Wordless Wednesday: Baby Q!

Went to visit my friend Nina today before she returns to work from maternity week. Her little baby Quentin is 7 weeks old and nearly made me want to open a baby factory in my uterus. And Nina looked great; I don’t remember looking so together and clean when Chooch was 7 weeks old. In fact, I think I was still rocking in a corner, moaning incoherently about my incision pain. Child birth was a huge, black TRAUMA on the map of my life.

After I had been there for, oh I don’t know, AN HOUR, I asked, “Can I hold him? I just want to see if I remember how.”

“Of course you can, fool!” she laughed. And then I juggled him awkwardly for a good long minute before passing him back over.

The furnace guy arrived right before I left.

“Are you the furnace guy?” Nina asked as she held open the door for him to pass through.

“Nina! You’re not supposed to ask that! He’s supposed to tell you who he is on his own!” I laughed, knowing full well I would have either done the same thing or ran upstairs and hid under the bed while he continued to knock and then I would obsessively wonder if I remembered to lock the door. Way to give the next Ted Bundy easy access, Nina.

“Hi, I’m the furnace guy,” the supposed furnace guy dead-panned, already in the house at this point. He didn’t look as creepy as that furnace fucker who comes to my house, so I felt confident in my decision to leave her there alone with him.

Fuck. I hope she’s OK.

On the way home, I called Henry.

“How’d your baby date go?” he said mockingly.

“Well, I’m still weird around babies, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I didn’t think that would change,” he scoffed.