Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Lexy shot me a pained look and I let out a deep sigh before grabbing my phone, and putting the damn song on the wireless speakers.
“I can’t do it,” Lexy started, placing him down on the floor near his pile of toys, “not again,” she added, making her way toward the kitchen. “He’s made me put it on twenty times already today,” she said as she reached for her phone, and put one of our songs on the speakers in the kitchen.
It really didn’t actually drown out the horrendous sounds of Bop Bop as a group of what sounded like dying cats started to sing the chorus for the first of about seventy-five times, but instead created just this louder sense of noise in the house.
“You’re going to like good music, right?” she asked, talking down to her stomach.
“I mean, I don’t think they could possibly like anything worse,” I said, brewing her a cup of half-caf.
“I know one thing… if a worse song exists, your brother will find it and play it for them,” she said as she sat down at the table, flexing her feet.
She’d been lucky, never having to really deal with morning sickness. Not like Lottie did, throwing up all day long for three months in a row when she was pregnant. But Lexy’s feet seemed to start swelling and hurting as soon as she left her first trimester. Even before she really put on any weight.
“He’s a real dick,” I agreed.
“But we did get his oldest a drum set for Christmas,” Lexy said, shooting a wicked smile at me. “So, at least he will be suffering too.”
“Gotta find the bright side of things,” I agreed, passing her a mug of coffee, then sitting down, and reaching for her legs, pulling them into my lap to press my fingers into her arches.
I swear the sounds she made when getting a foot rub while pregnant were positively fucking orgasmic.
We’d never really planned either of our kids.
Our son had been a pleasant, unexpected surprise when Lexy had forgotten her Pill packet when we’d gone out of town for a concert for a long weekend then decided to get onto something that didn’t require her to remember to bring it anywhere. But, of course, when she’d gone for that appointment, she’d been told she was pregnant.
We hadn’t been married yet at the time, though she had my ring on her finger.
We’d gone ahead and let the girls club, both first and second generation, do what they did best. Plan a hell of a party.
We’d married about two months after we knew we were expecting. Carl had walked her down the aisle. And Andrew had arranged all the music.
It had been perfectly us.
Then this new one? Well, that was a night-long, loud, seamless sex session when my parents had taken the baby for a sleepover with all the other grandkids.
We’d talked about kids, of course, before we brought any into the world. And we both concluded that we had no idea what we wanted, that we likely wouldn’t know until we started a family. Maybe we’d only want one. Maybe more.
Lexy, of course, was unsurprisingly an amazing mother. There was no question about that after having seen her maternal way of caring for her sister.
And while I’d had some secret concerns about my fatherhood ability, the first time I held that baby, I knew it was something I was meant to have, meant to do.
A purpose, if you will.
So I was over the moon about having another.
After this one? Who knew. Only time would tell.
“Tell you what? How about I give you your smaller birthday gift?” I suggested.
“Yes!” she said, eager.
“Okay, one sec,” I said, releasing her feet to go into the bathroom and dig the small box out of the bottom of her tampon box that had sat unused for the past five or so months.
“Wanna help Mama open it? Lexy asked as our boy toddled over as soon as he saw the decorative paper.
He clawed at the paper with increasing frustration until Lexy secretly slit one corner to give him an in.
Then the paper was on the floor, and she managed to grab the keychain out of the box before our son took the box and lid and walked away with them, clapping them together like an instrument.
It was a simple rectangular silver keychain with a sound wave printed on it.
“Turn it over,” I said, and she did, finding the QR code to scan.
“Ohhh, it’s music!” she said, beaming at me as I handed her my phone.
“Wait, you need these too,” I said, pulling open the lid of my wireless earbuds, and handing them to her.
“Why? Is it dirty?” she asked, shooting me a wicked little smirk.
I gave her a smile as she stuck the earbuds in, scanned the code, and started to listen.