If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be experiencing a love so great. A love that has consumed me whole.
I love him more than life itself.
The baby, that is.
And maybe, somewhere very deep inside, the Jerk as well.
Twenty-One
I yearn for peace, silence, and a moment to take it all in. I yearn for life to stop, even if just for a minute, so I can stare at my son’s face and absorb the miracle that is this beautiful baby boy.
From the moment they wheeled me out of recovery and into my room, an endless stream of visitors armed with flowers, balloons, and blue, stuffed toys arrive. It is like a nonstop circus. If it weren’t for the adrenaline running through my veins, the circus would have gone on around a sleeping Presley.
It isn’t just the visitors, but the nurses as well. They bustle around me, doing their rounds and checking on the baby and me. Haden, being the stubborn jerk he is, refuses to leave the room, wanting to make sure everything is okay. But I put my foot down during the breastfeeding tutorial. My boobs out for show and a baby who has difficulty latching on due to his size is something I don’t want Haden seeing. Of course, my wishes aren’t respected.
Afterward, I found out he went to the nurses’ station to ask questions about my breasts, and the nurse happily went on and on about them.
Yeah, I’ll just lay here and pretend I didn’t hear any of that.
The baby is doing great, considering how early he arrived. The doctor is happy with his growth and breathing, recommending I stay in the hospital for only a week as long as he sees progress and no complications. It is a giant—and I mean giant—learning curve for the both of us, and I am surprised Haden’s caught on to the whole bath, nappy, burping, swaddling routine so quickly.
He visited after work every day, armed with something new for the baby each time and a little something for me. We had the routine down pat—I texted him what I wanted for dinner, and he snuck it in every night. I figured if I was going to die of a heart attack by eating the greasiest burgers that existed, I might as well do it while I’m already in a hospital.
Okay, stupid guilt attacked me afterward when I remembered that everything I shoved in my mouth went straight to the baby. Then it was all rabbit food from that moment onward.
It’s a couple of days after the birth that I meet Haden’s mother for the first time and am officially introduced to Mr. Sadler as his stepfather, David. Mrs. Sadler—Liz—seems nice enough, and just like Haden said, she’s a lot like my mother. I can see where he got some of his looks from, but according to her, Haden is the spitting image of his late father.
Like any proud grandparent, Liz refuses to put the baby down and gives me endless advice on how to swaddle. Who would have thought that my whole life would one day revolve around swaddling? Half the time, I’m worried she’ll swaddle him to death with how tight she wraps his little body. But I soon find out why she does—my kid is a wriggler. He wriggles his way out of every swaddle unless you wrap him like he’s in a cocoon.
Mrs. Sadler picks up the baby, rocking him back and forth in her arms.
“Presley, I can’t thank you enough for bringing our beautiful grandson into the world. Look, David, doesn’t he have Haden’s eyes?”
“He looks just like him.” Mr. Sadler smiles.
In all fairness, the Jerk is beautiful, so I guess it’s not a bad thing. When I first laid eyes on my son, he looked like a wrinkly old man, but as the days pass, certain features start to form, and he looks more and more like Haden each day. Except for the hair. It’s curly, and we all know where that comes from.
“When Haden was born, he cried for days on end. Nothing would settle him.”
“What was wrong with him?” I ask.
“He had terrible wind.”
“Gee, Mom, thanks for telling everyone that,” Haden complains, sulking in his chair like a spoiled child.
The nurse, who is taking my blood pressure, snickers as she writes down my results. Mr. Sadler appears amused but doesn’t want to anger Haden. Ignoring his mother, he takes out his phone and busily types away. He mentions something to Mr. Sadler about an email that was sent through.
“Please, enough of the business talk. Can the two of you please enjoy this moment?” Mrs. Sadler pleads with Haden and Mr. Sadler. “Now, as I was saying earlier, it’s perfectly natural for a baby to experience wind.”
“Yeah, I know that,” he grunts. “Just lay off all the Baby Haden talk.”
It’s late afternoon, and with many visitors already gone, I yawn as exhaustion creeps in. Haden leaves to get something from the cafeteria but walks back into the room not long after, carrying coffees. He hands them to Mr. and Mrs. Sadler, then asks me if I want something. I shake my head, and as much as I would kill for that coffee, the last thing I need is a baby who’s wired up and awake all night long.
“So, do we have a name yet?” Mrs. Sadler coos, rocking the baby gently.
And then we’re back to the problem with the baby’s name. I had some thoughts on boys’ names, but Haden was quick to shut them down. Annoyed at his input, he would mention names that would make my eyes roll at the lack of thought put into them.
“Are you just naming superheroes now? What’s next, Bruce Wayne?”