Battling babies shouldn’t be palatable to anyone!
“We’ve been in the child development game for the better part of the last twenty years,” the short man offered.
“Sorry, which one are you?” she asked, pivoting from the CityBeat crew to the singing baby vagabonds.
“I’m Stu,” the man replied.
“Then that would make you, Lenny,” Jordan said to the tall man, but instead of answering, the musical duo started singing.
“Good job! Good job! You did a good job! Good job! Good job! You used your brain!” the men belted as Stu broke out the tambourine, and Lenny strummed a catchy tune.
“Holy f—” she began before Jordan stifled the curse by cupping his hand over her mouth.
“Naughty words, naughty words. No, no, naughty words,” the men chanted, not missing a beat.
But Jordan raised his hands in surrender. “No more singing until someone explains what the heck Battle of the Births is.”
“Nice job with the h, e, double l substitution,” she said under her breath.
“As long as we keep this PG, I think we can stop them from busting out into song,” he whispered back.
“Deal,” she murmured.
“How much do you two know about caring for a baby?” Stu asked with a warm Disney-esque grin.
“We know that they need to eat,” she answered.
“And they need to have their diapers changed,” Jordan supplied.
She lifted her chin in a triumphant little movement. Maybe they knew more than she thought.
“Do you know how often newborns need to be fed?” Lenny pressed.
“And have you decided if you’re going to use cloth or disposable diapers?” Stu added.
“Cloth diapers? Non-pioneer parents choose cloth?” Jordan asked with a bewildered expression.
She was thinking the same thing.
“It’s quite a debate, and some are very passionate about the subject,” Lenny replied.
“What about nutrition? Do you think you’ll breastfeed or use formula or a combination?” Stu continued.
She turned to her husband, who gave her man-eyes for, fuck-if-I-know. No, not fuck, heck. Heck-if-I-know eyes.
“We just found out we were expecting this morning,” Jordan sputtered, this reply quickly becoming their trademark response when asked about anything pregnancy-related.
“When are you due?” the stout Stu asked.
“June twenty-second,” she answered, unable to hold back a grin. This whole situation may be insane, but the thought of her alien blueberry pineapple peanut sent a dizzying wave of warmth through her body.
“See, they’re right on track,” Hector added, losing the carnival edge and sliding into tech mogul.
She frowned. “On track for what?”
“The other expectant contestants,” Stu answered.
“The name Battle of the Births has a fierce ring to it, but it’s not as cutthroat as it sounds. We’re working with a few other couples all due in June. It’s more parent education than an actual competition,” Lenny assured them.
She turned to Hector and Bobby. “You’re asking us to do another competition?”
“Every phase of your relationship has had one. What’s one more?” Bobby answered with a teasing twist to his lips.
He wasn’t wrong, but this wasn’t just about them anymore. They had a baby to consider.
Lenny shifted the guitar to his back. “Maybe this will help. Both Stu and I have degrees in child development, and over the years, we’ve helped many couples prepare to become parents.”
“Do you always dress like cheerful vagrants?” she asked warily.
“No, we’re in costume to film a few promo spots for CityBeat Rattle with a few parent-training items that just arrived.”
Hector pressed his hands together meditatively. “See, my psychic intuition brought you all here today. It’s meant to be!”
Georgie chewed her lip. “I’m not sure about this.”
They had a lot on their plate—with their blog and businesses—and God only knows what they’d have to take on for her mother’s charity activities.
“Can we have a minute?” Jordan asked.
“Of course! Lenny and Stu’s packages arrived. We’ll be over on the far side of the room checking out the delivery,” Hector answered.
The men migrated toward a stack of boxes, and the room started to spin.
She sank into the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ve lost count of all the people without ovaries who know more about this baby business than I do,” she said, waiting for Jordan to laugh, but he remained quiet. She sat up and found him sitting beside her, staring at one of the ultrasound pictures.
She leaned into him and traced the outline of their peanut baby. “It’s pretty wild, isn’t it?”
“I think we do it, Georgie,” he said, gaze trained on the black and gray image.
“You do?”
He nodded. “Hector and Bobby wouldn’t allow a bunch of quacks to spearhead a site for expectant parents and childhood development blogs. And I don’t know about you, but I didn’t know the answer to any of the questions Lenny and Stu asked. Sure, we could google it, but what if we kept getting conflicting opinions? And they did say they had degrees in child development.”
All that was true, but was it smart to pile on another task and be roped into another CityBeat contest?
Then again, would it be smart to accept? This Battle of the Births could provide them with the information and training they needed.
And how competitive could it be?
She gazed down at her wrist and stared at the charm bracelet Jordan had given her. She ran her finger over the delicate silver eight and ten, then gazed at the tiny computer mouse and trowel charms tucked between a silver sandal, a book, a barbell, and a miniature cookie. These were the reminders of their love and their past challenges. But something was off with the cookie! Just the sight of it made her belly go sour.
“Okay, let’s do it,” she said, looking away from the cookie charm.
“Yeah?” he asked.
She gave him the hint of a grin. “You’re right. It sounds like these guys could get us on track.”
Jordan slid the ultrasound photo back into his pocket. “We’re in,” he called across the room.
“That’s excellent news! This is going to be such an adventure!” Hector crooned as she and Jordan made their way toward the group.
“And you can take this with you today,” Stu said, holding out a lumpy sack a little larger than a shoebox.
Presents already? Maybe this wasn’t so bad.
“What is it?” she asked, accepting the gift.
“A baby,” Lenny said with a jovial expression.
“What!” she exclaimed, panic flooding her system.
Why was this man okay with a baby being stuffed into a bag?
She opened the cinched cloth wrapping and found…
“Thank goodness! It’s not a real baby,” she cried, removing the mannequin infant from the wrapping.
“You’re giving us a fake baby? A faby?” Jordan questioned as they stared at the remarkably lifelike figure.
“It’s an infant care simulation doll. Stu and I designed them. We’ll be using them later in the Battle of the Births. But for now, take it home, and get used to having it around,” Lenny explained.