Missing You Again

Ooh Baby, Baby

In all of my musings and angst about what and when I would tell Zacky about my pregnancy I hadn't once considered what it would be like to have his enthusiastic support on a daily basis. I don't think he could have been more involved if he had known it was his baby. Maybe that metaphorical bubble wrap would have been literal. He seemed to have decided that Sean, Wes and I were entering into some kind of weird co-parenting arrangement rather than a traditional surrogacy one. I guess the houses next door to each other helped with that impression as well as Sean's steadfast refusal to pretend I was going to be anything other than a mother to my child. Any question Zacky asked him regarding the baby and its pre and postnatal care he referred back to me. I didn't need to see Sean's face to know that he was smirking.

Zacky was currently dragging me through an enormous store filled with everything you could ever possibly need for a baby. I was feeling a little overwhelmed, after all I didn't even need maternity jeans yet although the zipper on my current ones was starting to protest.

"For fucks sake Zacky! I don't need a stroller with the performance of a luxury motor vehicle!" I exploded in frustration as Zacky enthusiastically extolled the features and benefits of an exceedingly expensive and complicated pushchair tagged with the name of a luxury car manufacturer.

A woman, who definitely did need maternity jeans, examining a less pricey model in our vicinity shot me a dirty look. The look of horror Zacky gave me wasn't related to my use of unsavoury language in the sacred environs of a temple of commerce dedicated to the holy subject of human reproduction, oh no, he was horrified at my lack of enthusiasm for what was apparently the ultimate in protection when it came to baby transportation.

"This, my little nest of vipers, will protect your baby like nothing else on the planet. Can you deny your child?"

"I'm not talking about denying my child, I'm talking about buying something just as efficient without the ridiculous price tag or bragging rights of a designer label!" I objected as my fellow stroller shopper edged her way around us and gave Zacky's tattoos a healthy dose of side eye.

"K-Wow do you fly commercial?" he folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at me. Everything about his stance indicated that he was in this argument for the long haul.

"Well no, I don't need to. We have a jet."

"Exactly! You, Sean and Wes like the security and convenience of the best that money can buy when it comes to your own transportation. A private jet. Will you deprive your child of the baby equivalent of a private jet?" Well fuck, I'd walked right into that one.

"Zacky," I whined. It wasn't that I objected to spending the money, I had plenty of it; it was just the blatant branding on the stroller seemed so pretentious. I'd happily spend the same amount of money on another stroller if it truly was a safety issue, I just didn't want to parade around with such an overt display of wealth. It ranked right up there for me with doing my groceries clad in head to toe Lululemon.

"I had an earlier model for my boy." He wasn't coaxing, he wasn't trying to change my mind, it was simply a statement of fact. I don't know exactly what his purpose was but unbeknownst to him it was the best thing he could have said to convince me. There was no way, no way, that The Spawn was going to be the have-not to its older sibling's have. It wasn't a competition, it would never be a competition, but I was also determined that I'd never want The Spawn to feel second best. Zacky may not have known yet that he was The Spawn's father but I suddenly realised that he was exactly the right person to have with me on my shopping expedition.

"Fine," I huffed, "Grab me one and I'll get it."

"This model needs to be ordered," spoke up the sales assistant who'd suddenly appeared at my elbow.