“Is he done eating yet?” My mom poked her head into the nursery, her smile hopeful. “I’m having Sam withdrawals.”
“Five more minutes, Mom.”
“Do you need anything? Coffee? Food?”
I shook my head as gratitude washed over me. Connor was there every step, but a newborn was exhausting in a way I wasn’t mentally prepared for. That’s where my parents were incredible. It was strange that I loved Sam so much I couldn’t breathe sometimes, but there were moments when I was so tired, so out of it, that the thought of trying to cook or make food was too much.
Connor spent every minute making sure I was healing and okay. And on the days or hours he had to work, my parents stepped right in. I was never alone, and I had never felt so loved.
I kissed my son’s head, inhaling the sweet baby scent. He was four months now, and I couldn’t believe how fast, and slow, it went. I loved this kid so damn much that it overwhelmed me. My eyes prickled, and I admired him as I nursed him. It was wild to think that this time last year, I had tried to leave Connor.
The nursery door opened again, and my husband walked in with a mug of coffee.
“Hi, is he eating? Are you hurting at all?”
He set the mug on the side table next to the rocker and leaned down to kiss me.
“Christmas cookies for breakfast?” I teased, tasting the sweetness from the frosting on his lips.
He laughed.
“Your dad. He instills terrible habits. I tried to eat a banana, but no, he insisted on the cookies.”
“Eh, it’s Christmas.” I shrugged right as Sam passed out. “Oh, our boy is milk drunk.”
Connor’s face lit up as he stared at our son. “I’d be milk drunk too if I fed from your boobs.”
“They’re going to go back to normal at some point, you know.” My face heated as I clipped my bra back together and burped Sam on my shoulder. Connor’s latest obsession was my breasts. They’d grown in size—almost doubled from the pregnancy and nursing—and he legit couldn’t get enough.
When they weren’t too sore from nursing, we had fun, but it was still weird adjusting to a post-birth body.
“That’s fine, hon, but I love your body. I love how you carried our perfect fucking son.” He reached over and squeezedmy wrist six times. His eyes warmed as he knelt down next to me, one hand landing on my knee, the other on Sam’s back.
“Baby.” He chuckled softly. “Here. Give him to me.”
“My mom wants a turn.”
“She can wait.” He carefully lifted Sam from my chest and cradled him against his. “Hi, big guy. You eat enough from your momma? You’re absolutely perfect.” He patted Sam’s butt, and within seconds, Sam was asleep again.
My eyes watered, staring at Connor and Sam. I was so happy.
“Are you crying?” he asked, his eyes widening. “What do you need?”
The entire postpartum experience was wild with emotions, but Connor was incredible. There was no other word for it. He held me when I cried for no reason, ensured I ate, scheduled visitors when he had to leave, and wouldn’t let me clean the house or do anything but heal and love on Sam.
He encouraged us to go for walks in the crisp air and refused to let me clean a single piece of the pumping equipment. When I think about how dedicated and loving he is, my heart skips a beat.
“I’m fine. Just, so, so happy.” I swiped my fingers under my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t smear my mascara. I had put some on today with everyone coming over. And when I said everyone, I meant everyone.
My parents. Our neighbors who also had a young child. Petra. Matt. Some high school friends. Sophia and her situationship. The family across the street whose family lived in another country. We couldn’t have them celebrate alone. Everyone came here, to our house, to celebrate.
“You deserve it, Laney.” My husband’s voice was deep and serious. “You deserve all the happiness, so don’t question it.”
“I like your bossy tone. Haven’t heard it in a while. Missed that in the bedroom.”
“Because you’re healing,” he replied with a tone of no shit. “Trust me. Part of me wishes everyone left so I could take my time with you today, unwrapping your clothes.”
My skin heated. “Yes. Let’s do that. Kick everyone out.”
