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Apparently, my kid was already fast and agile and quite the go-getter.
“Me either.” Gemma grinned up at me, and I watched as Noah wrapped his entire little fist around her pinkie finger. “I love him so much, Leo. More than I ever knew was possible.”
“Me too, baby.” I kissed her forehead and then pressed a soft kiss to Noah’s. “Me too.”
“I was kind of hoping you would’ve waited until tomorrow to make your big debut,” she whispered toward him, and he cooed as he stretched out his little legs. “But God, I’m so happy you’re here.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
With my whole world sitting right before my eyes, I couldn’t imagine life getting any better than this.
I’d married the woman of my fucking dreams and created the most perfect little human being I’d ever seen.
I’d finally finished that fucking master’s degree.
My career on the Mavericks’ squad was still solid as a rock.
And my wife’s music career was only just starting to take off.
After a six-month tour across the United States and two hit songs on the radio, Gemma Landry was becoming a household name in the music industry.
Thankfully, her success had made it pretty damn easy for her parents and Grandpa Joe to understand why Gemma’s career path didn’t end the way they’d originally thought. The night all three of them had been sitting beside me in the front row while her band played the Staples Center had been one hell of a validating and emotional moment for her. One I’d been more than proud to be a part of.
When Noah started to cry, I didn’t hesitate to pull him into my arms and rock him back and forth a bit.
But the cries only came harder, and I looked at Gemma in confusion. “Is he hungry?” I asked and she shrugged.
“Honestly, I think he just needs his diaper changed,” she said. “Check that first, and if he’s still upset, I’ll try to breastfeed him again.”
I grinned down at my son as I moved him over to the plastic hospital bassinette and laid his tiny body down on the miniature mattress.
He kicked out his legs the instant I unswaddled his blanket, and when I removed his onesie and diaper, it was pretty apparent the little dude had in fact needed a bit of freshening up.
Only ten hours old and I was learning pretty quick that babies spent most of their time eating, shitting, and pissing.
I grabbed baby wipes and a fresh diaper from the drawer below his bassinette, but just before I could get my little guy all cleaned up, an arc of urine left his small body and hit me directly in the face.
“Ah, shit,” I muttered, and with the help of baby wipes, I prevented the stream from hitting me directly in the eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Gemma asked from the bed.
“Noah just pissed all over me.”
The room turned silent until it wasn’t.
My wife was laughing her ass off, and my son, well, he was crying again.
“Stop laughing,” I muttered as I quickly cleaned up Noah again and put on a fresh diaper. “It’s not that funny.”
“Trust me, it is flipping hilarious.” She giggled, and I glanced at her over my shoulder.
When I quirked a brow, she added, “You getting peed on by our baby? Yeah, I’m having some serious déjà vu moments over here. Not to mention, I think it’s safe to say Noah is one hundred percent our son.”
And then the memory hit me.
That fateful day I’d met the woman of my dreams.
While it’d been slightly tainted, it had been the best fucking day of my life.
It had changed everything.
She had changed everything.
Yeah. I was certain life couldn’t get any better than this.
THE END
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