Title: This Thing About Birthdays
Author: Andrea
Rating: R
Summary: It's Carter's birthday. The first one since Baby Meg joined the family.
Author's Note: Here's the latest installment. Thanks to LISA, COURTNEY, BETH and my newest editor, HEATHER. I hope everyone enjoys the latest fuzzfest … and remember, if you love the story ...well, I love a review.
This Thing About Birthdays
Chapter 16: Firsts
The face of an angel. My daughter has the face of an angel. My daughter. I still can't get used to that. But then, she is only ten days old. Hard for me to imagine that it's only been a little over a week since she was born. Hasn't she always been here with us? Haven't I always spent hours out of every day in this rocking chair, cuddling this sweet, perfect newborn as she suckles at my breast? Haven't I always been Meg's mommy?
"Hi, pumpkin," I coo at her in my best baby-talk voice. I run my hand over her soft curls and smile down at her as she looks up at me, trying to focus her gaze. "We've got a big day today, don't we? Yeah. Your first bath, your first party. And if we can talk Daddy into it, your first outing. What do you think? Would you like to get out of the house for once? I know I would. We just have to convince your daddy. Because if he had his way, we'd never leave your cute little nursery. Not that I don't love this room, especially now that it looks like a baby girl lives here, but who wants to stare at the same four walls every day, right? Look who I'm asking … up until last week you stared at the same womb every day so what do you know about cabin fever?" Meg just regards me calmly, not taking a break from her rhythmic sucking and swallowing, and apparently not paying any attention to her mother's ramblings.
"What do you think about your room, Meggie?" I ask, changing tacks as if that might elicit a response from my newborn baby. Not surprisingly, she doesn't have much to say about the state of her room, but glancing around, I realize once again how much I love it. I remember the night before Meg was born -- just a little more than a week ago -- when I had a minor meltdown looking at the plain, unfinished nursery. I think John must have tipped off Maggie because by the time we brought Meg home to her new room, it was completely finished. While John and I were camped out at the hospital with our new arrival, Mom and Eric took on the task of finishing up the nursery. By the time Meg and I came home, the pink and yellow patchwork bedding was on the crib. The pink accessories like the lampshades, curtains, changing pad cover, and rocking chair cushions were in place. A bookcase and the knobs of the dresser had been painted pink. A rag rug of various pinks with yellow accents was on the floor. And the finishing touch to the room was the paintings on the walls done by Maggie. So now the yellow walls have butterflies and flowers in shades of pink adorning them here and there. With all the pink stuffed animals, pink clothes and pink blankets displayed around the room there's really no question that this room belongs to a little girl. And it's anything but plain these days. The first time I saw it in its finished state I liked it so much that I burst into tears. Of course, I'd just had a baby two days earlier and pretty much everything was making me burst into tears. But that my mom and brother had spent all that time to make Meggie's room perfect meant a lot to me.
"Grandma did a good job, didn't she, pumpkin?" I coo at Meg who pays no attention to my prattling. Instead she pulls away from me, starting to fuss. "What? What's wrong? Do you need to burp?" I ask in baby-talk, shifting her up onto my shoulder and patting her back. She's still fussing, and I'm still trying to coax out a burp when her daddy walks into the room.
"What's wrong?" he asks me, nodding toward a whimpering Meg.
"She needs to burp. I think."
"Oh. Here. Let me." He takes her off my shoulder, settling her against his own and rubbing her back vigorously. Within moments, he's managed to draw out a nice big burp from our sweet little baby.
"I guess you really are the burp king," I say to him as I unfold myself from the rocking chair and smooth down Meg's hair, kissing her soft curls.
"Is she done eating?"
I nod. "For now anyway … of course, ten minutes from now …" I look at Meg affectionately and give her a little smile. "You'll probably be hungry again, right sweetie?"
"So can we give her a bath now?" Carter asks, all full of giddy excitement. If he was a puppy, he'd be wagging his tail in anticipation. "I've got the cameras," he says rather unnecessarily, as he's pointing to the video camera and the regular camera that he's set on the top of the baby's dresser.
"Sure. But I have to warn you … she may not like it."
"Why wouldn't she like it?"
"Well, you know how she screams when we change her diaper. She might not be thrilled to be naked. And she may not be thrilled to get lowered into a tub full of water."
"Nah, she's gonna love it. I'll bet she's a real water baby."
"You bet? Seriously?" I give him a sly little smile. "Would you care to make a wager?"
"Like what?"
"Well, I think Meg's gonna cry when we give her her first bath. You think she's gonna love it. So how about whoever is wrong does diaper duty for the rest of the day?"
"But it's my birthday."
"Yeah … but if you really think she's gonna love her bath, then so what? You'll win and you won't have to change a single diaper on your birthday."
"Too late."
"Okay," I concede, "You won't have to change any more diapers on your birthday."
"Well that sounds pretty good. But since it is my birthday, shouldn't that be the kind of thing you do for me? You know, as a gift?"
"A gift?" I ask. "You were expecting a gift? Besides the one I already gave you?"
"Oh, yeah," he says with a grin. "That was a pretty good gift." By the look on his face, I know what he's thinking about.
I roll my eyes and give him a swat on the arm. "Not that."
"Oh. Then what gift are you talking about?" He seems a bit confused.
I give him a look, staring at the little half-naked bundle of joy in his arms. "Um … we call her Meg. Remember?"
"Oh," he says with a laugh, turning to smile at Meg as he jiggles her on his shoulder. "Yeah, I guess Meg was a pretty good gift."
"You better believe it. I gave you a baby … that's enough."
"Yeah, but your timing was sort of off. If you wanted her to be a birthday gift, you should have waited a while longer."
"Hey, I didn't have anything to do with it. Talk to Meg. She's the one who couldn't wait any longer to come out. Besides, she's not the only thing I gave you this year."
"So you do have a present for me!" He sounds all excited again.
"Yeah, I already gave it to you. " He furrows his brow and gives me a confused look. "You know."
"Oh, yeah." The grin is back again.
"Okay, we better not dwell on that too long. Not with the baby in the room."
"Or in the baby's room."
"Like we haven't already 'christened' this room … along with all the others in the house," I say with a chuckle. "Come on, let's get Meggie her bath before she gets too cold." I turn and head into the bathroom adjoining the nursery.
Yet another adorable room. It was painted the same yellow as the bedroom when we moved in. The addition of a yellow duck wallpaper border at counter height along with lots of rubber ducky accessories has turned it into a cute little bathroom. Meg's yellow ducky robe hangs on a hook on the back of the door and her little blue baby tub sits on the counter next to the sink, just waiting to be tried out.
"Here, baby, let's try on your robe," I say, snagging the garment off its hook and passing it to Carter.
"Okay, I'll try it. But I don't think it's gonna fit me." But I notice he's already fitted the hood over Meg's head and wrapped the robe around her body to keep her warm while we get the bath ready. And once she's dressed in her little ducky outfit, he passes her over to me so that we can stop and pose for the camera while Daddy snaps a picture of us getting ready for Meg's bath. He's already set the video camera on a shelf and turned it on so that later we can enjoy reliving this moment over and over again in all of its boring detail.
As soon as the tub has enough water in it, I hand Meg back to her daddy and find the little plastic duck-shaped thermometer that will tell us the temperature of the water. It feels fine to me, but I guess it doesn't hurt to make sure. I have no doubt that taking the temperature of the water is a ritual that will soon be dispensed with … and something that will never happen with the next baby. But she's the first … and this is her first bath, so I guess we'd better do it up right.
"I think we're ready, Daddy."
"Okay. Are you ready, Meg? Are you ready for your bath that you are just gonna love? Huh? Let's get your diaper off …" I turn to look at him when he stops mid-sentence and discover him peering down at Meg with a look of unpleasant surprise on his face. "Oh, yuck."
"What?" I ask, although I have a good guess.
"She's a mess."
"Oh, yeah. That happens every time she eats. Breast milk just runs right through her, I guess." I impart this knowledge as I cross the room to find some pre-warmed wipes. Once I return to the bathroom, we manage to get Meg cleaned up so that we can put her in the bath and get her cleaned up.
"Okay, peanut," I say, reaching out for Meg, "Don't be scared. You'll be fine."
"Don't do that," John tells me, turning away from me slightly and holding Meggie tight against his chest.
"Do what?"
"Try to scare her … so she'll cry."
"John, she's a week old. I could tell her she was gonna be eaten by sharks in her little blue tub and it wouldn't scare her. She doesn't understand what we're saying. C'mon … give me my baby." I reach for her again, but Carter keeps her out of my reach.
"Are your hands cold?" He asks, giving me a suspicious look.
"What?"
"That'll make her cry, too. I just want to make sure you're not cheating."
"You really think I would purposely make my baby cry just to win a bet?"
"Well, no … not when you put it that way," he says, sounding contrite. "But then again, I know how much you like to win."
"Fine. You put her in the tub. I wouldn't want to be accused of cheating."
"Okay, fine. I'll put her in the tub. Okay, Meg … here we go." He gets a firm grip on our naked baby and lifts her into the air, preparing to lower her into the tub. Her spindly little legs tense up and she holds them straight out, like she's bracing herself against whatever is coming her way.
"Don't drop her," I say, hovering close by, finally being unable to resist reaching out to put my hand behind her head. Her father has a hold of her under her arms -- my tiny little newborn with a wobbly neck and he's holding her like a leaking garbage bag. And she's not even leaking at the moment. I should have put her in the tub. I would have kept one hand under her head and one under her bottom. What's he afraid of? Getting his hand wet?
"Abby, I'm not gonna drop her." He sounds a bit indignant as he slowly lowers Meg into the infant tub, settling her against the back. Her eyes get big and round as she finds herself sitting in a puddle of water, in an unaccustomed position. Her face scrunches up as she draws her arms into her body. Here it comes … she lets out a huge wail, crying as if we've just stuck her in a pot of boiling water.
"What? What's wrong? Do you think the water is too hot?" Carter sounds a bit panicky, probably not prepared for this reaction. After all, he did think she was gonna love her bath. And I'm sure she will someday. But probably not today. This kind of thing takes some getting used to.
"No, I don't think it's the water … your elbow, my elbow, and the duck thermometer all said the water is fine. She's just scared. Aren't you pumpkin?" I coo at Meg, managing to push John over a bit and insert myself between him and the baby we are torturing. "Shh, Meg … it's okay." I lean over to talk quietly to her, one hand cradling her head while the other gently splashes water onto her belly. "See, Meg? It's just nice warm water. It's not so bad. Shh, you're okay. Mommy's here. I've got ya." She turns her head toward the sound of my voice and seems to be listening. Her cries quiet down to something more along the lines of a whimper. I take the opportunity to slip my hand into my robe pocket and come up with her pacifier. She clamps on to it eagerly and then just stares up at us with big eyes. "What are Mommy and Daddy doing to you, huh? Okay, I'm just gonna put some water on your head. Oh, that's a good girl," I say as the water from my cupped hand runs over her head and down her face. She blinks her eyes closed rather emphatically, but she doesn't cry.
I feel a tap on my shoulder, and turn to see John standing at my side, looking a little upset. "What?" I ask him.
"I thought we were doing this together, Supermom."
"We are." All right, so maybe I sort of pushed him out the way a little bit. He gives me a raised-eyebrows look. "Sorry. Do you wanna do the soap?"
"Well, first I guess I should get a picture." He seems to have just remembered the camera sitting on the countertop. He snaps a couple of pictures of the baby in her tub, and then a couple of me and the baby. Sooner or later he's gonna insist that I take a turn with the thing so that he can be in some of the pictures with Meg.
"Carter … do you think you can stop taking pictures and wash the baby?" I ask after a few more clicks of the camera.
"Sure." He puts down the camera and picks up the bottle of baby soap, moving around so he can squirt some on Meg's head. "Okay, Meg. This isn't gonna hurt a bit, I promise." Meg cranes her head around to look up at her daddy as he puts the soap on her head. I want to tell him not to use too much, to be careful of her fragile little skull, but I manage to hold my tongue --and the baby -- while he soaps her up. "I think she likes it," he says, looking over at me. I've still got a firm grip on her while Daddy takes care of the actual washing. How many people does it take to bathe a tiny newborn? Well, both of us, apparently.
"Yeah, she's digging it now. But the bet was whether or not she would cry," I remind him as he gets her all rinsed off.
"There you go, Meggie. All clean," her daddy tells her. "So you're really gonna hold me to that, huh? Make me change diapers all day on my birthday?" He gets a good grip on the baby, this time cradling her with his hands under neck and bottom. I slip the hood of one of her little towels over her head, and then her father places her carefully in my arms.
"Well … maybe we can negotiate." We get Meg all wrapped up in her towel and start rubbing her dry. And then we pause briefly for pictures of Meg in her hooded towel, and this time she's posing with her daddy.
"Negotiate? I like the sound of that. Hey, let's weigh her," he suggests, apparently catching sight of the baby scale. I wonder if this is how all our conversations are going to go from now on … abruptly changing from the topic at hand to something involving Meg. But then why not … we can't have an entire conversation anymore without one of us turning to make faces at and talk baby-talk to Meggie.
"8 lbs and 14 ounces," Carter announces after placing Meg on the baby scale that he insisted we buy. It seemed silly to me, but seeing as I was eight months pregnant at the time and just wanted to sit down, I would have agreed to buy a pony for the baby if it would have gotten me out of the store. "She's already past her birth weight."
"Aww, you're getting so big, huh Meg?" I croon at her, reaching over to pick her up. "Yeah, you're Mommy's big girl, aren't you? And you're just growing so fast."
"That's because she's lucky enough to have such a good mommy who's doing such a good job keeping her well-fed."
"Sucking up to me isn't gonna do you any good."
"I thought you said we could negotiate."
"We can," I say over my shoulder to him while I lay the baby down on the changing table and start drying her off more thoroughly … her little ears, in between her tiny toes. He appears by my side after a moment, both of the cameras in his hands.
"So what is it you want?"
"Well … okay, I'll let you out of the whole diaper changing thing on one condition."
"Uh-oh." I look over to see him take a deep breath and prepare himself. "What is it?"
"I want to go out."
"What do you mean 'out?' Like ... outside? You wanna take a walk?"
"Nooo … I want to go somewhere. You know, a place that isn't this house. Where there will be people other than my husband and my daughter."
"You'll be seeing lots of people tonight at the party," he reminds me.
"I know. But … I've gone absolutely nowhere since we brought Meg home, and I'm getting a serious case of cabin fever."
"You want to go out for awhile while I stay with Meg?"
"No, I thought we could all go out."
"You want to take the baby out?" He sounds somewhat scandalized. "She's only ten days old."
"So?"
"SO? So do you really think she should be out in public … around all those … people?"
"You just said yourself that there will be lots of people here tonight, and she's gonna be around all them."
"Yeah, but they're not strangers."
"Exactly. Which makes it worse, if you think about it. They're gonna expect us to let them hold her. They'll touch her and breathe all over her. Won't they, Meg? Yeah, they will. Good thing you've got all of Mommy's antibodies to help you fight off their icky germs," I say, looking down at the baby as I fasten her diaper and reach for a little pink onesie to slip over her head.
"I didn't think of that," John says.
"Yeah, so see? Taking her out can't be any worse than that, right?"
"I guess not."
"So you think it'll be okay to go out for a while today?"
"No."
"No? But you just said it couldn't be worse than what she'll be exposed to at the party."
"I know. That's why I think we should cancel the party."
"What?" I pick up Meg and turn around to face him. "We're not canceling the party."
"I don't want her to get sick."
It's all I can do to suppress an eye roll. "She won't get sick, I promise. Not at the party. And … not when we go out for breakfast."
"Breakfast?"
"Well, since I sort of fell down on the job on the whole breakfast-in-bed thing, I thought maybe I could take you out for a nice birthday breakfast. Besides, we need to pick up the cake. And a few other odds and ends for the party. So what do you say? Now that Meg's had her first bath, how about we take her on her first outing?"
He seems to consider this for a moment, making a display of furrowing his brow and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Well … okay. But don't let any strangers hold her."
"I promise. I won't let her talk to strangers. Or run with scissors. Or leave the house with a wet head." His turn to give me an eye roll. "Why don't you go get dressed while I get Meg dressed?" I suggest.
"How come you get to dress the baby?" he asks plaintively.
"Because I'm the mommy."
"It's my birthday," he counters.
"I pushed an almost-nine-pound baby out of my body. A little over a week ago."
"Okay, you win." He smiles and waves at Meg who's curled up against my chest, one tiny arm flailing around in the air. "Daddy'll be right back," he tells her before turning back toward our bedroom.
"Okay, Meggie, it's a big day. You get to escape from the house and go out into the real world. So what do you want to wear?" I consult with her as we stand in front of her closet, surveying all her little outfits. "I think … something comfy … and babyish, I guess. Since you are a baby and all. Besides, you'll be all dressed up tonight. So how about one of your cute little sleepers?" I pull a couple of the footy pajamas out of the closet and lay them over the changing table to decide which one. "What'll it be, pumpkin? The pink stripes or the yellow with teeny-tiny pink flowers." I feel Meg hiccup against my chest. "What's that? You like the yellow with the flowers? Okay. Oh, it'll be such a pretty color with your red hair, won't it? And we'll put you in your little pink cap and take your little pink blanket … because we don't want any little old ladies thinking you're a boy, do we?" Apparently Meg doesn't like that idea either because she begins fussing a little. But just her usual ehn-ehn-ehn, and a little jiggling and swaying seems to soothe her. I lay her down on the changing table and get her dressed up in her little one piece outfit, adding the pink cap to her head.
"I guess we'd better pack up a diaper bag, huh sweetie? I think we really have to take the pink one … it just happens to match your outfit with the same little flowers and everything. Well, I guess it doesn't just happen to … I'm sure Aunt Susan did that one purpose. Other than your daddy, Aunt Susan was the first person to bring you a gift after your were born … and just about all of it was pink. Or covered in pink flowers. Or both. See, look at the little matching bibs. But you don't need those yet, do you?" I empty out all the little goodies that are still in the diaper bag that Susan gave us as a gift before we even left the hospital. "Let's see … I guess we better start with diapers," I say to Meg, who's calmly watching me from her spot on the changing table. I put the bag down next to her little feet and start filling it up with all the essentials of traveling with a newborn. "Got the diapers, and the wipes in the little travel container. We better take a burp cloth … or two. And we'll put your pink blanket in the outside pocket in case we need it. And since we don't need any bottles to go in the bottle pockets, we'll put a couple extra pacifiers in there. We wouldn't want to be without those, would we?" I coo at her. She seems decidedly uninterested as I decide to pack up the pink sleeper that I almost dressed her in. And then, just in case, toss in one of the nightgowns she wears a lot, a pair of booties, an extra onesie and another little hat.
"Okay, pumpkin. I think that's it. I think we're ready." She starts squirming around on the changing table and making the I'm-about-to-start-screaming face. I pop a pacifier in her mouth, find a clip for it so that I can attach it to her clothing and then scoop her up. I sling the diaper bag over my shoulder, and Meg and I head for my bedroom to see if Daddy's done getting dressed.
He is, as we see when we walk in the room. He smiles over at us and comes over to take the baby out of my arms.
"Aww, Meggie, you look so cute. She looks so sweet in her little cap," he says, adjusting the stretchy knit cap.
"She is sweet." I lean over and kiss Meg's forehead softly. "Aren't you, baby?" I look up at John. "You look nice. I've got Meg all packed up," I say as I pat the diaper bag. "So … I guess we're ready to go." I turn to head back out the door.
"Um, Abby?"
"Yeah?"
"You're wearing a robe."
I glance down. Oh, he's right. "I guess I should get dressed, huh?"
"Probably," he agrees, settling down on the edge of the bed with Meg. I put the diaper bag down and go to the closet to get some clothes. Clothes. That's a bit of a problem. The underwear part is fine once I figure out how to get the nursing pads to stay in my nursing bra. But when it comes to actual clothes, it takes several attempts to find something presentable that actually fits. I've mostly been slopping around the house in yoga pants and baggy shorts so I haven't had to worry about the "baby fat" that I haven't dropped yet. I finally find a pair of jeans that I wore in the middle of my pregnancy that, with the help of a belt, seem to fit okay. I toss on a t-shirt and think I'm ready to go. Until I remember that I might want to do something about my hair. And maybe even put on a little make-up. So I stop by the bathroom. By the time I've managed to get my hair looking decent, I hear Meg start to make her little fussy noises in the other room.
"Okay, I think I'm finally ready," I say once I get back to the bedroom. "God, I forgot how long it all takes."
"Well, you may be ready … but I don't think she is."
"What do you mean?" But then I look down at the baby, laying stretched out on the bed next to her daddy. She's rather enthusiastically sucking on his finger. "Oh, are you getting hungry … again?" At the sound of my voice in its baby-talk tone, she stops sucking on her daddy's finger and opens up her mouth to wail. Her cries and the tingling in my breasts answers that question. So I settle in to give Meg her second (third?) breakfast before we leave to go get our first breakfast. Naturally, when we take a break and her daddy burps her, she manages to spit up over most of his shirt. He hands her back to me and goes looking for something clean to put on. Maybe we should start using those burp cloths more often.
"Now Meg, I know we should finish the first side first," I say to the baby, settling her into the crook of my other arm this time, "But I really don't want to go out looking lopsided. Or have one side start leaking uncontrollably … so just in case you're not that hungry, we're gonna try this side now, okay?" She gives me a look that clearly says, "Whatever, Mom, just feed me. I'm hungry here." And that makes sense since about half of what she just ate is now on her father's shirt.
Finally, John's dressed again, and Meg has drifted off to sleep. But, of course she needs a change before we can go anywhere. Luckily everything has been contained in her diaper, so all we have to do is put on a fresh one and get the little legs of her sleeper buttoned up again. Now that we're all put back together, I take the baby and he takes the diaper bag, muttering something under his breath about it being pink, and we head downstairs. There in the front hall at the bottom of the stairs sits our "travel system," as they like to call it at the baby store. A little infant carseat/carrier that clips on to a matching stroller. It took us quite some time to pick out just the right one. But we finally managed to agree on one with a plaid fabric in charcoal and navy with a thin red stripe running through it. It's got all the most up-to-date safety features, plus plenty of convenience features that we like. It really is a pretty cool contraption. We've been using it to take Meg for short walks around the block, but this is the first time since we came home from the hospital that we'll take the carseat off the stroller and put it back in the car. I lay her carefully in the seat, and we get her strapped into the harness and snuggled under a lightweight pink blanket that we keep with the stroller.
"Here," Carter says, handing the diaper bag to me. "You take this, and I'll get the baby."
"You want me to take that pink diaper bag?" I ask.
"Well, yeah. And, you know … I figured the bag was lighter than the baby in the carseat."
"Uh-huh," I say, taking the bag and wondering if he's really trying to keep me from having to do any 'heavy' lifting or it's really just that he doesn't want to be seen with a pink bag slung over his shoulder.
"Do you think we'll need the stroller?" he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I consider it for a minute. "Nah, I don't think so. We'll just carry her in to the restaurant in her carseat … I'm sure they have something there we can sit it on."
"Yeah, the table."
"No, lots of places have those things now."
"What things?"
"I don't know … some kind of hammock type thing to put a baby seat in."
"Really?"
"Yeah, they're all over the place these days. And we won't need it at the grocery store."
"We won't? I don't think I want to carry this thing all around the store."
"Don't call our baby girl a thing," I joke.
"I meant the carseat," he says with mock exasperation.
"Well, you won't have to. It'll clip right on to the cart the same way it clips onto the stroller."
"It will?"
"Yeesss," I assure him, turning down the hall to go to the garage.
"How do you know all this stuff?" he asks as he follows behind me, his tone a mixture of admiration and disbelief.
I just shrug. "I don't know. I guess I've been … paying attention." I'm practically skipping down the hall now that I'm almost to the garage. I'm unreasonably excited about getting out of the house. Sad, very sad. But as soon as we get Meg's carseat popped into its base in the backseat and finally get underway, I'm just happy. Very happy.
"Look, Meg," I exclaim to a sleeping baby from my spot right next to her, "Sun. Sky. Trees. Houses. Isn't it exciting?"
"Geez, Abby … it's not like you've been locked up in the house for the last week. We've taken plenty of walks."
"Yeah, up and down the same street. And already we've left our street behind. You don't know how exciting that is when you've been in the house for a week."
"It's only been a week," he says, glancing back at me.
"Easy for you to say. You've gotten to leave. You've gone to the grocery store. And to pick up the carryout. And to the dry cleaners."
"Whoa, exciting stuff, Ab."
"You don't know how jealous I am."
He chuckles at that, and then changes the subject. "Okay, so since this is your big field trip, where do you want to go for breakfast?"
"It's your birthday," I remind him. Then I turn to Meggie and begin babbling at her even while she sleeps soundly. "What do you think, pumpkin? This is your first outing. And you're gonna get to go to your first restaurant. Tonight's your first party. You had your first bath. This is a day of firsts for you, isn't it?"
"How about the yellow diner?" Carter calls back to me, referring to a little place a couple miles from our house. "I think we really ought to show it to Meg, don't you?" We discovered the diner late one night when I was about seven months pregnant and had to have blueberry pancakes. It was the only place open, but the minute we went in, we fell in love with its retro feel. That was the first of many visits over the next couple of months. When a place is open 24 hours a day and serves everything from fried chicken to waffles, you know it's gonna be a hit with a pregnant woman. We've nicknamed it the yellow diner because everything inside, from the countertops to the booth to the paint on the walls, is some shade of yellow.
"If that's what you want."
He nods, decisively. "Meg's outfit will go so well with the décor."
I roll my eyes and whisper to a sleeping Meg, "Your daddy's goofy."
"What was that?" John asks from the front of the car.
"Uh … I said, 'Happy birthday.'"
"Uh-huh. Sure you did." But I can hear the smile in his voice.
We lapse into silence for the rest of the short ride to the diner. I'm busy staring at the window marveling at how different everything seems to look, as if I hadn't seen these streets for months instead of mere days. Meg's busy sleeping soundly in her carseat, having little baby dreams of I-don't-know-what. Probably of being back in the womb where everything was warm and dark and quiet, and she didn't have to cry for her supper along with anything else she might need. Poor little thing; it must be so hard to be a newborn. I lay my hand on her head softly, and then lean down to kiss one of her little cheeks. My sweet baby. Such a miracle. I glance up in time to catch John's eye in the review mirror. I can tell he's smiling, watching me with Meg.
"You better watch the road," I warn him.
He looks back at the road ahead, but says, "I'd rather watch my girls."
I smile at that, looking out the window to see that we are already turning into the parking lot. John parks the car and then turns to glance back at us.
"Just wait there," he instructs as he gets out of the car. In a moment, he's opening my door, giving me his hand and helping me out. Then he leans in and unhooks Meg's carseat, pulling her carefully out of the car. I grab the diaper bag and my own handbag, and we go inside.
Almost as soon as we are in the door, Viv, our favorite waitress, catches sight of us. She smiles in recognition, then does a slight double take.
"Oh, honey, you had your baby!" She comes charging across the room, hands clasped together in excitement. "Well, I should have known since they all have to come sometime and what with you two not being here for a while … oh, let me have a look."
John looks somewhat nervous about the prospect, but still holds up the carseat so that Viv can get a look at Meg.
"Oh, a little girl, isn't that wonderful? And she's just gorgeous. Just look at her. And that hair. My God, that's something. What's her name?"
"Meg," I say, feeling an overwhelming rush of pride that a practical stranger thinks that Meg is every bit as adorable as we think she is.
"Meg. That's cute. Is it just Meg or is it short for Megan?"
"Margaret, actually. She's named after my mother."
"Well, isn't that nice?" she asks, grinning down at the smiling baby.
"Hey, Viv, what's going on?" One of the other waitresses calls from across the room. Apparently, we've managed to arrive at a down time.
"Abby had her baby," Viv calls across the nearly empty room.
"Who?"
"Abby," she enunciates, gesturing toward me. "The past few months they've been a couple of my best customers. Those late night cravings, huh? Janice, come look at this baby. I've never seen such a gorgeous baby before. She's got the most beautiful red curls."
The other waitress, Janice, comes out from behind the counter and walks over to where we are standing to peer at the still-sleeping baby.
"Oh, she looks just like an angel," Janice says. "I love her hair."
"Thank you," I say. John seems a bit speechless. I can tell by the look on his face that he's wishing about now that he'd chosen to go to Denny's for a birthday Grand Slam.
"Sleeping like a little angel, aren't you, Meg?" Viv coos at the baby.
"Well, for the moment anyway," John says, finally finding his voice. "But you should have heard her last night at 3 a.m."
We all chuckle at that, and then Viv looks as if something's just occurred her. "I don't suppose you showed up here this morning just to stand around at the door. I guess maybe you'd like to sit down and order some breakfast. C'mon," she says, gesturing for us to follow her as she leads us back to a big booth in the corner "with plenty of room for the baby." It's a big round corner booth, so we each slip into one side and get the baby's seat wedged securely into the space in between us.
"Can I bring you some coffee or juice while you decide?" The waitress asks us.
"I know what I want," I tell her, suddenly realizing that I'm starving. "Blueberry pancakes. Just like the very first time we were ever here. For old time's sake," I tell Carter with a laugh, considering the "old times" were barely two months ago.
"Me too," he tells her. "And orange juice for both of us." He gives me a glance, to make sure that's what I want.
I nod in agreement before adding a few more items to my order. "And an order of sausage. And bacon. And some scrambled eggs. Oh, and some hash browns, too." Viv doesn't say a word about the order, just writes it down on her order pad as she walks behind the counter to give it to the cook, but Carter is giving me a funny look.
"What?"
"Who do you think is going to eat all that food?"
"Me." He raises his eyebrows at me. "I'm hungry. Besides, I'm a nursing mother, I need lots of calories."
"Oh really?" He asks, sounding skeptical.
"Really. And I would know." Before he can open his mouth to argue any further, I slip out of the booth. "Oops, I forgot something. I'll be right back," I say in response to the puzzled look on his face. I slip off to talk to Viv for a moment, and return to see him gazing down at Meg adoringly. She sleeps on, even as her daddy slips his finger into one of her little fists. Her tiny fingers splay out and then wrap tightly around his finger. She sighs in her sleep and seems to burrow more deeply in to her carseat.
"God, she's gorgeous, isn't she?" Carter asks, barely able to pull his eyes away from the sleeping baby.
"Yeah … she is," I admit. "But I think that maybe we're a little bit biased."
He shrugs and gives me that speculative look of his. "I don't know, Ab … everyone says it. How beautiful she is. Maybe it's true."
"Everyone says that newborn babies are beautiful whether it's true or not."
"Yeah, but in this case it's true. Isn't that right, Meg?" I just roll my eyes. I mean, I think Meg's obviously the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth, but I'm supposed to think that, I'm her mother.
"So where'd you go? You didn't order more food, did you?"
"And so what if I did? I told you, I'm a nursing mother."
"Yeah, but what are you planning to nurse? A football team?"
"I'm not even gonna dignify that with a response."
"You just did."
"Shut up."
"Don't say shut up in front of the baby," John says in singsong voice.
"She's asleep," I point out, looking over at the baby. God, she's so sweet. It melts my heart to just look at her.
"Not for long." He's right. Even as we watch, she starts to squirm and squeak. She makes little noises while she stretches out her little arms and legs, moving her head back and forth restlessly. Her little mouth opens into a big yawn, and then as her eyes slowly open, the yawn turns into a screech which then turns into a full-blown cry.
"Meg's awake," I say. John just gives me a look somewhere between bemusement and exasperation as he reaches toward the baby, starting to unbuckle her so he can lift her out of the carseat. As soon as she's in his arms, she calms down and her squealing turns to whimpering. However, no amount of juggling, patting, or trying to wiggle the nuk into her mouth manages to settle her down completely.
"Here. Let me try." I reach across the table to take Meg from her daddy. He seems reluctant to give her up, but eventually hands her over. I cuddle her to my chest, and she snuggles in, accepting the pacifier and sucking on it contentedly.
"How do you do that?" He looks at me with a mix of awe and curiosity.
I shrug. "I think it's just luck."
"Nope. She's a mommy's girl. She likes you better already."
"That's not true."
"Sure it is. The minute you pick her up, she calms right down. You can always soothe her when she's upset."
"Honey, that's not me; that's my boobs."
"No, it's more than that. Look at her now. She's not nursing. She's just happy to be with her mom."
"Well, she did live inside of me for nine months. I think she's just used to me. You just have a little catching up to do. And then she'll be a daddy's girl."
"I don't know. We'll see. But right now she sure loves her mommy."
"She loves you too," I assure him.
"She just loves you more. But that's the way it should be since, like you said, she knows you better. You're her mother, after all."
I bend to kiss the top of her little head. "Her mother. It's still hard to believe. I'm a mommy. Her mommy. And she's mine. Ours. It's crazy."
"I know," he says with a nod of understanding. Before he can say anything else and turn the moment even more sappy, he's distracted by movement behind him.
"Abby … did you do that?" He asks with mock disapproval.
I shrug. Because, after all, who else would have arranged to have Viv and company come out to the table with a candle stuck in a stack of blueberry pancakes? Once they see that they have our attention, the ragtag group launches into a lusty, if off-key, rendition of "Happy Birthday." I join in, singing softly, and Meg, startled by the commotion chimes in as well. Of course her 'singing' sounds an awful lot like crying. I reach over into the diaper bag where Carter stuck the camera when he thought I wasn't looking and pull it out to take a picture. I'm really getting good at doing lots of things one-handed.
"Make a wish," Viv instructs, setting the pancakes in front of Carter, and then reaching over to take the camera from me.
"What could I possibly wish for? I've already got all that any man could ask for -- a lovely wife, a beautiful baby …" This gets a big 'aww' from the crowd, but I just roll my eyes and smile, embarrassed but also pleased by the compliment. When I glance over at Carter, he's grinning at me, enjoying my discomfort.
"Just blow out your candle," I say in response to the waggling eyebrows. Still grinning at me, he blows out the candle to a round of applause while I pat Meg's back and get her settled down again.
"Thank you," he says to me and his chorus of well-wishers.
"Move over," Viv instructs, with a wave of her hand that holds the camera. So Carter moves Meg's carseat out of the way and slides over next to Meg and I. I turn Meg around and settle her back against my chest, so that Viv can take a picture or two or twenty of the three of us and the birthday pancakes. By the time we're done with the latest photo-op, most of the group has drifted away, leaving Viv to bring out the rest of the food that we … uh, I ordered.
"I hope you're hungry," she comments, before walking away.
"Always," I say as I pour syrup over my stack of blueberry pancakes, preparing to dig in.
"Wait a minute," John says before I can even take the first bite.
"What?" In response, he reaches into the diaper back, removes one of the burp cloths, and carefully unfolds it before reaching over to lay it gently on Meg's head. "What did you do that for?"
"I didn't want you to get syrup on her head."
"Then why didn't you put her cap back on?" I ask nodding toward the carseat where the cap that she lost in all of her squirming around now rests.
"Well, you might have gotten syrup on her cap."
I just look at him, but since Meg isn't protesting her new headwear, and I'm really getting hungry, I start in on breakfast.
"See, not one drop of syrup on the burp cloth," I proclaim when I finally finish eating.
"Yeah, just a little bit of scrambled eggs and some crumbs. Good thing I covered up her head."
"Yes, because she certainly couldn't have survived some crumbs in her hair. Here, would you take her?" I ask as I pass her over.
"Where are you going?"
"To pay the bill. Since it is your birthday."
He smiles indulgently probably thinking that's it a somewhat silly gesture since all the money comes out of a common pot. But still, it's the principle of the thing.
Viv rings up the bill, while glancing back over at the table. "She really is adorable."
"Thank you."
"And he sure is smitten."
"She's already got him wrapped around her little finger," I say, looking over at where Carter is cradling Meg in his arms, making silly faces at her as he talks to her.
"Not just with the baby," she tells me.
"Oh." I can't think of what else to say.
"You're a beautiful family."
"Thanks."
"She doesn't know how lucky she is … to be born into a happy family with parents who are so in love."
I can feel myself blush. "I'm the one who's lucky."
"Don't you forget it," she admonishes me good-naturedly.
"Don't worry, I won't." I assure her as I head back to my family. Carter's already getting Meg back into the carseat, probably in an attempt to escape before anyone else can breathe on her. He ushers us out amid lots of happy birthday wishes, and after just a little bit of struggling to get the carseat back into it's proper position, we are on our way again.
"Where are you going?" I call up to the front seat from my spot next to the baby.
"Home."
"Home? We can't go home. We have to pick up the cake, and go to the grocery store."
"I can do that after I drop you two at home."
"John."
"What?"
"I don't want to go home."
"Abby."
"What?"
"I don't want you wearing yourself out. You don't want to be tired out for the party, do you?"
"I'm fine, John."
"You just had a baby … Abby." He's mocking me, copying the tone I took with him.
"Ten days ago. And that hardly makes me an invalid."
"And what about Meg?"
"She's fine."
"You really want to take her into a grocery store?" From the way he says that, it's almost as if I suggested taking her to the ER and having her lick the floors.
"It's a grocery store, not a leper colony. We buy our food there, how bad can it be?"
"You don't really want me to answer that. I saw this Dateline special on grocery stores, and …"
"Besides, we can't keep her in a bubble forever," I interrupt, not wanting to hear about the grocery store exposé .
"Who said anything about forever? I was just thinking about a few weeks … months … years …" he trails off, but I figure that I've won the battle since he's turned the car in the opposite direction.
When we pull up in front of the bakery, John turns around and says, "I'll run in. You can wait here."
"Well …"
"No sense in getting the baby out just to run in and pick up the cake. Especially since she's already kind of fussy." She is crying a bit, perhaps not enjoying being trapped in her seat. Although why she should care, I don't know. I mean, if she weren't in the carseat, where exactly would she be going?
"True. But maybe I should go and get it."
"Why?"
"Well, it's your cake. I wouldn't want you peeking at it."
"Why not?" He asks, chuckling.
"Bad luck?"
"I think you're confusing a birthday cake with a bride. I'll be right back," he says as he gets out of the car. "Besides, I think Meg needs you," he tells me before shutting the door.
Needs me for what? Oh yeah … I guess in all the excitement of being out of the house, time has just flown by. It's been a while. The achy tingling in my breasts as my milk lets down and leaks into my nursing pads probably should have been a hint, even if Meg's "feed me" cries were not.
"Okay, sweetie," I coo at her, undoing the straps and lifting her into my arms. "You probably want your third breakfast, don't you?" Her crying seems to take on a more desperate note, so I take that as a yes. Now all the baby books say you shouldn't try to nurse when the baby is crying, but I've yet to figure out how to calm her down so I can feed her when the only reason she's crying is because she wants me to feed her. So screw the baby books, we do just fine on our own. Crying or not, she's managed to latch right on, and is still nursing contentedly when Carter gets back to the car, opens up the rear door to put the cake in. Immediately, I stop my warbling rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." But I think that John's probably caught at least part of my concert for Meg, judging by the grin he gives me as he tries to wrestle the cake into the back end of the car. Wow, that's a big cake.
"Do you think it's big enough?" Carter asks once he's back in the driver's seat.
"I certainly hope so," I say, keeping my voice down so as not to disturb the baby. But glancing down at her, I realize that she's not paying any attention to her parents; she has more important things to worry about. She's suckling with gusto, one arm tucked around me, the other stretched out with her little hand resting against my chest. Her little fingers seem to flutter in time with her swallowing. I slip one finger under hers and lift her little hand up to my lips to kiss her tiny rosy pink fingernails.
"I was kidding," John says, apparently picking up on the fact that I'm too wrapped up with the baby to tune into the nuances of his sarcastic tone of voice. "Did you see that thing? It's huge. You could feed a small, underprivileged nation with that cake. Did you really think we'd need that much?"
"Well, I didn't know how big it was going to be. When I called to order it, I just said I wanted a sheet cake."
"Why did you get a full sheet?"
"Because who wants half a cake?" Oh great, now he's laughing at me. "What?" I demand.
"It wouldn't be half of a cake, it would just be a smaller cake. That one is enough cake for a hundred people."
"So I guess we'll all have to eat a lot of cake," I respond sullenly. "Honestly, how was I supposed to know?" I mumble under my breath. "Huh, Meg? You would think they would mention these things when you order a cake over the phone. No one asked how many people it was for. At least you're not laughing at me." I cuddle her a little closer, shooting dirty looks at her father. So I'm a little old to be pouting. Sue me.
He seems to understand that I'm not happy with him. "It's okay, Ab. No big deal. So we've got a lot of cake. That's okay. I like cake. Besides, we may need a lot of cake -- I think Frank will be there."
"Can we please stop talking about cake?"
"Why? I told you, don't feel bad. It's not a problem. It's always better to have too much than to have too little."
"No, that's not it."
"Then why do we have to stop talking about cake?"
"Because it's making me hungry!"
"Hungry? After all that food we just inhaled. How can you possibly be hungry?"
"I told you. Nursing mother."
"I see that. See? I told you she needed you."
"Yeah, we had to take a little snack break. Sorry we're stuck just sitting here until she gets through."
"It's no problem. Well, not to me, anyway. This lady waiting for our space doesn't seem too happy, but that's just too bad. We have a hungry baby who needs to eat, right pumpkin?" He reaches back to ruffle her hair. Apparently, he's perfectly content to sit here in a parked car all morning.
"What? What's so funny?" He asks after I start giggling.
"Nothing. I was just thinking that this sure is different than the other times we've sat around together in a parked car."
"Yeah, well, we never did that in broad daylight at ten o'clock in the morning," he says with a somewhat embarrassed look on his face.
"It just gives a whole new meaning to the term 'parking.' Right, Meg?"
"Just so long as this is the only kind of parking she ever does."
"Dream on, Daddy. She's not gonna stay your little baby forever."
"Stop it, Abby. It's not nice to try to give me a heart attack on my birthday."
"You poor thing," I say to Meg, shifting her onto my shoulder to burp her. "Your daddy is gonna be terrible."
"I just want to protect my baby girl."
"I know. And really, you're lucky, Meg. You won't think so when you're a teenager, but trust me, not every girl is lucky enough to have an overprotective father around to look out for her." I give John a smile and he smiles back, a slightly melancholy smile, probably worrying that I'm lamenting my fatherless childhood. In truth, I've long since gotten over it. I'm just glad that my daughter will be lucky enough to have what I didn't.
"Okay, we're ready to go," I say once Meg's strapped back in.
"Ready?"
"Yep."
"Okay," he says, turning on the car and pulling into the flow of traffic. Once we arrive at the grocery, I expect another skirmish, but he seems to have given up. He just parks the car and then comes around to help us out. Of course, by the time he's gotten there, I've lifted the carseat out of its base and am ready to pass it out to him when he opens the door. He shakes his head, but takes the baby in her carrier in one hand while holding the other out to me. We get into the store, find ourselves a cart, and then attempt to attach the carseat to it.
"Here in the front, right?" Carter asks.
"Uh, yeah."
"How?"
"Uh …" We seem to be having a small problem getting a handle on this. Luckily, an awake Meg is patiently waiting for her parents to figure this thing out. Okay, this is just sad. It can't possibly be that difficult. But it seems to be like a childproof cap … you need a child to open one of those things. Maybe we can find a four-year-old around here somewhere to show us how this works.
"Okay, I think I got it," John says as we hear a click. He slowly moves his hands away from the seat, and sure enough, it stays right where it belongs, balanced on the front of the grocery cart. And what do you know? When we push the cart, it doesn't even fall off. "Cool," he observes. "That's gonna come in handy. So what are we here for," he asks, turning to me.
"Food," I tell him, dropping the diaper bag and my purse into the cart.
"Yeah, but what exactly?"
"I don't know. We're having a cookout … so I guess cookout food."
"Wait. We need all the food for the cookout?"
"Well … yeah."
"But you said we just had to pick up a few things. I thought you meant like … paper plates or ketchup or cheese. I didn't know we had to buy everything."
"Well, where else is it going to come from? You didn't buy it already, did you? And I've been on house arrest so … don't worry, we don't need too much. Just some hot dogs and hamburgers. Maybe some chicken. Chips. Soda. Fresh fruit. Vegetables."
"We must have some vegetables at home."
"Sure. But I don't think anyone is gonna want to eat them after we pick them out of the leftover fried rice."
"Abby."
"I'm serious. Have you looked in the fridge lately? Aside from the leftover take out, there's some moldy cheese and half a carton of expired orange juice."
"Maybe we should try getting some food for ourselves."
"Might be a good idea. But no matter what, we're starting from scratch."
"So much for not needing too much. Oh well. At least we already have more than enough dessert."
"Shut up."
"Don't say shut up …"
"In front of the baby," I chime in. "What are you doing?"
"Well, we'll need buns for the hamburgers and hotdogs, won't we?"
"Yeah, but why are you getting them now?"
"Because they're here?"
"But you can't put your buns on the bottom of the cart. They'll get smashed." He gives me a lost look. "By all of the other food? See, this is what happens when your housekeeper always does the grocery shopping."
He looks at me for a long minute and then slowly and deliberately removes all the packages of buns. He reaches down and puts them on the bottom rack.
"Happy?"
"Well … now where are you gonna put the soda?" I ask him.
"In the cart."
"Okay. Fine. Whatever."
"What?"
"Nothing," I tell him. Then mumble under my breath, "Everyone knows you get the bread last. Remember that, Meggie. Oh."
"What?" He asks again, this time in response to my surprised tone.
"She's asleep."
"Oh." He doesn't sound quite as surprised by my discovery as I was. "Well, it is one of the things she does best. Eating, sleeping, pooping … those are her main talents right now."
"Yeah, but she fell asleep on her own. She just laid her little head down and went to sleep. No nursing, no rocking, no patting. If she fell asleep in the car, I would understand. But all we've done here is bounce her around trying to get her carseat attached to the cart and then stood around arguing."
"Well, she probably likes it when we argue. She used to it by now, I'm sure. So it probably is a comfort to her. Probably even better than lullabies."
"So every night we should go into her room and argue to put her to sleep?"
"We should have tried it last night when she wouldn't sleep. No wonder she's sleeping now. She was up all night keeping me company." He emphasizes that statement by yawning.
"Well, come on," I say, starting down the aisle. "We better get the shopping done so I can get you home for your nap."
"Hey, I was up with the baby all night, you know."
"All night?"
"Well, most of the night … okay, part of the night. Still … I have a right to be tired. And not all of us are lucky enough to be able to just close our eyes and go to sleep right in our own cozy little carseat," he says, peering at Meg.
"Yeah, that's really telling her. C'mon … let's get this done."
"You're suddenly in a hurry?"
"Well … I just want to get you home so you can rest up for the party. Besides, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get Meg home."
"Since you put it that way … let's get going." He puts his hands on my shoulders and steers me down the aisle. I figured that the prospect of getting his baby girl home would be enough to get him moving. We waste no time going up and down the aisles, filling up the cart. Funny how the longer we're here, the more we realize we need.
"We should probably get more diapers," John says as we wander down the baby aisle. "She's starting outgrow the newborn size already." He picks out a pack of the next size up and puts it in the cart. Who? My tiny little Meg? I run my hand fondly over her sleeping her head. Not even two weeks old, and she's already outgrown something.
"And we're getting low on wipes," I tell him when my mind finally wanders back from its reverie.
"She looked a little red when I changed her earlier, maybe we should get diaper rash cream … just in case."
"And that little bottle of baby soap isn't gonna last much longer, now that she's getting real baths."
Soon we've got all of Meg's supplies replenished, plenty of food for the party and even a few staples to stock the pantry.
"Okay, that's it. Let's head to the checkout," Carter says as we round corner of the last aisle.
"Not so fast. We still have to go to the produce section."
"Produce?"
"You know, fruits and vegetables," I say sing-song voice.
"Very funny. But we already have vegetables."
"No, we don't."
"Sure, we do. Pickles are a vegetable." He points to the giant jar in the cart.
I roll my eyes at him. "Come on …" I grab his arm and lead him into the produce department, stuck in one of the front corners of the market, where we variously argue and joke our way through picking out some fresh fruit and veggies for everyone to munch on.
"Now can we go, Mom?" Carter asks me, a petulant look on his face. Suddenly I can picture myself a few years from now with Meg giving me the exact same face. Although I suspect she won't be worried about getting the fragile newborn back to her little cocoon at home as soon as possible. And somehow, I doubt she'll be as much trouble in the grocery as her father is. After all, the baby hasn't caused me any problems; it was her daddy that wanted to buy six different kinds of cookies "for the party." Next time he's staying home.
"Yes, we can go. But don't call me 'Mom.'"
"You know you like it."
"No, I don't."
"Sure, you do … you know, something doesn't smell very good in this store," Carter comments with an exaggerated sniff as we get into line at the checkout.
"Yeah," I agree. "Your daughter."
"Huh? Oh. Yuck."
"Yeah."
"Do you think we should change her here?"
I think about that briefly. Dragging the peaceful, sleeping baby, in her carseat, and her brand-new, pristine diaper bag into a tiny, possibly dirty bathroom. Carter abandoning the cart and barging into the ladies' room after us so that he can sanitize every surface with baby wipes and then insisting on staying to 'help' me. The baby waking up the minute we take her out of the carseat and demanding, in an ear-piercing scream, to be fed immediately. Trying to unload the cart, pack the groceries, and load the car while juggling an unhappy baby.
"No, I think she'll be fine until we get home."
"We don't want her to get a full-on diaper rash."
"She won't. It's a short ride. And if she does, now we have rash cream."
"Good point." He grins at me as he begins unloading the cart. Meg sleeps on like the little angel that she is while we checkout, load the car, and then drive home. We even manage to unpack most of our purchases before we start hearing little complaints from the carseat perched in the middle of the kitchen table.
"Oh, good, you're awake," I coo at Meggie. "I've been wanting to change your diaper, but I didn't want to wake you." I slip the straps of the carseat off of her and pick her up, cradling her in one of my arms.
"Want me to change her?" John asks from behind the refrigerator door where he's putting away some of our purchases.
"No, I'll do it."
"But I lost the bet."
"Yeah, but I told you I'd let you out of that if you took us out. And you did, so … "
"I don't mind. A bet's a bet, Abby."
"No, no. I'll do it. Something tells me I have to feed her, anyway." The something being her little head nuzzling into my chest rather insistently while her little lips roam along the outside of my shirt, searching for the source of the milk that she can smell, but can't quite seem to find. "So close, yet so far away, huh Meg? I know you're hungry, but we have to change your diaper first."
This news is apparently not what she wanted to hear, and the minute that I set her down on the changing station that the Pack'n'Play came equipped with, she starts wailing. "I know, pumpkin. Mommy's hurrying. I promise." I get her cleaned up and re-diapered as fast as possible, fumbling around a bit more than usual in my attempt to get through the task quickly. Finally, I get her diapered and snapped up. We settle on the couch where I promptly hitch up my shirt, open up my bra, and get her latched on. I feel like I spend all my time these days putting on and taking off someone's clothes. This isn't the first time in my life that I've felt that way, but in the past it's meant something entirely different. I lean my head back against the couch and feel the smile spread across my face at the thought of those not-so-long ago days of a hot and heavy love affair. And look what it got me, I think, opening up my eyes and looking down at the baby in my arms.
"What are you grinning about?" John calls from the kitchen.
"You know, you'd get that done a lot faster if you'd stop staring at us," I respond.
He chuckles, but turns back to the task at hand. A few minutes later, he slips onto the couch next to Meg and I.
"Did you get it all put away?"
"Yeah … slave driver," he mutters under his breath.
"What?" I ask with a laugh.
"Making me do all this work on my birthday."
"Yeah, putting the groceries away must have really wore you out."
"It did." He yawns as if to prove it and lays his head down on the couch next to where I'm resting mine. "You never told me what was making you so happy before."
"Oh. Uh … nothing. Everything. Meg. You."
"Me?" He sounds surprised.
"Yeah. Actually I was thinking about when we first got together."
"There's that grin again. What kind of wicked thoughts are you thinking?"
"Hmm … I was just thinking that since Meg's been born … well, the last time I spent this much time taking off and putting on clothes was when we were in the whole honeymoon stage."
"When we couldn't keep our hands off each other?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I hadn't thought about it, but I guess it's true. And since Meg's been born, I've certainly seen more of your boobs than I have since that honeymoon stage."
"Sometimes I think I shouldn't even bother putting on a shirt."
"I could get behind that. Of course, it would have been a little weird last week with Eric and Maggie here. And I'm not sure how everyone would react tonight if you showed up topless."
"They probably wouldn't notice … you know all anyone is going to pay any attention to is Meg. And maybe the food. But mostly Meg."
"Great. It's my birthday, and I'm being upstaged by a one-week-old."
"Well, she can't help it that she's cuter than you."
"Yes, but I'm a better conversationalist."
"True. But she's really getting good at this whole sleep thing. She's got that down."
"Is she asleep again?"
"Almost."
"Can I take her?" he asks, reaching out his arms.
"Well … since it's your birthday …"
"Hi, jelly bean," he says as he takes her in his arms. Her eyes open up slowly, but she doesn't cry. She seems very calm and content, and her father holds her out in front of us where we can both study her.
"Are you having a good birthday so far?" I ask, laying my head down on his shoulder.
He glances over at me briefly before turning back to Meg. "Are you serious? Of course. It's the best birthday ever. All because of you and Meg. Isn't that right, Meg? Yeah, it's all because of you. Yeah, that's my girl." He's smiling down at the baby, using his best baby-talk voice. I look at her looking up at him, enthralled by the sound of his voice or whatever she can see of the exaggerated grin on his face. I reach out and stroke her soft hair.
"Yeah, you made this a very happy birthday," John croons at our baby girl. And then, with no warning whatsoever, Meg looks up at her daddy … and smiles. A real smile. Not an I've-got-gas grimace that looks a lot like a smile, but an actual smile. Suddenly we are snapped out of our sleepy daze and brought to attention.
"Did you see that?" I ask him, knowing full well that he did.
"She smiled. At us."
"I know." Amazing.
"Isn't she too young to be smiling?"
"I guess not," I say with a laugh. "Wow. She's happy. You're happy, aren't you, Meggie?" I rub her cheek gently and she turns her head toward me. "Oh, pumpkin … you smiled for your daddy on his birthday. Oh ..."
"Aww, don't cry, Abby," John says noticing my voice breaking and the sniffling I'm doing. He wraps his free arm around me and pulls me close. "Don't worry Meg, Mommy's okay. She's just happy."
"That's right, sweetie. I'm just so glad that your first smile was today. Yeah, that's a good girl, giving Daddy such a nice gift. So many firsts, today, huh? And we'll never forget them since they were all on such a special day, will we? Nooo … " I lean down and kiss her forehead, and when I pull away, she suddenly smiles again, kicking her feet against her father's chest. "She really is happy."
"Yes, she is," he agrees. "I didn't think it would happen so fast."
"Meg smiling? Neither did I."
"No. My wish coming true."
"What?"
"This morning. The candle in the pancakes. I wished the same thing I'll wish for the rest of my life … that Meg will be happy. And she is."
"Oh. Now you're gonna make me cry," I say looking up at him all teary-eyed.
"No crying on my birthday," he says.
"They're good tears."
"I know."
We fall into a comfortable silence then, just watching Meg who suddenly yawns … a full body yawn, we like to call it, where her mouth opens wide as all her limbs stretch out as and then contract in, wrapping tight around her body.
"It's naptime, huh Meggie?" he daddy whispers to her, moving her into the cozy crook of his arm.
"Sounds like a good idea to me," I say from where I'm curled up in the cozy crook of his other arm. I snuggle up a little closer, reaching one hand over to rest lightly on the baby. Such a tiny little person who has changed our lives so much in such a short time. Our hopes, our dreams, our birthday wishes all wrapped up in this bundle of joy we call Meg. She's made this birthday unlike any other, and, I realize suddenly, this is just the beginning. There's still much more to come.