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Chapter Nine
AJ
We’re less than two hours out from the wedding.
The guys are out back getting the chairs set up, while Payton and Karen finish the flowers and decorations. Where am I? Stuck in the house, half dressed, feeding my son because he’s always hungry. Everyone slipped into their dresses moments before the photographer arrived to take a few pre-wedding pictures. My son, however, decided to wake up from his nice little nap and demand food.
Like always.
I’m tucked away in his bedroom, rocking in the chair my dad bought us for a baby gift. I should be wearing my bridesmaid dress by now, getting ready to take pictures down on the beach with my sisters. Thank God Meghan has been the most laidback bride in history, because the moment my son started crying for food, she just offered me a smile and said, “Go. Pictures can wait.”
So here I am, my left breast exposed, while Nolan eats like he hasn’t seen food in days. I gaze down lovingly at the little man who completely stole my heart almost four short months ago. He came into this world screaming, his face red in anger and already starving, while his father and I fell helplessly in love with the squishy little child placed in my arms.
Running a finger over his forehead, I watch as he continues to suckle on my left breast, his hand protectively holding the right one as if I could take it away from him at any minute.
Like father, like son.
He’s definitely a boob man.
I didn’t think I wanted to breastfeed. It seems so personal, you know? Not in a bad way, but I didn’t want to be one of those women who whips them out everywhere. But the moment I held him to my chest and his tiny mouth latched on like there was no tomorrow? Well, I decided to give it a try, and here we are, nearly four months later and he feeds like a champion. In fact, he’s such a good eater that we get to start incorporating some mushy solids after his appointment next week, like peas and green beans.
Continuing to run my finger over his forehead, my eyes watch his every move. He’s usually so active, except when he eats. It’s like he has one job to do and he does it well. No, he’s not too big for his age. In fact, he’s only slightly in the seventy-fifth percentile, but this kid takes his food very seriously.
He’s so much like his father that it’s almost scary. He likes to sit up and watch everything, especially baseball. Do you know how many times I’ve gotten up in the middle of the night and found my two boys watching highlights on Sports Center? And Nolan actually watches, as if he’s learning the game and dissecting plays.
You’re probably wondering about his name, right?
Funny story there.
I told Sawyer that under no circumstances were we naming him a baseball name. No Babe or Ozzie or Jackie or Joe. I wanted a totally normal, non-baseball-y name, like any normal woman. I saw Nolan online and fell in love with it. I remember the day I came home and told my husband. He had just returned from a run on the beach, his sweaty chest on full display and completely distracting, with little beads of sweat falling down his eight-pack abs and toward the happy trail and V of his hips…
See? Completely distracting.
Anyway, he was chugging a bottle of water, knowing full well that I was sitting there, gawking like a perv at his perfection. At eight months pregnant, I could totally blame the objectification on hormones. I mean, he is my husband, and it’s not my fault I find him completely sexy and totally fuck-able, even when he’s covered in sweat.
So, I was sitting there, staring and completely ignoring the magazine in my hands, when I told him I found the perfect name for our son. He just raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to lay my suggestion at his feet and completely fall in love with it.
Nolan.
The perfect name. Not too weird, not too metro, and not too baseball-y.
My sexy husband watched me for a few moments, probably waiting to see if this was a joke. His uber-sexy lips slowly slid upward, his smile completely taking over his face and rendering my not-in-the-least-bit-sexy, almost granny pregnancy panties useless.
“Perfect,” he had said.
And it was decided right then and there.
Name on birth certificate.
Nolan Sawyer Randall.
Now, imagine my surprise when we’re at home a few days later and Joel flies into town to meet his new pseudo-nephew. Joel is Sawyer’s friend and former teammate, and the moment he walked in and saw baby Nolan, he started laughing, complimenting my husband on “winning” the name game.
Excuse me?
I just pushed a watermelon out of my vagina and my husband won the game?
Did you know Nolan is actually a baseball name? And not just any baseball name, but the baseball name. So it’s not a baseball-y name, but it’s like the biggest baseball-y name in the world of baseball.
