“Here’s some coffee,” Rhetts says as he leans down and kisses my head.
“You should have woken me up; it’s his first Christmas,” I say before taking a sip of the coffee. Exactly the way I like.
“Baby, he barely knows who we are; he does not know what Christmas means yet. I promise you the sleep was worth it,” he says. It’s now that I notice his dark hair is shot out in all different directions. Either from sleep or pulling at it, I’m not sure.
Now that Jackson is mobile, it’s a bit harder keeping him out of everything. Rhett herding cattle the majority of his life now looks like a walk in the park compared to herding his child.
“You’re right. What time is it?” I ask as I pick my phone up, “Oh no, I need to get up. We have to be at my mom’s in an hour.” It’s already seven. I haven’t slept this late, in well, about a year. Realistically, a little before that because I had to pee every three minutes during that last month of pregnancy.
“Okay buddy, give mom a kiss. She needs to get ready, and the last thing we need is an overstimulated mom on Christmas.” He grabs Jackson from the bed and shoots me a wink.
“I’m a delight,” I say, but I know it's futile. I do get a tad bit, well, unhinged when I’m teetering on the scale of over-stimulation.
“You’re right. You are completely rational and reasonable when everything is going smoothly. So, I am going to grab our son and get him dressed.” I go to cut him off, but he raises his brow. “Yes, I will use the Christmas outfit, get dressed. I’ll see you in forty-five minutes.”
Forty-five minutes to get ready for the fashion show, aka Christmas in my parents’ living room, is not nearly enough. But the thing with motherhood has taught me some tricks. Like how to go from gremlin to gorgeous in twenty short minutes. The key components are dry shampoo and sheer will to finish before a baby wakes up screaming.
I come out of the bathroom forty three minutes later, a new record. Feeling fresh and ready to celebrate my sweet boy.
Rhett looks up and grins. “Gorgeous as always. I’m going to shower and get ready; I’ll be out in fifteen and then we can head to your parents.”
“We’re going to be late,” I say while silently being jealous over the fact it only takes men fifteen minutes to look presentable. So rude.
“We’re first-time parents; I’m pretty sure your mom knows the drill. Not only that, baby, but you haven’t been on time since the day you were born. Us being fifteen minutes late will actually impress them.”
“Go get ready,” I shoo him, not wanting to admit that he is right.
Fifteen minutes later, he comes out looking, well, like a fucking dream, and suddenly I’m sad that we don’t have an extra five minutes. That’s something we’ve gotten really good at, using seven little minutes to get down and dirty. Rhett is efficient at everything and I’ve never been more grateful for that.
We load the baby and gifts into the truck and make it to the house at eight seventeen.
My mom stands at the front door waving, and I feel a rush of appreciation. I thought I understood her love before, but I get it so much more now. The depth of it knows no bounds, and I am so lucky to be hers. I hope to make my kids feel the same way.
I grab the baby while Rhett wrangles in the gifts as I pretend to ignore the silent curses every time one of them starts to slip. A giggle right now might just send him over the edge.
“How is my favorite boy?” my mom says as I make it through the front door.
“Hey! I thought I was your favorite,” Weston whines.
“Close second, honey, close second,” she retorts back as she unbuckles Jackson; he eagerly reaches up for her. I think my mom will be his favorite person the second my boobs become useless to him. Such is the life of a mother.
Maverick and Ava’s daughter, Gracie, runs over to us. She is entirely her own person. She has Ava’s kind heart but every single bit of her dad’s wit and sass. I love watching life humble him; as a little sister, it’s nice. Payback for all the time they were assholes to me.
“Can Jackson pway?” she asks, still struggling with L sounds.
Jackson wiggles out of my mom’s arms. He isn’t the best play buddy since he is smaller and younger, but I imagine as the years pass those two will be inseparable.
“Grathe,” he says, not quite nailing the C sound quite yet. It’s one of the only things he can say right now confidently, so I let him have it.
The waddle off together to the play bin my mother has so graciously supplied.
“Glad you could make it,” Willow jokes as she waddles herself. It took her and West a while to get pregnant, but with the help of modern medicine, they will have not one, but two sweet babies some time in February.
Our family has grown so rapidly over the last couple of years that I can’t help but smile as I look around. Soon, we will have to have a kids table, and maybe a second after that if any of us decide to have more. And as I look at Rhett, I know I want at least one more. He was meant to be a dad, and now that he can have that without reservations, I want him to have it. At least two more times. Plus, he’s such a fucking dilf. Watching him be the best dad ever is like an aphrodisiac or something. It’s a miracle I’m not already pregnant, actually.
“Okay. Let’s eat and then we can do the fun part,” Mav says. Still a child at heart.
I get it though; the giddy feeling I have at watching Jackson open his Christmas presents for the first time is unbearable. He doesn’t even get the concept yet, while Grace probably is getting a little more inclined to new toys.
