Invisible String

47

“I—I don’t understand.” She sounds stunned. “You… you were in labor and didn’t know you were pregnant?”

Travis jumps in, “We were timing the contractions on the drive and still trying to convince ourselves it was food poisoning or something. Then… five hours later—Baylor.”

I hear her breathe out hard, like she had to sit down. “You’re telling me my daughter just delivered a baby on Christmas Day without ever knowing she was pregnant?”

“Yup,” I say, finally helping Baylor latch. The pain makes me flinch, but the emotion in my chest almost drowns it out. “And he’s perfect. His name’s Baylor James Kelce. Born at 7:42 this morning. Seven pounds, six ounces. Complete shock… but also, the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

She’s crying now. I can hear it. “Taylor… oh my God. A Christmas miracle.”

“More like a Christmas ambush,” I say with a tired laugh. “But yeah. He’s here. He’s real. And I still can’t believe it.”

“I need to be there,” she says. “I’ll come as soon as I can. Just… oh my God. I love you. Both of you. All three of you.”

I look down at Baylor, his tiny body warm against mine, his soft breaths like feathers on my skin.

“We love you too,” I whisper. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, followed by the creak as it slowly opens. A nurse steps in with a clipboard in hand, smiling gently when she sees Baylor tucked against my chest, both of us nestled in the hospital bed like we’ve known each other for more than a few hours.

“Hey, just checking in,” she says warmly. “Congratulations again, by the way. We’re starting to prep discharge paperwork… do you two have a car seat, or do you need one?”

I glance at Travis, blinking. We both kind of freeze for a second.

Car seat.

Right.

We literally found out we were having a baby yesterday.

Travis rubs the back of his neck, clearly doing some math in his head. “Um… we have Mira’s,” he says finally. “Her infant one’s still in the garage somewhere.”

“But I’m not going to adjust it for him,” I add quickly, running a hand gently over Baylor’s tiny back. “We’ll just get a new one. He should have his own.”

The nurse nods without missing a beat. “Okay, no problem. We actually have a few new ones in storage for situations like this—surprise deliveries or emergencies. I’ll go grab one and bring it in, get it set up for you guys.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice quiet but full of a whole new kind of gratitude.

She smiles. “You’re welcome. Be right back.”

As the door clicks shut behind her, Travis exhales and laughs softly, sitting back in the chair beside me.

“You know,” he murmurs, “less than twenty-four hours ago we didn’t even know this kid existed. And now we’re picking out his car seat.”

I grin, leaning my cheek against Baylor’s soft little head. “And figuring out how to take him home. What a day.”

“Best worst-planned Christmas ever,” he says.

“Agreed,” I whisper.

The door creaks open again a few minutes later, and the nurse walks in carrying a brand-new infant car seat still wrapped in its packaging. She sets it down gently on the counter, then walks over to the foot of the bed with a warm, reassuring smile.