“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.” Haley rubs Camille’s shoulders. “Come on, Camille. Give me another good push on the next one. Everything you’ve got.”
Even Michael is in on the support, rubbing Camille’s back as she gathers her strength. As much as I hate the woman, she’s trucking along, and I have tremendous appreciation for what she’s going through. I think maybe that gives me some kind of complex, but I’m not interested in figuring it out any further.
Maybe it’s because I had a good mom growing up, or maybe it’s just because I know what her body’s been going through these past months has to be extremely grueling.
Another scream erupts from her, fingers digging into my shoulders and she pushes again, grinding her teeth with the force. “Something’s wrong!”
“Let’s get the baby out, Camille. You’re doing great.”
“Something’s wrong. Something doesn’t feel right.”
I glance at Haley who shakes her head once, then reaches between Camille’s legs. “Everything looks fine, honey.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Owen’scriesturnfromloud inconsolable wails to tiny little whimpers when I fasten the final strap to his clean diaper. His tiny lip quivers, a soft sigh escaping as I quietly hum and stick his chunky little legs into the bottom half of his fleece footed pajamas.
“There you go, bud. Fresh diaper and a full belly. All you need is your Da to give you some snuggles.” I pick him up from the changing table, peppering his face with kisses.
Tomorrow will be his six-month birthday. Half a year with this sweet little babe, and I couldn’t be happier. He’s still waking through the night, but Michael and I have been doing a fantastic job with making sure we’re swapping out night shifts.
Owen coos, as I settle him on my chest, his head over my shoulder for a burp. Patting his back, I begin to sway back and forth.
Michael chuckles from behind me. “He’s so cute.”
I turn around, catching my husband leaning against the door frame of the nursery. “Isn’t he?”
Michael enters, reaching for tiny little Owen fingers and kissing them. “Dinner is ready.”
“Perfect timing. I just changed a stink bomb and gave him his bottle.”
He takes Owen from my hands, lifting him into the air over his shoulder. “Camille will be here any minute,” he says.
I roll my eyes, irritation already forcing its way to the forefront of my emotions, begging to be acknowledged. We do family dinners with Camille three times a week to help keep the peace. If it were up to Griffin, we wouldn’t do them at all. But I just feel too guilty not giving Owen a mother. And she’s proven to be a better mother than she is an all around person.
She sings to him and rocks him to sleep. And she’s insistent on spending as much time as we allow her with him. Lately, when Owen sees her, his eyes light up, and he reaches for her. Glancing at my watch, I check the time. She’s already twenty minutes late which isn’t like her.
“She’s running late,” I say.
“I know. Maybe she overslept. I’ll call Rian and see if they’re on their way yet. You go hop in the shower.” He leans in for a kiss.
I take the time to give him a long, attention grabbing kiss. Grabbing his cheeks, I pull his head closer to me and plant a long, intimate kiss to his mouth. Owen coos and reaches for my ear. He tugs on it, a soft baby shriek sounding.
“Ouch!” I grab the ear he assaulted and step back. “Owie! That hurt! Silly boy.”
Our son inhales, shrieking in excitement and smacking the air. “Da. Da. Da.”
Both Michael and me snap our gazes to each other, eyes wide. “Did he just say Da?” Michael asks.
“He did.” I reach, taking him back and spinning him in a circle. “You want your Da?” I ask, rewarded with some giggles.
“He could be trying to say Daddy for all you know,” Michael says, trying to take Owen again.
I side step, moving out of the way before he can take him. “Say it again, sweet boy. Da.”
“Daddy. Say Daddy, Owen.” Michael prompts him to say anything but Da.
