Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Yep. If this little one would turn, we could get a better look at their face. And oooh, ask and you shall receive.” Irene grinned. “Daddies, say hi to your little one.”
Holy shit.
My heart skittered and somersaulted. This was a much clearer glimpse than the original one two months ago. At ten weeks, we’d been looking at a peanut, but this was a baby. Our baby…with a tiny nose and itty-bitty lips. So freaking beautiful.
Aaron and I smiled at Lena as if silently thanking her for making this possible.
Irene did a thorough job of explaining what the doctor wanted to see, pausing to show us the baby kicking and losing their thumb and searching for it.
“I could stay here all day,” Aaron gushed. “This is for sure the cutest, most talented baby ever. Admit it, Irene. You know you want to.”
She draped a warm towel over Lena’s stomach with a snort. “Prettiest, most handsome baby I’ve seen all hour. How’s that?”
Aaron gave her a playful stink-eye. “Hmph.”
Lena wiped the excess gel away and sat up. “Is it strange that I can’t feel him or her kicking yet?”
“Not at all. They still have a ton of room in there to wiggle around. In your final trimester, you’ll actually be able to see his elbows and feet pushing on your belly,” Irene replied.
“You said ‘he’ again,” Aaron singsonged.
“Sorry. Bad habit. But I do know what you’re having, so if you’re interested…”
“We’re not,” he said quickly. “Are we, Matty?”
“Nope.”
We’d debated the topic to death over the past two months and had ultimately decided we wanted to be surprised. We didn’t need or want a bunch of pink and blue things, and we had no intention of sharing the baby’s name even if we knew the sex, so…what difference did it make?
And speaking of names, that was a whole other conversation.
Aaron claimed he was easygoing and joked about naming our child after his favorite diva, but c’mon…I knew that guy inside and out. There was no way he didn’t have a solid top five nailed down that he weighed by meaning, syllables, and possibly how the monogram would look on custom towels.
“I think Lena knows what we’re having,” he commented, waving to her in the parking lot before sliding into the passenger seat of our BMW.
“Really? What makes you think so?” I fastened my seat belt, checked my rearview mirror, and put the car in reverse.
Aaron tapped his temple. “I see things. She gets quiet, and I could have sworn that she and Irene shared a knowing glance.”
I snickered. “Okay…and based on that look, what are we having?”
“A girl. I’m loving Hortense today. Thoughts?”
I steered toward the exit. “Hortense for a girl, Horton for a boy. I like it.”
“Oh, no. People will think we named him after Tim Hortons. That’s a no. If we were to have a caffeine-inspired moniker, why not just go with Frappuccino?”
“You don’t like Frappuccinos,” I reminded him. “And what’s the nickname? Frappy?”
We burst into laughter.
“That’s terrible.”
“Hey, you were the one who claimed nicknames matter.”
He shifted to face me. “That’s because I got cheated, and I refuse to do that to our kid.”
“Cheated?” I scoffed. “How?”
“Aaron is two-syllables that give you no wiggle room. Aar…that’s my only option. You, on the other hand, have Matt and Matty. Strong, virile, sexy choices.”
“I don’t know how to break this to you, but Matty is not a sexy nickname.” I veered around a slow-moving van, stealing a brief glance at my husband, who was practically hyperventilating next to me.
“What? Stop, halt, cease and desist! It’s the sexiest nickname ever,” he sputtered indignantly.
“It’s cute, baby. Not sexy. Big difference.”
More sputtering. “Cute? You think it’s cute when I say, ‘Matty, mm, fuck me harder. Yes, right there’? Nope, not cute. It’s hot.”
I guffawed. “Sure, but everything sounds different in the heat of the moment. You can make anything sound hot.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Except Horton. I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Oh, hold my beer, honey,” Aaron countered, clearing his throat.
“You don’t even drink beer.”
“I know, but hold my cosmo doesn’t flow off the tongue as easily. I’d offer to work on that, but since I’ve transitioned into my wine era, it might come across as trying too hard, and that’s never a good look.”
“Couldn’t you say, ‘Hold my Chardonnay’?” I offered, slowing at the traffic light.
“Oh, that’s a good one…although inaccurate. You know I’ve become a Pinot Grigio snob, Matty. I could shorten it to ‘Hold my Pinot,’ but if someone misunderstood and thought I was asking them to hold my penis, I would be oh so mortified.”
I made sure he saw my eye roll before the light turned green, but I couldn’t hide my grin. “How did we get to your penis?”
“Horton,” he replied matter-of-factly.
We lost it again and while it wouldn’t have been funny to anyone else, we couldn’t stop laughing. And when we finally regained composure, we invented a new game, giving a sexy spin to names we knew we’d never in a million years choose for our child. Archibald, Elmo, Dick, Bart…