind taking out Rocky for me? His leash and stuff are by the door" I instructed.
She nodded and stood up to go and help me. I didn't remain on the couch for long, getting up and going upstairs to retrieve my nursing stuff so I could feed my baby. I knew that was why he was crying, but I couldn't feed him before. I grabbed the pillow with one arm and a spare blanket, walking downstairs with them. I undid the front of my top and began to nurse my son, supporting his body with the pillow and covering us with the extra blanket. Veronica walked in after a few minutes more, and let Rocky off his leash as she walked in the house. She made a quick stop to the bathroom and then returned to the living room, sitting next to me.
"Thanks so much for that—it was either that or nurse Matthew, and I didn't think you would want to tackle that one" I told her with a smile as I checked on my newborn son.
She laughed.
"Of course, and yeah I don't think I would be down for that."
I chuckled and nodded.
"It's not for everyone" I replied playfully.
"That's the one thing that you're better at than me" she responded.
I playfully smacked her on the arm.
"It's not the only thing I'm better at."
Veronica chuckled and nodded conceding.
"You are really good at the whole mom thing, I would never be able to handle it like you are" she said sweetly.
I shook my head.
"It was so much easier when Punk was here, I have no idea how we are going to do this every week or so" I replied.
She nodded her head and placed a comforting hand on my free arm.
"You're doing your best honey, and it's going to be hard at times, but you're doing great, ok?"
I looked up at her and nodded slowly.
"I know, I know, it's hardest at night when we would trade off feedings—last night was killer. I didn't know how to comfort my own son, I felt like a failure" I explained to my best friend, tears staining my vision.
Veronica moved closer to me and hugged me, aware of my son in my arms. We pulled away and I wiped away my tears with a small laugh.
"Sorry, I just cry at everything now."
She laughed and nodded understanding.
"Okay enough sad, I have something that will make you happy" she stated, getting off the couch and moving to retrieve something.
She walked back over to me and handed me the large gift bag that I assumed was for my baby. I grinned at her and motioned to my nursing baby, telling her I couldn't open it myself. Veronica sat down on the couch and opened the gift for me, revealing what she had gotten for her nephew. A few band shirts for the whole family, courtesy of her husband's tour; a onesie with a double decker bus on it, inscribed with the word 'London' on it; a soft gray and little blue striped cardigan; a beautiful, white crocheted elephant; a pair of little blue booties with a car on each of them; a onesie with the Union Jack Flag on it; and a black 'Abbey Road: London 1969' Beatles onesie. When she showed that to me, my eyes went wide for a moment.
"You didn't" I exclaimed.
She laughed.
"I had to—it was so darn cute" she said with a smile.
"V…you really didn't have to get all this stuff for him" I told my best friend.
She shook her head in disagreement.
"Of course I did—I felt terrible for not being here for you during your pregnancy, and I know how hard that was for you, and I wanted to make it up to you by visiting—and I am going to spoil the hell out of my cute nephew, you and Punk can't stop me" she joked.
I looked at her sadly for a moment.
"I knew you were on tour—and it doesn't matter now, you're here now, and that's what's important."
She nodded and smiled.
"I know, and I'm happy I'm here—I just hope I sleep off the jetlag quickly" she joked.
I laughed as well.
"Thanks for all the stuff, really V, they're great and I can't wait for him to wear and use all of them."
She stood up and went to go bring the rest of the bags over to where we were seated on the couch.
"I brought some other stuff for you to use as well" she announced.
I looked at her confused for a moment.
"What else?" I wondered.
She smiled knowingly and began to explain all the bags and their contents.
"Well I had no idea if you had food in your house, so I stocked up on all of your favorite things, and we can go out and get more if you need" she began, which explained the grocery bags.
I laughed.
"We have food in the house Veronica—we aren't that bad. I made Punk go out before he left."
She nodded.
"Okay, good, because I really just got junk food, nothing substantial" she said with a laugh.
I shook my head and chuckled.
"Figures you only got crap to eat" I chided.
Veronica nodded proudly, and then held up another group of food bags.
"That is why I got 'real' food" she told me, putting air quotes around real.
"What's your definition of real?"
She laughed for a moment.
"Bagels and stuff from that place you like in town, that still isn't the same as the place in Brooklyn we like to go to; and pizza and salad from that pizzeria in the neighborhood—but not the one Punk likes, no offense but your husband has horrible taste in pizza" she explained.
I couldn't help but laugh at her idea of food choices.
"Thanks dude, why don't you put all that stuff in the kitchen so I can finish with Matthew" I suggested.
She nodded and began to gather up a few of the food bags, and she would definitely have to make two trips, considering all the stuff she bought. As soon as she left, I cradled Matthew in my arms, fixing my top and getting up off the couch to go to the kitchen. I walked in and saw her unloaded a lot of junk food—and I mean a lot. The 'real' food as she had dubbed it, was sitting in their bags at one corner of the table and the snacks littered the rest of it. She had bought enough food to last for a while, well between the two of us, we could polish it off in a few days. She had purchased about every chip known to man-kind, getting extra bags of the ones we liked, which included but was not limited to, multiple bags of: barbeque-flavored chips, plain chips, pickle-flavored pringles (which no one except for her, me and my sister enjoyed), Chex-Mix, and more bags of cheese doodles than I could count. I looked at the contents of the table and then back at her with a playful smile.
"You really went all out, huh?"
She smile and nodded.
"Only the best for my best friend."
I laughed and placed Matthew in his carrier in top of the table and walked over to her, enveloping her in a real hug.
"I really appreciate everything Veronica—I can't tell you how happy I am to have you here."
She smiled widely.
"Of course honey, I'm glad to help."
I went back and picked up my son, holding him close to me. I looked at my best friend and smiled. She looked back at me confused for a moment.
"What?" she wondered.
"Do you want to hold your nephew?" I asked her.
She looked hesitant.
"I don't know if that's the best idea. I'm more of a dog person than a baby person" she told me.
I shook my head at her words.
"Nonsense, if Edge can hold him, you can too."
Veronica continued to look uneasy, but followed me back into the living room for a moment. I instructed her to sit with her back supported by the couch and hold out her arms. She obliged and I placed Matthew's little body in her arms, telling her to support his head with her forearm. She looked up at me, her body stiff as hell. I let out a laugh and she looked at me anxiously.
"What? Am I doing it right?" she asked.
I nodded my head.
"Just relax, he'll start crying if you're too stiff."
She took a deep breath and relaxed slightly.
"More" I instructed, and she eventually relented.
Matthew was awake and was looking right at her, freaking her out. I laughed at the interaction with them, and then I remembered I needed to document the moment. I moved to go upstairs and retrieve my camera and phone, and Veronica instantly worried when she saw me leaving.
"Where are you going? Don't leave me with him" she cried nervously.
I waved her off with my hand.
"You're fine. He's a newborn not a pervert, you will be fine" I joked, going upstairs.
I made my way upstairs and quickly retrieved the things I needed, going downstairs, suddenly worried—not for Matthew, but for Veronica. I didn't want her to be nervous around a small, innocent baby. I shook off the thought, realizing that the only way she would get over her fear would be to confront it. I descended the stairs and saw her sitting with him cradled in her arms, a smile on her face. She looked up at me when I returned, a grin etched into her features.
"So is the big bad newborn scaring you still?" I asked playfully.
She shook her head.
"No, we're okay, aren't we Matthew?" she cooed.
I smiled at the interaction and captured the photo with my camera. A few more shots of the two of them together, and I managed to even capture a shot of the three of us, Matthew in the middle in my best friend's arms. I turned on the recorder on my phone and began rolling.
"So this is Veronica with Matthew, holding him for the second time, the first time confidently" I stated, zooming in on my friend and my son.
She looked up at me and smiled.
"He really is a beautiful baby, and we are ready for our close up" she joked.
I grinned at her words and rolled the recorder for a few more minutes, shutting it off—but not before sending them to my husband first. I set the camera and my phone on the table, looking up at my friend.
"See, I told you he isn't that bad."
Veronica looked at me and nodded.
"He wasn't what I was worried about—I was worried his guard dog would attack me if I moved an inch" she exclaimed, motioning to where Rocky was seated, watching her closely.
I laughed.
"He sure is protective over Matthew—but not as bad as Punk. He is borderline paranoid when it comes to his son."
She laughed, and I nodded in response.
"The second any one comes over to visit, they have to wash their hands—twice, to ensure that they are clean. And once they pass my husband's inspection, he then permits them to hold our baby, threatening the person with bodily harm if Matthew so much as gets fussy in their arms."
"Are you serious?" Veronica asked me.
I nodded and chuckled.
"That's my husband for you—and he was the one worried he wouldn't be a good father. He is so fantastic with him, it's unreal sometimes."
She nodded and Matthew began to fuss.
"I think I should give him back to his mommy before his father attacks me" she said with a laugh.
Veronica handed my baby back to me and I leaned him against my shoulder, rubbing his back comfortingly.
"He would never hurt you V."
She nodded.
"Let's not take any chances."
I laughed and nodded my head.
"I think I'm going to put him down for a nap, I just need to grab the baby monitor and then I can have dinner with you—sound good?"
"Sounds like a plan to me; I'll go get everything set up."
We went our separate ways and I climbed the stairs and went into my bedroom. I rocked my son for a few moments, kissed his little face, and placed him in his bed. I grabbed one of the baby monitors, placing it near his bed and took the other one. I left the room after turning off the light and went back downstairs. I entered the kitchen and saw all the snacks put away in the cupboards and Veronica getting dinner set up.
"We have to heat the pizza up, but it's better than nothing. You look like you're running on nothing honey" she told me.
I laughed.
"Thanks for the kind words V."
She chuckled.
"You know what I mean—you have a tendency to forget about yourself and put others first, which is great, but not at the expense of your health."
I nodded my head and went to get some plates and silverware out of the cabinets. She finished heating up a few slices and carried them over to the table. She put them down and walked over to the small wine shelf we had—which did not have any wine on it obviously, but various bottles of sparkling cider and juice, considering I didn't drink much because of my husband. She picked up a bottle of sparkling cider and grabbed two wine glasses. I laughed and she carried them over. She served herself some food as I popped open the bottle, pouring it into each of our glasses. I handed her one and she nodded in acknowledgment.
"A toast—to your adorable baby boy" Veronica said happily.
"And to you getting home safely from the tour—which I know must have been amazing."
She nodded and smiled.
"And to Punk—may he kick a lot of ass on the road" she toasted with a laugh.
I chuckled and nodded; we clinked our glasses and dug into our food, both of us starving. We chatted for a little while, about her husband's awesome tour and my new son. We finished our meal, cleared the dishes and made our way into the living room—me carrying the bottle and another, Veronica holding both of our glasses.
"This feels like old times" I said, feeling the nostalgia.
She nodded and grinned.
"Yeah, it's so different though."
"How so?" I asked her confused.
Veronica laughed.
"Because we're both married and you have a kid."
I nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, but it's not really that different—it's still us against the world" I told her.
She smiled softly.
"It will always be us against the world—no matter what."
I smiled and nodded my head as well.
"So what do you want to do? You must be tired from your flight—I totally understand if you want to call it a night."
Veronica shook her head.
"Nah, I drank so much coffee today, that I am good to go for a few more hours."
I laughed and shook my head.
"V, you're not supposed to have too much caffeine."
She mocked me and chuckled.
"You're not my mother Hannah, I will drink whatever I want" she said playfully.
I couldn't help but laugh as well.
"I propose we watch a movie—like we used to when we were younger. Remember the sleepovers we had at my house every summer?" I asked her.
She nodded.
"We had the best times doing that—it's been so long since I've had one."
I snickered at my best friend.
"V, it's just like riding a bike—you never forget how to do it—wait, you don't know how to ride one, you may be screwed" I joked.
She playfully smacked me on the arm.
"You don't know how to ride one either!" she exclaimed.
I nodded, because sadly it was true. Neither of us knew how to ride a bike, and some would say we were jipped out of a necessary childhood experience. We both grew up in small neighborhoods in Brooklyn, and living in apartment buildings didn't exactly provide the needed space to learn how to ride one.
"Well I think we turned out okay still."
Veronica nodded and smiled.
"I would say so—we both have had pretty good lives considering" she responded.
I laughed and nodded in agreement. I stood up and went over to mine and my husband's expansive movie collection. We were both huge movie buffs, and homebodies as well, loving to curl up in bed together and watch one. I picked out a movie without telling my best friend and loaded it into the DVD player. I suddenly had a great idea, and paused it before the opening credits could start.
"Hey!"
I waved her off.
"I was just thinking that this would be even better with some snacks and blankets; what do you think?"
She nodded happily.
"That sounds perfect to me."
I laughed.
"Good, I'll get the snacks, and you get a few blankets from the den" I instructed.
She got up off the couch and went to go retrieve some for us. I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a few bags of snacks and placed them on the coffee table. I sat down on the couch and waited for her to return. Veronica emerged a minute later, toting a few folded blankets. We divided them amongst ourselves and I was just about to un-pause the movie, when I had a great idea. I got up once more, prompting her to look at me confused.
"What now?"
I walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer.
"What type of ice cream do you want?" I called to her.
At the mention of the frozen treat, she immediately got her ass off the couch and headed into the kitchen.
"You have ice cream?"
I nodded and opened the freezer, motioning to it.
"Damn, did you guys rob Ben and Jerry's?" she joked.
I laughed.
"No, at the beginning of my pregnancy, ice cream—ice pops in particular was all I could stomach, almost everything else made me sick."
"Only your kid would want you to eat only ice-cream, I knew he would be smart—he takes after me" she claimed.
I raised my eyebrows at her and she laughed.
"Ok, he takes after you. But damn that is nice."
"In the first few months I threw everything up, so it wasn't that bad. But after a while, it started to make me fat."
Now it was her turn to raise her brows at me.
"You don't think it couldn't have possibly have been the baby doing that?"
I laughed at her question.
"Contrary to popular belief, you can't have ice-cream for every meal. So I gave it up for a little while, losing my taste for it. And my husband was relieved to not have to make midnight Häagen-Dazs runs anymore. And then in the last month or two of my pregnancy, in like June and July it was so damn hot and my doctor didn't want me to get dehydrated so she suggested eating ice-pops. They're mainly sugar and water, and I needed to keep my sugar balanced, so it was a win-win."
Veronica nodded her head in understanding.
"And now you have some to spare" she joked.
I chuckled.
"Punk and I may have gone a little crazy when we went to Costco."
She raised her brows and motioned to our completely filled freezer.
"You think?"
"Ok, we went very crazy, but there was a good sale, and I'm a member so I get a discount, and it prevented him from having to pick some up like every few days, so we figured why not."
She laughed and pulled out a pint for herself and one for me. She had chosen a chocolate-chocolate chip for herself and a chocolate chip cookie dough one for me. I graciously accepted it and grabbed two spoons for us, and we both walked back into the living room. We got comfortable, wrapping ourselves in blankets, and got started on eating our snacks. I warned her that I would most likely have to pause the movie in a little to go nurse and change my son, and she waved it off as nothing. As we settled in, I made sure the baby monitor was right next to me, positioned so I could get to it and hear it with ease. I started the movie and she let out a laugh when she saw my selection.
"Really?" she asked amused.
"Of course—this is a classic."
"You talk about it like it's an all-American, Oscar-winning movie—it's Breaking Dawn Part One" she chided.
I laughed.
"Like I said—a classic. I remember dragging my husband to go see it with me. Can you imagine a full grown man—a professional wrestler nonetheless waiting on line with a bunch of teenage girls, and his wife that could practically pass for one, going to go see this movie? That alone was worth going to the theater" I said with a chuckle.
Veronica laughed and nodded, conceding.
"It is a pretty good movie, I have to admit."
"Hence the reason we're watching it" I replied, motioning with my spoon to the TV.
It really was sad how much I loved this movie—I was a fan of the books, and something about reading a novel and getting so lost in it and loving it, and then to see it come alive on the big screen was everything. Many loyal readers always found faults in how the books played out in movie-form, but I honestly loved the way these books transferred from page to screen. It had been my dream since I was a young adolescent—to one day publish a best-selling book and one day if I was lucky enough have it made into a movie. That was always my hope—but I'm a dreamer though. I never thought that I would even be this fortunate in my career; being a senior editor at one of the largest publishing houses in the country was beyond amazing, in combination with being married to an incredible guy and now having a beautiful, healthy son together. I was just dwelling on what my career could have amounted to I guess. After saying 'no' to the book tour, I was just worried if I would forever be known as a one hit wonder in the writing world, and never have my childhood dreams happen. I couldn't harp on it for long, as one of my favorite scenes was coming up—the wedding. I know it was a wedding in a movie, planned by a vampire nonetheless, and created with the help of an amazing production team, but it was still so beautifully done and so believable. I remember when Punk and I went to see it, and I cried all throughout the wedding scene—and he just laughed and shook his head at his silly wife. And now my best friend was doing the same thing, laughing softly and shaking her head at me.
"What?" I asked her, trying to wipe away my tears.
She didn't divert her gaze from the screen, but laughed. We continued to watch the movie for a little while longer, until I heard the baby monitor go off, notifying me that my son needed me. I moved to get up off the comfy couch, placing my half empty container of ice-cream on the coffee table. The blanket fell from my lap and I gave Veronica a small smile.
"Do you want me to pause it and wait for you?" she wondered sweetly.
I shook my head and started to move towards the staircase.
"Nah, it's fine—I've seen it like a million times before."
She laughed.
"Only a million? And I'll let you know when the demon baby is gonna be born so you can watch that part."
I nodded.
"Thanks V" I told her with a laugh.
"Now go to your human baby before your dog goes all Cujo on us."
I made my way upstairs and walked into my bedroom, going to pick up Matthew. I fed him easily and changed his diaper. It took a few minutes of walking up and down the length of the room to get him to fall back asleep, but he was starting to doze off, and I placed him in his bed with a kiss to the cheek. I had no idea how long I was up there, but it must have been a while, because I returned to the living room to see the credits playing and Veronica asleep. I laughed softly and went to go turn the TV off and take the disc out. I draped a blanket on her sleeping form and took the carton of ice-cream out of her hand, taking mine as well from the table and putting them back in the freezer. A quick cleaning of the kitchen and I dragged my exhausted form back up to bed, climbing under the covers and just when I was on the brink of sleep, my phone vibrated. I let out a soft groan and switched the bedroom light on, and saw it was my husband calling.
"Hi honey, how's everything going at home?" Punk wondered.
"Good, just about got everyone to sleep—Matthew's out, Rocky's on guard patrol, but honestly he's like two seconds from passing out and Veronica fell asleep on the couch in the middle of a movie" I replied with a laugh.
He chuckled in response.
"What movie?"
"Breaking Dawn Part One" I told him triumphantly.
"Seriously?" he asked.
I nodded at his words.
"Hell yes, between that and a pint of cookie dough ice cream, I was in heaven."
Punk laughed.
"Well that certainly beats what I'm doing now."
"What babe?"
"Watching a cop show and eating brownie in a mug."
"Really babe?" I questioned with a laugh.
"What can I say? You were so right about that."
"So between the home made brownie and cops, you're basically the male Martha Stewart" I joked, bursting out laughing.
He chuckled.
"Well she is a hell of a lot better at making brownies than I am—this one came out alright, but your mug brownie was better."
I smiled at his words.
"Did you follow the recipe?"
"Yeah, and I microwaved it for eighty seconds in the special brownie mug—I don't know why it doesn't taste as good as yours."
I couldn't help but chuckle softly.
"I'll make you real brownies when you get home babe—or brownie in a mug, whatever you want."
"Well you can teach me how to make it first so I can make it when I'm on the road and craving something sweet."
"Punk, I already taught you how to make it" I tried to tell my husband sternly.
"Oh yeah, I remember that—I remember getting all the ingredients together, and then we made a mess on the bus—something with flour I believe, and we naturally had to shower to get it off of us—together of course, and then I don't remember eating the actual dessert, unless I count you of course."
I knew he was smirking just by the tone of his voice. It was true, a while back when I was traveling with him on tour, I got an inkling for brownies one night—I think I was PMSing honestly, and I had to have it that second. So I bugged Punk, telling him that I needed chocolate like that minute. He simply laughed at me and told me all we had on the bus was cocoa powder—which looking back seemed weird to be on a tour bus, and half of a candy bar—and it was already bitten into, and I was not that desperate. So instead of bothering my then boyfriend, I went through the cabinets and found a quick recipe online that would allow me to make something sweet fast. It took less than a minute to assemble the easy ingredients—water, flour, sugar, cocoa butter of course, butter and vanilla—also weird that was on the bus, but I followed the recipe, put everything into a mug and ninety seconds later I had a brownie in a cup; I was so damn proud of myself and my chocolate craving was quenched and I was happy. I walked into the bedroom eating it, and Punk looked at me funny and then asked where his was. I remember laughing and dragging him off the bed and showing him how to make it. Naturally, he paid no attention to the actual making of the treat and preferred to make a mess of the remaining ingredients on the counter. I never got the chance to even place the mug in the microwave, because he sprayed me with flour first, starting a food fight. He won, having a height advantage and strength over me, and we both ended up in the shower together—to wash away the flour of course. We ended up sampling his "brownie"—it wasn't cooked and was essentially raw batter (minus the egg, so it was safe), but it sure was tasty.
"We had some honey—remember, we had it in bed?" I asked my husband cheekily.
He laughed cutely, and I smiled.
"Oh yeah, now I remember. We should do that again."
"We can—in six to eight weeks."
"Longest six to eight weeks of my life" he mumbled under his breath.
I laughed at him.
"Don't worry babe, I'll make you a brownie before then" I joked.
"You should get some sleep honey—he'll be up soon" Punk said to me.
I sighed softly.
"Yep, his two am feeding—your feeding" I replied sadly.
Punk sighed also.
"Just a few more days and I'll be home for the weekend."
I nodded at his words, knowing I could get through a few days without him—I had Veronica to "help" out; well she could help with Rocky, I was on my own pretty much with the baby.
"I know—we have his first check up the day you get back—is that okay baby?" I asked my husband.
"Yep, I'll talk to you tomorrow love."
I nodded my head sadly.
"I love you Punk, so damn much."
"I love you too babe, kiss the baby for me."
I hung up the phone and snuggled back under the covers of my bed. I woke up at two am like clockwork and fed and changed my son. He was a little hesitant to get back to sleep, and I rocked him and sang him a lullaby. The only "problem" was that I couldn't remember any, not having heard any since I was probably a baby. I made up the words, half-asleep myself and rocked him back to sleep. He went down after that and woke up a few hours later; newborns had to be fed about eight to twelve times a day, and I knew my son was getting enough. We woke up for the day at around six thirty, neither Matthew nor I able to fall back asleep. I walked down the stairs with my smiley baby in my arms and saw Veronica still passed out on the couch. I laughed quietly and assembled breakfast for Rocky and myself. I left my mother a message to call me back when she had the chance and waited for my best friend to wake up. She strolled into the kitchen with her eyes half closed and walked over to me—sleepiness evident; I wordlessly handed her a cup of coffee the way she liked it. She smiled at me and sat down, relishing in the caffeine. She dug into the breakfast in front of her, as I sipped my tea with one hand and used the other to tickle my son.
"So what's the agenda for today Hannah?" she wondered, perking up a little.
I let out a small laugh.
"Staying home and taking care of Matthew. He's too little to go outside yet."
She nodded her head.
"Han, he's two weeks old—he could go out" she suggested.
I shook my head vehemently.
"No, he is not going out until completely necessary, which is his first doctor's appointment and also I don't want to take him out without Punk."
"That makes sense. So are we going to do anything here?"
"Not really, I have to take care of this cutie and clean the house and watch the dog and all."
Veronica sipped her coffee and gave me a small nod.
"Sounds good, it will be nice to be in one place and not be constantly shuffled around" she said with a small laugh.
I nodded my head.
"Yeah, I know how hard it is to be on tour—Punk's wasn't international, but I was pregnant and that bus did nothing but aggravate my morning sickness."
"Was it worth it?" she asked me out of the blue.
I furrowed my brows at her.
"What do you mean?"
"Was being pregnant on tour and go through everything worth it?"
I looked down at my son for a second and back at her with a smile on my face.
"It was one hundred percent worth it—I would do it all over again if I had to."
She smiled at me.
"Good to know" she replied looking down.
"V, what's going on?" I asked with a mix of suspicious and confused laced in my voice.
"Nothing."
I raised my eyebrows at her. She sighed and eventually looked up at me.
"It's not nothing."
"No it really is—I thought I was pregnant on tour, and I found out I wasn't—no big deal."
My expression softened.
"Did you tell him?" I wondered—asking about her husband.
She shook her head.
"No, there was no reason to—I was late, and thought I was, took a test and found out I wasn't."
I nodded at her.
"Is that what you want?"
Veronica nodded and smiled.
"We don't want kids—we aren't cut out for it like you and Punk are. We like our freedom—we like being able to travel and go on tour for a year and not worry—and we like our alcohol" she joked.
I laughed softly.
"You sure V? You can still do that with a kid—well not the drinking thing, but you can still go on tour, when the kid gets older."
She shook her head at me.
"I'm sure—we talked about it, and rock and roll isn't exactly best for a baby."
"And wrestling is?" I asked with a laugh.
Veronica chuckled.
"No—but you will be better at it than we ever could be. We can't even keep fish on tour."
I smiled.
"Okay, maybe then a baby wouldn't be a good idea—you can't pick one up at the pet store."
"Enough about babies—unless it's about your cute one. He really is super adorable" she gushed over her nephew.
I grinned at her words.
"He's a cutie, but he's stubborn like his daddy—and bordering on an insomniac as well—oh wait, that's me. I think when he's about two months old, we'll go on tour with Punk for the duration of the year."
"Really? Is that a good idea?"
"It's better than Punk being gone all the time and me having to take care of our son all by myself—well you're here, but I have to feed and change him all alone."
"Did you tell him yet?" Veronica wondered.
I shook my head.
"No, I was going to bring it up when he gets home in a few days—it'll be best for everyone."
"What about your job?"
I let out a sad sigh.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, do you mind watching him while I shower? I'll be quick, I promise."
Veronica smiled.
"Sure, of course."
I grinned and carried over the baby carrier to her side of the table, placing it in front of my best friend.
"He just ate, and doesn't need to be changed. You can just leave him in his carrier or pick him up if he starts crying—if it's really bad just get me and I'll fix it."
She nodded her head and I went upstairs to my room. I showered fast and since Veronica didn't come up to my room in a panic, I had time to get dressed as well. I changed into yet another pair of sweats and tank top—the only outfit that doubled as pajamas and allowed me to nurse easily. I threw my hair up in a messy bun, not wanting to press my luck and take the time to brush it, leaving Veronica all alone. I made my way downstairs, and walked into the kitchen. She had Matthew in her arms, but he didn't seem fussy at all.
"Is everything alright?" I asked.
She picked her head up and smiled when she saw me return.
"Yep, I was just telling him all about his aunt and uncle's tour—it's crazy how much he looks like Punk, Hannah, minus the beard and tattoos of course" she joked with a chuckle.
I nodded and walked over to her, taking my son into my arms.
"I know—he has his eyes, nose and mouth, he's practically the spitting image of him. Well he has his nose before it became crooked—thank gosh" I replied with a laugh.
Veronica and I spent the duration of the day in my bed, eating junk food and playing with Matthew. We watched a bunch of 80's movies and had a great time. It finally dawned on me how much I had truly missed my best friend over the past few months—both of our lives were crazy, she had the international tour with her husband for over a year; and I was in the prime of my career, releasing my first novel and became pregnant with my first child. This was arguably one of the best years of our lives, both professionally and personally. It was crazy to think back on the earlier years of our friendship, the hard adolescent years that we had tried so hard to block out. Those years were filled with heartbreak, loss, pain, suffering and more sadness than we both deserved. And through the hardest time of our lives, all we had was each other—we had family, but we preferred to rely on each other. She had seen me through the worst parts of my life—when I was my weakest and most broken and she never once judged me and always stood by me. I had done the exact same thing for her, and we were both grateful for each other's friendship. Most people don't expect for their childhood best friend to even last into middle school—but our friendship spanned from pre-kindergarten to elementary school to middle school (it helped we went to the same school) and even until we went to different high schools and different colleges. And now, here we were sitting in my bed, both of us with face masks on our skin, looking crazy and making funny faces to my son to keep him entertained, and we still seemed like the same people we had always been, despite being older, hopefully wiser and definitely happier.
Since becoming a mother a few weeks ago, everything made me either sad or nostalgic—it wasn't bad, but it certainly was draining after a while. I couldn't wait for my husband to come, even if it was for a few days; it would allow us to reconnect and spend time together as a family and it would give him a little rest. Veronica said something, and it jarred me from my thoughts.
"Hannah, you okay?" she asked, waving her hand in front of my face.
I shook my head and the nostalgic thoughts and nodded.
"Yeah, sorry. I was spacing out a little. What did you say?"
She let out a small laugh.
"Just that it's time to take the masks off."
I nodded and got up to go wash off the stiffening skin mask in the bathroom. I finished up and Veronica followed suit, watching my sleeping son while I cleaned up. I returned to my room and sat back down on the bed. She reappeared in the room a moment later.
"Gosh, why haven't we done these before? They're fantastic" she exclaimed happily, relishing in her smoother skin.
I shook my head and chuckled.
"It's just a face mask V—not a magic skin potion."
"It worked though, and that's good enough for me."
I smiled at her words.
"I know, I try to do it every once and a while—I've even made Punk do one before too."
She walked over to the bed and sat down.
"Seriously?"
I nodded proudly.
"Yep, his skin was looking a little clogged, so I made him do a mask with me. We had a whole spa day—on the tour bus. It was fun and all, but the best was when all the guys walked in on us."
Her eyes went wide.
"They walked in on you guys having sex? Not with the face masks on, right? Because that is just weird. You know, come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I've heard you two going at it also."
Now it was my eyes that widened.
"Either Punk and I are too damn loud or everyone just has crappy timing and walks by while we are…you know" I said, looking down, trying to conceal a blush.
"Having sex? Doing the nasty? Getting down?" she stated bluntly.
"Not with the baby in the room Veronica" I told her sternly.
She let out a laugh.
"Please, that's how he got here. He wasn't dropped off by a stork."
I playfully smacked her on the arm but conceded and chuckled at her words. We spent the rest of the day hanging out in my bed, until Matthew began to grow really fussy and Veronica left so I could nurse him. It was shaping up to look like another night from hell—he was fussy and nothing I did seemed to help him. I tried everything short of begging him—no wait, I did that too. He cried when I tried to: feed him, change him, sing to him, read to him and walk with him. I broke down and called my husband. Within a few minutes of listening to his father's calming words, he settled down and fell back to sleep. I was baffled once more—I mean I was his mother—I nursed him every two hours, I had skin to skin contact with him immediately after his birth and the only thing that seemed to comfort him was Punk. I wasn't envious of my husband, but I worried how we would get through the next few days, nights in particular without him. I hoped we could get through them, and I know the entire family was feeling the strain. Luckily, Punk was coming home soon—something we all couldn't wait for.