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Maverick spent the summer settling into his new job while I worked on getting the house ready for the baby. Together, we went to discount stores and garage sales, spending as little money as possible on all the things that she would need. We had to dip into Maverick’s savings to buy expensive items like the crib and the car seat. It was stressful and chaotic, but at the end of each day, when I drifted off to sleep with Maverick’s hand curled over my swollen belly, I felt nothing but bone-deep satisfaction.
Addie was born on July 15, just a little bit early. The delivery was uncomplicated; the medical team was amazing. In the transformative moment when our daughter was placed on my chest, messy and screaming and perfect, I began to sob.
“It’s our baby,” I wept, holding tightly to her. “Our baby’s here.”
“She’s here,” Maverick said into my sweaty hair, his voice heavy with emotion. He kissed my forehead twice in quick succession. “You did it. She's here."
The rest of our time in the hospital was a dream. I was healthy and so was Addie. Maverick and I spent half our time fumbling through each new task—getting her to nurse, changing her diaper, maneuvering her into clothes—and the other half staring down at the serene little face in the bassinet, overcome with love like we’d never felt before.
Then the doctor congratulated us and sent us home.
That first night on our own was the longest of my life. I had spent my pregnancy reading books about babies and parenting, marking the most important pieces of information with sticky notes for Maverick, who dutifully read every word. Even so, we were woefully unprepared for reality. It seemed like Addie was crying constantly. Whenever she stopped, I felt like I could breathe again—unless she was quiet for too long. Then my chest seized with anxiety, and I rushed to make sure she was okay.
Maverick’s new job only offered unpaid paternity leave, which we couldn’t afford, so he went back to work the day after Addie came home. He refused to let me care for Addie alone at night. I appreciated that, but it also meant that he was always dragging himself to work on two or three hours of sleep. On the eighth night, exhausted and awake at two a.m. once again, he snapped at me over something stupid. I should have let it roll off my back. Instead, I burst into tears. He apologized immediately and sincerely; I curled up in a ball on the couch and cried over it for ten minutes.
When I finally got a hold of myself, I saw him standing in the middle of the living room, Addie’s tiny body cradled against his bare chest, with his head tilted back toward the ceiling.
“We need help,” he said.
“Yeah,” I tearfully agreed.
In the morning, we called our dads.
At the time, I was too exhausted and emotional to be anything but relieved when they arrived later that day. In hindsight, though, it’s pretty funny how the two of them showed up on our front porch, loaded down with Target bags full of groceries and baby stuff we didn’t ask for. Brad was even wearing a fanny pack, for some reason I can’t recall. Just a couple of dads, swooping in to save the day.
And save the day they did.
By the time Maverick got home from work, the house was clean, the fridge was full, and I had taken an exhilaratingly long nap. At some point while I was asleep, they had both arranged time off work, then sat down and made a schedule of who was going to stay with us and when.
I gasped when they showed us the calendar. One of them was going to be with us nearly every day for a month.
My reaction made Brad nervous. “If you want us out of your hair, just say the word and—”
“No!” Maverick and I yelled in unison, and our dads both cracked up laughing.
Later, I walked by the nursery while Maverick and his dad were inside talking quietly. I peeked in and saw Maverick changing Addie’s diaper, Brad standing protectively over the changing table with his hand out.
“She can’t roll over, Dad,” Maverick told him, and I smiled to myself.
I stood there, mostly hidden by the door, and watched Maverick deftly switch out the dirty diaper for a clean one, slip Addie’s little arms and legs into a sleeper, and carefully snap the buttons up to her neck. “Azalea will nurse her in about thirty minutes,” he told his dad, hoisting Addie onto his shoulder, “and then we’ll try to put her down.”
Brad nodded, leaning in to run his hand over Addie’s head. “I wish your mom could see you now,” he said, softly, after a moment. “She’d be so proud.”
“For what?” Maverick sounded skeptical. His back was to me, but I could see the tension in his posture. “For getting Zale pregnant while we were still in school? She would’ve hated that.”
“Yeah, she would have,” Brad admitted. “But it’s nothing to be ashamed of if you step up and take responsibility, and you have.”
The two of them fell quiet for a moment. Maverick swayed back and forth while Addie’s wandering eyes found me over his shoulder. I gave her a little smile and finger wave, enjoying the stolen moment. “You ever wish you’d tried to make a comeback?”
“Don’t bring that up around Azalea,” Maverick warned. “I never told her about it.”
I furrowed my brow, confused, and shrank back a little so I didn’t get caught eavesdropping. From my new vantage point, I couldn’t see Maverick and Brad, but their voices still drifted out to me.
“You never told her?” Brad asked. “That’s no way to start your life together.”
“I know, but she would have told me to try, and I—” I heard Maverick exhale hard. “My heart just wasn’t in it anymore. And then she told me she was pregnant, and that was it. Decision made.”
“Really changes your priorities, huh?” Brad sounded like he was lost in memories of his own.
