Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Since my little trip to a certain college a couple of hours away…
Distractions. Today is about distraction.
Swallowing, I click the large “yes” on the screen, swiftly turning away so I don’t have to see the images as they flash there in rapid succession.
I focus on my bag of accessories, taking out my small traveling tripod and setting it up to make sure nothing’s broken or missing. I clean my lenses and sensor, attaching each piece and then detaching before placing them back into their designated slots.
It’s ten after twelve in the afternoon, and I know little mister will be waking up from his nap any moment, so I hurry and finish packing up my camera bag, adding in all the necessities that I’ve discovered I need along the way. My internship at Embers Elite this past year taught me a lot, one very important thing being I’m pretty worthless when I’m lacking in sugars. So on that note, I add a few small packs of chocolate-covered almonds to the side pouch, some tissues, ChapStick, and superglue to the other.
It was my first assignment as the newest member of the sports photography team when I discovered superglue could be my best friend on the field. There’s nothing worse than when you’re awkwardly bent, lying against the grass, or raised in the air, however the heck you manage that, and you break something you can’t piece back together. Sure, the superglue destroys it and you’re still screwed later, forced to replace the part regardless, but at least at the end of the day, you got the shot you came for. And when you’re hanging around, sometimes literally, a six-foot, three-hundred-pound lineman for that money shot, things are bound to break.
Today will be different, though. I’m not headed to a field where I’ll be taking pictures of athletes but instead under what I imagine will be dainty string lights or glowing fluorescent ones to set the ambiance in a romantic glow.
I’ll be following the happy couple with my lens from every corner of the room, catching what they believe to be private moments between the two. I’ll freeze them in time, and down the road, when they look back at the images of them whispering to each other, they’ll remember their little secret.
Mason was my little secret.
Okay. So not really a distraction for me but in fact a horrible idea.
A laugh escapes, and I run a hand over my long ponytail. “What the hell was I thinking?”
Deaton’s soft, baby gibberish sounds at the perfect time, and when I look at the little screen, seeing he’s awake, I practically run from the room, happy to lose myself in him for the next few hours.
As I enter, he looks up with blue eyes that mirror mine and shows off a mouth full of gums as he smiles.
“Well, hello, little man.” I reach in, allowing him to latch his fists over my pointer fingers so he can use his own strength to pull himself into a standing position. I transfer his hands to the edge of the crib, bending down so we’re face-to-face. “Did someone have a good nap?”
He presses his forehead to mine, making the sweetest little baby sounds as he starts to jump.
Smiling, I turn back to the changing table and pull out a fresh diaper and wipes. As I go to take him into my arms, he drops onto his butt, reaching for his plush toy. I tense, watching as he hugs the little football to his chest, pressing his cheek into the soft side of it. He looks up, his big blue eyes fully slanted at the side. His smile is so wide and sudden, a soft, sob-laced laugh leaves me.
He’s just so happy all the time, completely oblivious to the battles that go on inside my head, just as I hoped he would be. When I’m with him, I block out everything else. It might not be the best coping mechanism, attaching his every waking moment I can to my hip, but it works. Sure, I’ve basically taken independent play off the table, but he is learning how to entertain himself, if only little by little. For now, I don’t think it matters.
He’s growing and curious about his little world, and in my arms is where he gets to explore. He can see all the things I see and touch all the things his little arm is long enough to reach. He loves being everywhere I am.
I must be doing something right, right?
Warmth blooms in my chest, and a bittersweet sigh slips. I take him and the football into my arms, my eyes instantly falling to the signatures on the side.
Lolli is the one who bought the plush, and as a joke, Nate signed it before giving it to him.
Lowering him onto the changing mat, I tickle his belly as I quickly unsnap his onesie, my eyes falling to the bright red ink, scribbled large and purposely swallowing the name beneath it.