ONE SUTTON

One Year Later

“My baby, My mommy!” Case barrels through the door, backpack flapping along his body, boots he wears religiously even when the school told him it would be better to wear sneakers. We choose our battles around here, as long as he has shoes on, along with clothes, we’re more than happy. Case recently went through a phase where he refused to wear a shirt around the house or the ranch. When he tried to say shirts weren’t necessary at school, I waded in. While I may not be his teacher, I do work at his school and had to tell them rules were rules whether we liked them or not. Case has since grown out of the no shirt phase and is firmly in the boots are everything, even has multiple pairs now thanks to all the aunties, uncles, and grandparents.

“Hey there, my Case,” I reply. As much as it would have been nice to get pregnant at a time when I’d deliver in May or June, it wasn’t in the cards. Our little girl, more Case’s than mine or Ryland’s if you ask him, came in early August. Layla Monroe Johnson is the newest addition to our family. She’s not even ten pounds yet, and already she has her daddy and her older brother wrapped around her finger, as well as the rest of us.

“Can I hold her, pretty pretty please?” Case does this like clockwork, it doesn’t matter if he’s been gone minutes, hours, or spent the night at the main house. The minute he’s back, he wants to hold Layla, feed her, and hug her. It’s the cutest damn thing, and all of my worries washed away the minute Case walked into the hospital, hands holding his suspenders a lot like Russell Johnson does when he’s deep in thought. He had a new pair of boots on his feet and a new cowboy hat, too. He marched his way toward Ryland and me, climbed up as gingerly as possible for a little boy, and promptly asked to hold his sister. He’s been obsessed ever since.

“Of course, I need to stretch my legs anyways,” it’s sort of the truth. What I really need to do is get up, empty my bottles from pumping, and grab more water and a snack. I had no idea breastfeeding and using a breast pump in between feedings would make you so damn hungry.

“Yay!” I stand up, pulling Layla off of my boob. She moves, squirming in a stretch-like approach. I’m putting myself back together, trying not to flash Case, which has happened on more than one occasion. He’ll scrunch up his nose and then swiftly look away. His dad, on the other hand, well, that’s another story entirely.

“I’ll get him situated, you and Layla have a good day?” Ryland comes up behind me, one hand on my back, his other going to the back of Layla’s head. Only a month old, and she’s got her eyes locked on the men in her life, a lot like her momma.

“We did, she woke up, I changed her diaper, we cooed back and forth to one another, she nursed, and then dozed off. Then I did a load of laundry, picked up the house, and made a bite to eat.” We did a lot more than those few items, for instance, I napped with Layla the second time, and I also started dinner and grabbed a shower. The after baby hormones are real, sweating during the night and random times during the day makes you need and want a shower. Not to mention, when you’re nursing, sometimes the hot water beats down my shoulders, but it’s a double-edged sword because then more milk comes in, which means I’m back on the bump. Then again, Case and Ryland being able to feed Layla when I need a breather is nice, too.

“You two have been busy,” Ryland takes Layla out of my hands, holding her for a moment before our baby thief spends time with his sister.

“Same as usual, everything good with the ranch?” I ask, he left after breakfast, took Case to school, and mentioned he’d be back when it was time to pick him up. Usually, he’d make another stop by the house, so I figure today Ryland, along with everyone else, has been busy with no one stopping by.

“Oh yeah,” Ry has a sly smirk on his face, he’s planning something. What that something is, I have no idea.

“Care to share with the class?” I mean, just because I’m not technically teaching until Layla hits three months old doesn’t mean I can’t see what’s in front of me.

“Not yet,” he says, looking at Layla while walking toward Case. Our boy, who is officially mine, has adoption papers and all and has a blanket on his lap, he’s already used hand sanitizer from the smell of the room and had his arms out and ready for his baby.

“Ryland, you can’t keep a secret from me,” I mutter.

“My baby,” Case says as soon as Layla is settled in his arms.

“Yeah, she’s yours for now—baby hog,” Ryland teases. I’m tempted to grab my phone and snap another picture of the duo.

“Daddy, shhh. Layla is sleeping,” Case chides.

“Alright, no getting up. Going to talk to your mom a minute, then we’ve got to get ready,” my eyebrows furrow. As far as I know, we have nothing on the agenda today besides Case’s homework and dinner.

“Okay, what are you up to?” I cross my hands under my breasts, which only pushes my cleavage up, and Ry’s eyes clock in on my chest.

“Mom and the family helped set it up, and you’ve been wanting family photos. So has she, along with every other family member. We’ve got the props up, along with the animals. All we have to do is head on down whenever you’re ready,” he takes a breath. “I know it’s last minute, and you’re going to need time to get ready, but the photographer you liked on that site you sent me is all booked up.”

“I love you, Ryland Johnson, so damn much,” I walk to him, lift myself up until I’m on the tips of my toes, hands cupping his cheeks, and lay one on him.

“I love you, Sutton Johnson. Now go get ready, you lay the outfits out for the kids I’ll get them dressed,” his hands go to my hips, holding me for a minute before he smacks my ass. The universal sign to get going on the task at hand. I’m one lucky, lucky girl. I head to the kitchen, grabbing the full milk containers along the way to the refrigerator. Ryland is sitting on the arm of the recliner, and our son is holding our daughter, and our world is filled with so much love and joy I could pinch myself. Thank god for Ryland Johnson, my husband, and the love of my life.