but i'm ur #1 fan

He only paid attention to me in that cafe because I was holding a baby and wearing his jersey. A sign from the universe as clear as if God himself came down from heaven and placed it in front of him. The baby was resting on my hip as I waited for my coffee. I bounced him up and down, softly, trying to keep him quiet because I could feel a tantrum brewing.

People love to stare at the baby and I. I like playing out my little motherhood fantasy, so usually I welcome the attention. When I’m nannying I make sure I look casual, yet done up. My hair appears naturally blown out, the made up glow on my cheeks embodies the privileged allure of sweat without the workout, and my expensive biker shorts are fit for a mommy on the go. The child on my hip is mine, if only for an afternoon. He reaches for me, completely enraptured, as Adam reaches for Eve, blue eyes wide and mouth wet with spittle, though he will have to make do with the feeling of me, a stand-in Madonna, during the three hours I watch him on Sundays. 

I pulled on a jersey at the baby’s house without really thinking about it. The baby spit up on my intentionally oversized sweater, so I went into his mom’s closet looking for a replacement. Maybe my subconscious knew it was Sunday, football’s day, and The Team was doing pretty good this year.