Page 78 of The Bartender's Baby

Nate parked the car in the driveway and rushed around to help me out. He held the car seat in one hand while settling the other on my lower back to guide me into the house. Genevieve said they were going to keep Lucy for another night or two to give us some time without her peeing all over the floor in excitement, so we didn’t have to worry about taking care of her too. Especially since Nate had planned ahead and bought doggie CBD to help with the separation anxiety.

But Gen had obviously been over to the house. Multiple bouquets of flowers lined the dining room table, along with a basket of snacks. I read each of the cards with the flowers to see they were from Shannon and Nick, Nate’s mom and stepdad, Tim and Summer, Nate’s dad and stepmom. Dylan, Gen, Liam, Kennedy, Jude, and Brooke all chipped in for the third bouquet and the huge basket of foods. It was very thoughtful.

But neither one of us dug through it for anything. Instead, we went right upstairs to the nursery, where I sank into the rocking chair. Nate unbuckled George from the car seat, murmuring a quiet, “Come on, Frog. Time to see your new digs.”

He held our son in the crook of his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world and walked him around his nursery, pointing out the animals on the walls, the mobile, and the small bookcase with cardboard books. “What do you think? Hm? You like it. You do. I can tell.”

George fussed, and Nate turned to me. “Want to try to feed him?”

I opened my arms for him and unlatched the strap of my tank top, positioning George’s mouth at my nipple. He didn’thesitate. Nate sank down to the floor, lounging at my feet, quiet yet attentive as he kept vigil over us.

I hummed softly, every once in a while singing a few words to one of my favorite songs, “You and I” by Lady Gaga. And by the time Frogger fell back to sleep, I was ready to pass out as well.

Nate scooped him up, telling me to lie down. I didn’t.

I stayed by the door, smiling to myself as Nate rocked George. After a minute, I crossed the hall to our bedroom, where I showered and changed and swallowed a few ibuprofens. AndthenI lay down.

Our first night home went about as well as last night at the hospital, with George crying a lot. I fed him about every two hours, with Nate taking charge of all the diaper changes. He did end up moving the changing table into our room to make it easier, and I didn’t know if it was hormones or anxiety or an overwhelming love so big for my baby that I couldn’t breathe, but I had a hard time functioning. I kept crying yet couldn’t pinpoint why.

Nate was beside himself, offering water and food and back rubs, but I didn’t want anything. Only to hold George.

So I did.

The days and nights blurred together. Our friends and family stopped by to visit in shifts, and right when I thought I had a handle on things, George would have a diaper explosion or I’d leak breast milk all over the bed. I’d start to panic, but Nate was there, his calm and collected self, reassuring me with his usual line. “Don’t worry, princess. I got it. No big deal.”

But it was a big deal. Every gesture of care and support. The way he kissed my forehead and told me I was beautiful, even as I felt the exact opposite, needing help to change my pad. He was there, kneeled on the floor, holding the gigantic postpartum underwear out for me to step into, tenderly sliding them up my legs with the cooling pads he’d prepared during that first dayhome. He would smile at me and kiss my still-full belly before settling the elastic at my waist then helping me back into bed. He took care of all my needs before his own, drawing me baths and bringing me tea and snacks, forgoing sleep and taking on all the responsibilities in the house.

But it was his love for George that awed me most of all. The way his eyes lit up when our son grasped his finger. How he always bent to trail his nose over Frogger’s head, inhaling that sweet baby scent like it was the most precious thing in the world.

I’d quickly given up on the bassinet. It was easier to co-sleep, and Nate said we could tell everyone to fuck off about it. And with Frog between us one night as he slept, Nate stroked his finger over the baby’s belly. “I never thought I could love someone this much.” Then he peered over at me. “It feels like sometimes I can’t do anything else because it’s so huge, the love I feel for him.”

I nodded in agreement. That wasexactlywhat it felt like.

“But I do,” he went on. “I love him so damn much.” He reached out and skated his knuckles across my wet cheeks. “You too. I love you more than life itself.”

But that wasn’t right. Because these two boys, they were my life now. And nothing was bigger than they were.

TWENTY-FOUR

NATE

I’d officially been a dad for three weeks.

Felt like three years.

Every day was 120 hours long.

I didn’t have anything to compare it to, but I supposed Frog was an easy baby. He was mostly content, and with Tabby breastfeeding, there wasn’t a whole lot for me to do besides stick around to make sure she had everything she needed.

Because, goddamn, could my kid eat.

We’d been to visit with a lactation consultation a few days ago because Tab was overproducing. Something that mortified her at first when it sprayed all over. But I’d done some research and purchased these cups she could wear to catch excess milk. We already had a bunch of bags stored in the freezer because my woman was a machine.

A beautiful yet exhausted machine.

My mom had come over three times, staying from morning until night each day, so Tabby could sleep and I could go to work. Those days, I made sure to stop at the store for groceries and two bouquets of flowers. One for Tabitha for baking and birthing the most perfect baby on the face of the planet and one for my mother because moms were superheroes. Pushed bowling ballsout of their bodies and then got up and continued about their business like it was nothing.

Incredible.

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