Page 4 of Free-Spirit

Yeah, that one hurt in an odd way.

Perhaps things will be different with baby two.

Maybe I’ll miss less or get the chance to do more with him or her.

Them.

Feeling like it’s a good time to make the announcement – albeit bottomless isn’t how I pictured doing it – I lower my jaw and start, “Tuck, I’m-”

“Tucker!” Unexpected pounding on our front door unfortunately interrupts my proclamation and causes me to bump into the nearby lower cabinets. “Tucker, open up, please!” Richard’s pleading voice has me hurrying to pull my swimwear back on, including the slightly damp bottoms. “Lo fell out of the booth at Rise ‘N Shine during breakfast, and now, he’s got a huge knot on his head and-”

“Koose egg,Pop Pop,” our four-year-old loudly corrects prompting us to cross to the other side of the cabin. “It’s aKooseegg.”

“Except that Koose Koose doesn’t lay eggs, Lo. He’s thedaddy goose. It’s themommy goosewho does that.”

“Ryan Gooseling!”

“Yes, Mrs. Gooseling lays eggs that I’m praying are much bigger than the one on your head or your Gran Gran – who I let enjoy a pitcher of mimosas and morning hot tub soak alone – will be asking me for a divorce.” There’s a small dramatic pause. “Or a restraining order.” The next occurs as I stuff my boobs back into their top. “Or would I prefer to be buried or cremated.”

“Cremated,” Lo confidently declares upon Tuck granting them access inside.

Rich’s flash of horror has my husband happily laughing, “Yeah, he thinks the word cremated has to do with ice cream.”

Our son theatrically scoffs while reaching out for his father, “Who doesn’t love ice cream, Dad?!”

“We’ve talked about that,” Tucker chortles and settles him in his arms. “Remember some other places in the world do things differently and that’s okay. Like gelato.”

“I looovveeeeee jillato!”

“I know you do, Little Critter.”

And all it takes is for him to bat his eyelashes twice at his aunt Ivy or her NHL correspondent fiancé for my little guy to be whisked away to the nearest place that serves it.

Those two are suckers for an adorable pout.

May Magritte have mercy when they get the huge family they’re planning for.

The other half of my heart investigates the situation further the moment the door is shut behind his stepdad – a label herarelyuses. “So, it was just you and Pop Pop for breakfast?”

“We havin’ a lies day!”

There’s no stopping my head from cocking in concern. “Excuse me?”

“Guy’s day,” Rich rushes to inform during our transition back into the kitchen area to get my son inspected. “We’re having aguy’s day.”

What’s sweet is that Richard and Tucker have those too. At least once during our stretches at home, the two of them will meet up for foosball and beer trivia. Evidently together, they make quite a powerhouse team, something they proved during a family game night where it was men versus women. I learned during that event that Brandi and Britt are great sisters to each other butterribleteammates. Exaggerating a headache was the only viable option I had for an escape while Beth pretended, she was much too tipsy to think “that hard” when the truth was, she was only one Mexican martini in.

“Or…we…were?” My father-in-law cautiously continues. “Assuming no visit to the hospital or closest medical center is necessary. Well, that and if you still trust me to watch my grandson given that…that…” He can’t even finish the statement with words, just defeated hand gestures. “God, I hope he doesn’t need reconstructive surgery.”

Tucker plops our baby boy on the dining room table and shoots Rich an amused expression. “For bumping his head?”

“Idontknow!” he screeches in a fluster. “I mean I…I spent plenty of time being Uncle Rich, so I understand children get hurt. Accidents happen. I can remember clear as day my nieces and nephews at this age. I remember Band-aids-”

“I love nandaids!” Lo excitedly interjects.

“And I remember icepacks. And I remember falls; however, I don’t rememberconcussions.”

“He doesn’t have a concussion,” I warmly insist before pinching Lo’s chin to turn him to face me. “It’s just a small bump.” Gently running my finger over the swelling area that’s also somehow sticky occurs with a smile. “Poor kid hits his head at least once, every other week.”

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