Page 13 of Unexpected Love
It’s after eight, and I’ve managed to keep her alive all day. She was adorable in the bank while we sorted my card issue, and also at the grocery store when we stopped to pick up the supplies on Liv’s list. Sitting in the top of the shopping cart, waving and saying “Hi” to everyone she saw. It took us twice as long as it should have because she was a hit with the grannies, and everyone had to stop and coo over her.
A dinner of mac ‘n’ cheese and chicken fries later, with only half of it on the floor and a quarter of it mashed in her hair, I call it a win.
My apartment is older, with a tub-shower combo; should be easy enough to do a toddler bath. But it’s been a while since I’ve scrubbed it, and the thought of her naked butt on the tub floor is gross.
Dual purpose shower it is.
I stand Charlie on the tub floor and strip my shirt off one-handed, opting to keep my boxers on because I’mnotgetting naked in front of my niece, and start the shower.
Shrieks immediately reverberate off the bathroom walls.
I snatch her up, heart racing as I search for whatever has caused this latest round of ear piercing.
It’s not until I realize how cold her skin is that what I’ve done hits me.
I just blasted her with cold water.
“Jesus, Charlie-Belle, I’m sorry,” I apologize, snuggling her into my chest to try to both comfort and lend her mybody heat, only cringing a little as I wrap an arm under her legs. She clings to my neck, still screaming in my ear as I adjust the temp and step under the spray when it’s warm enough.
“Shh, the neighbors are going to call the cops on me if you don’t let up.” To which I would complain about their musical choices and how loud they constantly play said music. “It’s okay, you little banshee. It’s only a bath.”
She doesn’t listen; she just pees down my chest.
I do my best to wash us both and not drop her slick little frame, getting us both as clean as possible. After I dry us both off, she stands patiently while I secure the towel around my waist and shuck my drenched boxers.
I get her rediapered and consider if doubling up would help prevent another blowout, then wrestle her into something that looks like it could be pajamas, or it could be play clothes. I have no idea, but it’s soft and looks comfy.
That done, I sit her on the floor while I fix a bottle of milk and then retrieve her, yet again, and sink into my recliner with a sigh.
My ass is going to be so defined from all these deadlifts. I roll my shoulder because it, too, is feeling the frequency of lifting twenty-five pounds repeatedly.
“What do you want to watch, sweet girl? How about some baseball? The Braves should be on.”
I have no idea if she understands me, but she’s reclined in the crook of my arm, her little shoulder poking into my chest, and she’s still. And quiet.
I tap out a message to my sister, promising to kill her when I see her next for abandoning her baby girl, and also for derailing my life.
Charlie tenses and tries to get up. I press a hand to herbelly. “Don’t go getting all riled up. You’ve got to be as exhausted as I am. Are you ready for bed?”
“Uh-huh,” she whimpers.
Huh. Look at that. Shecancommunicate.
“Okay. Do I just lay you down? Do you have a stuffed animal or something you sleep with? Do you need a pillow? No, suffocation hazard. What about a blanket? Do you take the bottle to bed?”
I’m blathering deliriously as I haul her into my spare room and take in the playpen. The bottom looks like a hard board covered with the barest amount of padding. It can’t be comfortable. I set her down in the cage, and she immediately stands, gripping the top rail and looking at me with giant eyes.
“I-go.”
“You go?”
“I-go.”
She’s trying to tell me something, because she keeps repeating the words. I remember the stuffed fox she had at naptime and hustle out to the diaper bag. “Is this I-go?”
She snatches the blanket-fox thing from me and cuddles it close, her diapered butt hitting the board with athump.
Well, okay then.
