Pretty Little Mistake

Holy fucking shit I’m holding my daughter.

I was so sure the entire time it was a girl, but having it confirmed is surreal. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have been happy with a boy—I would be fucking ecstatic no matter what—but if I was wrong, it would’ve left me confused, since my gut was so certain.

I rock her back and forth in my arms, never wanting to put her down. She’s in only her diaper, my shirt gone so I can do skin-to-skin with her. Lennon watches us with sleepy eyes from the bed.

“Look at you two. My second-favorite person holding my favorite person.”

I snort, looking down into the beautiful face of our baby. She has a headful of dark-brown hair and small pink lips. Her skin is still pinkened from birth, her face a bit squished. I can’t wait to stare at her some more and figure out who she looks more like.

“The only person I’ll ever accept second place to is this little thing.” I kiss her nose. “Fuck, Lennon, she’s so perfect. I never want to stop looking at her.”

“I can’t get enough of her fingers and toes. They’re so cute I want to eat them.”

“Sounds like I need to keep her away from you,” I joke.

“Don’t even try. Besides, I have the boobs.”

At the reminder, I eye her chest. She’s mostly covered by the hospital gown, but I’d swear her tits have somehow managed to get even bigger in the past hour or so.

“I love her so much it’s overwhelming.”

She laughs at me, wincing slightly. “Ugh, laughing feels weird. Anyway, I was going to say I guess it’s a good thing you’ve accepted that loving someone isn’t such a bad thing after all.”

I rock my precious angel in my arms, dancing more than walking to Lennon. “I never thought it was a bad thing. I just didn’t want to get hurt. But this one?” I stare down at her, milk drunk in my arms. “I love her so much I don’t think she could ever hurt me. Does that make sense?”

“Sort of. I think. I don’t know. I’m really tired.”

“Go sleep. Rest as much as you can. I don’t mind hanging out with our daughter.”

Our daughter.

I want to say it over and over again. Shout it from the rooftops. I already sent my mom a bunch of pictures with the caption Our daughter.

Lennon adjusts the pillow behind her head, lowering the bed some. “We still have to come up with a name.”

“I know. It’ll come to us.”

“I appreciate your confidence in this.” She stifles a yawn. “You two be good while I nap.”

While Lennon gets some sleep, I rock my little girl in my arms, unable to take my eyes off her. How is it possible that someone like me was able to be a part of creating something so overwhelmingly perfect?

I kiss the top of her head, her downy-soft hair. It’s probably past time that I should dress and swaddle her, but I love the feel of her skin against mine. So new. So perfect.

I’m a bastard who doesn’t deserve this, but fuck if I’m not going to spend every day of my life trying to be the best dad possible.

The door starts to crack open to the room. I make a shh motion to the nurse, then cross the room to meet her at the door.

“It’s time for baby to have her first bath—well, sponge bath. Do you want to help?”

I nod vigorously, not just because I want to but because I have no clue how to even give a baby a bath. I need all the lessons I can get before we leave the hospital.

The nurse takes me down the hall to a different room. “All right, Dad, she can’t have a real bath until her umbilical cord drops, so for now we’re just going to sponge her off and wash her hair.”

She walks me through the steps, letting me hold her the whole time. It’s pretty straightforward, but I’m finding that everything with a newborn as a first-time parent is terrifying. Once she’s clean, I dress her in an oatmeal-colored onesie—I only know it’s called that because Lennon got offended when I called it beige—and the nurse then shows me the proper way to swaddle. I doubt I’ll remember all the steps, so I fully plan on asking her to walk me through it again before we leave.

Back in the room, Lennon’s still asleep. I should put the baby in the clear bassinet thing, but I don’t want to. I just want to hold on to her and never let go. It’s like a part of me is scared that if I set her down, she’ll disappear.

Lennon manages to get another thirty minutes of sleep before I have to wake her up to feed the baby. She’s groggy and exhausted from giving birth. I just want to let her sleep as much as she needs, but since she wants to breastfeed, that means the baby needs the boob.

She takes the baby, getting her into position with some kind of curled pillow around her middle. “I’m getting hungry too. Do you mind getting me something?”

“I’ll get you whatever you want.”

She smiles tiredly. “You’re surprisingly good to me.”

“Surprisingly?” I scoff playfully.

“Well, we both know you like to act like you’re too good for everyone. The ice king, if you will, but you’re a big softie under all that.”

“Only for you.”

She rubs her finger over the baby’s cheek. “Not just for me, but you’re not ready to admit that yet.”

“What do you want to eat, Len?” I ask, trying to get her back on track.

“Listen, I know it sounds insane, but I want a spicy chicken sandwich. I don’t care where it comes from. I’m so hungry I think I could eat two, but that’s my stomach being confused since it’s been so long since I ate.”

“A spicy chicken sandwich, you got it. Anything else?”

“A Sprite. But only a McDonald’s one. If I can’t have that, then I’m good.”

I pretend to add it to my list, making a scribbling motion on my palm. “I’ll fetch the food and the Sprite. You hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

“I think I can handle it. I have the nurse call button if I need it.”

I stare at the two of them a moment longer, my girls, my little family. I don’t want to leave them, but Lennon needs food, and I want to make sure she’s fed.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Taking a mental picture.”

“You have your camera—that’ll last longer.”

She’s right. Why didn’t I think of that? I unpack my camera, and she smiles for the photo. I look at the screen, and I’m sure I’m grinning like a fool. I set my camera on the tray table so that it will be handy when I get back.

I lean over, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I love you.” I say it because I want to, because I can, because it doesn’t scare me anymore.

“I love you too. Now, quit stalling and get my food. I’m starving.”

I chuckle, then swipe up my phone and pat my pocket to make sure I have my wallet. “You’ve got it.”

“This is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.” Laurel gasps, peering at our sleeping bundle in her bassinet. “You guys did good.”

Lennon smiles tiredly. I wonder if she’ll ever feel rested again. Probably not. “I think she’s pretty perfect, but as her mother, I have to also admit to being biased.”

“Nah, no bias here, she’s so cute. Most newborns look like angry old men, but not this one. What’s her name?”

Lennon cringes. “We don’t have one yet.”

Laurel’s head swivels back and forth between the two of us. “You don’t have a name yet? How is that possible? You didn’t discuss this?”

“I mean, we did, it just never got anywhere,” I say, picking up my camera to get some shots of Laurel with the baby. “You can hold her. She sleeps like the dead.”

“Are you sure?” She eyes the burrito-wrapped bundle nervously.

“Oh yeah, go for it.” Lennon waves her fingers toward the bassinet. “She’s seriously unbothered.”

Laurel carefully picks up the baby, being mindful to hold her head. “She’s so little. Can you believe this thing was inside you?”

“Trust me, I can believe it since I had to push her out.”

“Women are such badasses.”

“I have to agree.” I circle Laurel, taking photos.

“How many pictures have you already taken?”

I snap another photo, a close-up of the baby’s face. “A ridiculous amount I will not be disclosing.”

Laurel sits down, bouncing the baby in her arms. “Has she cried a lot?”

“Not really,” Lennon answers. “I’m not sure she’s figured out that she’s in the world yet.”

“I can’t blame the girl for wanting to remain in disbelief a little longer. I’m sure it’s way nicer where she came from than out here. Has anyone else been by?”

“Just you.” Lennon stifles a yawn. “Sorry, I’m still sleepy.”

“Good, I’m glad I’m the first. It gives me bragging rights.”

“Laurel loves bragging rights,” Lennon informs me.

“It’s true.”

Laurel doesn’t stay much longer, and when she’s gone, I grasp the railing on the bottom of the bed, watching Lennon as she feeds the baby again.

“I have an idea.”

Her hand stills where it was brushing the baby’s hair. “What kind of idea? I feel like you and ideas are a dangerous combination.”

“I have a name to propose, one I think is perfect, but I want you to have an open mind and not say no right away.”

“Okay?” It comes out as a question, her dark-brown eyes skeptical. “What do you have in mind?”

“I was trying to think of something that’s personal to us, something with meaning, even if it’s something only we understand.”

“Can you just spit it out?”

“Open mind,” I remind her. “I think her name is Bee.”

It’s been speaking to me all day, but I wanted to feel certain in my gut that it was the right name. A name is such an important part of a person. It’s also why I frame it as I think her name is Bee instead of I think her name should be Bee.

“Bee.” She says the name softly, testing the weight of it on her tongue. “It’s sweet. Simple.” She looks down at the nursing baby. “Is your name Bee?”

The baby makes a happy humming noise. I’m pretty sure it’s just excitement about the milk, not the name, but we both smile anyway like it’s a sign from Bee herself.

“You don’t think I’m crazy?”

She shakes her head. “No . . . Bee, this feels right.”

And just like that, our baby finally has a name.

I move to their side, placing my hand on her tiny head. “Welcome to this crazy world, Bee Sullivan. I hope you shake things up.”