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“That’s my lad,” I praised, pulling him back to look at me. “Did you leave me a present?”
Looking like butter wouldn’t melt now that his pain was gone, AJ looked right at me, squinting and grimacing, as his pouty lips formed a perfect little O shape.
“Where does your mammy keep your nappies down here?” I muttered more to myself than to him as I searched for supplies. Finding them in a changing bag at the side of the couch, I laid him down and set to work.
“You’re a little pro at the nappy changing, aren’t you?” Trish mused, strolling into the sitting room and setting a mug of coffee on the table beside me. “None of this is new to you, is it?”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” I replied, switching out nappies as I cleaned and changed my baby son.
“Call me if you need anything.”
I wouldn’t.
Settling him back into the crook of my arm, I placed the teat of the bottle I had prepped to his lips and smirked when he sought it out, lips smacking wildly.
“Good job,” I whispered, snuggling him in close. “Get your chops around that.”
Thirty minutes later, AJ’s bottle was drained dry and he was out for the count on my chest.
Setting to work on a task I honestly could do blindfolded, I went through the motions of winding my son before changing his nappy again and settling him back down to continue his snooze. With the sound of soft snuffling snores filling my ears, I stared down at him, feeling my heart hammer harder with every breath I took.
Fear channeled its way up inside of me and I instantly began to worry about his future. Would he have the same failing—the same defected genes—as his father? As his grandfather? Did I curse this baby? Was he going to grow up all fucked up in the head because I was his father?
Jesus, I hoped not.
The thought of him feeling about me the way I felt about my own father made it hard to breathe. It made me want to run and drown myself in whatever I could get my hands on.
I must have sat there for a solid hour, eyes glued to his blond head, praying to whatever was up there to skip over my child and give him a fair shot at life.
A fighting chance.
Vowing more than I could ever give, I offered it all up for this kid. Promising the sun, the moon, and the stars for life to give him all the good in exchange for whatever was left inside of me.
When he stirred a little while later, I pressed a kiss to his hair and cuddled him closer to me.
Be like her, I mentally begged my sleeping son. Please don’t turn out like me.
______________________
“Joey,” Tony acknowledged later that night when I walked into the kitchen and found him and Trish sitting at the table for their nightly chat. “How’s that grandson of mine?”
I’d spent enough time in this house to know that every night before bed, Molloy’s parents shared a pot of tea at the kitchen table and dissected the day’s events. It was a stark contrast to what happened at the kitchen table in the home I’d been raised in.
“No fear of him,” I replied, adjusting my sleeping son in the crook of my arm. “Fed like a lord and out for the count.”
“And my daughter?” he asked, gesturing toward a chair at the table.
“Overtired. Overworked,” I replied, moving for the chair. “And really fucking overwhelmed.”
“Come to Nana,” Trish cooed, snatching AJ out of my arms and cuddling him to her chest.
“Jesus,” Tony muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Never thought I’d say it after what you put her through, boyo, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, not taking his words to heart. “Me too.”
“It’s just the baby blues,” Trish interjected. “It’ll pass.”
“I don’t know, Trish,” Tony said, worrying his lip. “What if it’s the other thing?”
