~Close your eyes and picture the warmth of the sun on your skin... that's how being loved by her felt~
Harry Styles is a nepotism baby turned new father, left clueless with a newborn baby to raise, he is overwhelmed and under pressure. Matters are...
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"What the fuck am I doing here?" I mutter to Amos, running my hand along the leather steering wheel in dismay. "What the fuck am I doing talking to a baby who can't understand me?"
Amos blinks and I swear my insides turn to goo. Even the smallest of things that he does makes my tummy flip at how proud I am.
It sounds so incredibly stupid to say, like truly, I see how idiotic it this sounds. But even in the fifteen days that he has been alive, he has changed so much.
When he first popped out, I kind of thought he looked like a potato with eyes. Don't get me wrong, I still found him adorable but appearance wise he has changed so much since his mother gave birth to him.
It feels wrong to call her his mother. She isn't his mum, nor has she ever attempted to be. I get that some women don't want children, I fully understand that not everyone wants a husband/ wife and a kid and dog and white picket fence and a whole football team of siblings to follow. Amos' mum was clearly one of those people and I don't blame her for that.
What I do blame her for is telling me she did want to keep him and saying she wanted to be able to co-parent peacefully until the day after he was born, where she decided she wanted nothing to do with him or me and then proceeded to leave the state.
I deserve more than that.
Amos deserves more than that.
Honestly, his mum is the whole reason we have been dumped in this mess. I mean yes we wouldn't have been married because we weren't even together but I wouldn't have to find some random woman off the street and beg them to be my stand in wife for an entire month to appease my parents.
If she was still kicking about, wanting to co-parent the baby she was involved in making then I wouldn't be sitting outside a waitresses' house, psyching myself up to go and ask her the most profound question she has probably ever been asked.
"What do you think, huh?" I move my finger about despite his hand being starfished around the digit and holding on tight. "Do you think she is going to shoot daddy down and tell him to get fucked?"
My child stares at the soft ceiling of the car, not at all bothered by the sound of my voice.
"Of course not because little miss sunshine doesn't swear now does she? Nope, which means daddy is going to have to seriously reign in his potty mouth if he wants to make this work."
Amos blinks again, his button nose scrunching ever so slightly before his tiny body jerks with a little sneeze rocketing through him.
"Oh my!" I gasp, still speaking in that pathetic baby voice that I put on when it's only me and him.
Which is most of the time.
"And you, you need to stop being so gosh darn cute because it's not helping matters. Sunday will end up liking you more than me."
