I’m basically a baby-diapering prodigy because I got it right the very first time. Some dads said they put them on backwards. Some said the diaper fell off because they made it too loose. But me—sailed through that lesson like a champ.
I have no experience with babies at all. None. So I’m pretty proud of myself. “I’m good at this, right, Adley?” I ask her.
She drools and smiles again.
I take that as agreement.
“We’re a whole family of geniuses.”
I get a giggle for that.
“What do you say? You want a bottle?” I ask. She squeals and knocks our tower of blocks down.
I stand up, pick her up, and hold her close to me. Babies smell good, too. She smells sweet. Like soap. Nice soap. Not guy soap. Baby soap. I looked up soap too. And baby powder. So much shit to know about babies.
“But I’m learning, right?” I take her into the kitchen. I know she likes to be held when she drinks a bottle, so I settle her on my hip as I get the bottle out and put it in Rochelle’s little bottle warmer thing. I looked that thing up a couple days ago. No idea what it was. Who knew mothers had these secret appliances that warm bottles?
That’s when I spot the baby food. “Ohhh,” I say, picking up one with a very colorful label from the counter. “This looks good. Tropical fruit. Do you like tropical fruit, Adley?”
She laughs. Which is another yes in my book.
“I’m dying to try out the spoon. If Bric can do it, I can do it, right?”
She kicks her legs.
“But I think we should do the bottle first. I think that’s more important.” I read that online too. I’m practically an expert now.
The little warmer thing dings, so I get the bottle out, open the lid, still balancing Adley, and make sure it’s not too hot.
Nope. Perfect.
I got this shit down.
We go over to the couch and I put on a Nuggets game. They’re losing, but I don’t care. “I got you, huh, Adley? Who needs basketball?”
I settle her in my lap and as soon as I aim that nipple at her mouth, her little chubby hands grab it. She looks at me as she sucks it down, her little fingers tapping on the bottle.
God. I love this dad stuff. I had no idea babies were so cool.
“I think you have my eyes. Do you think you have my eyes? They’re blue, like mine. Nice bright blue. Just like mine.”
I have to admit, I have been thinking about her eyes more than I should. I really think she has my eyes. Bric’s eyes are dark. Really dark blue. Not like this at all. And I read that babies with fair skin and light hair can change eye color as they get older. But she’s six months now. I think these are her eyes and I think they look like mine.
“I’m definitely your real dad,” I say.
Then I want to take it back. I shouldn’t say that in front of her. She probably doesn’t even know what I’m saying, but if we’re gonna all be together, she needs to think Bric and I are both her dads. Not one over the other. We might as well just get the DNA test if it matters.
I decide it doesn’t matter. I know she’s mine. No need to rub it in.
I was with Rochelle way more than Bric was. He didn’t even see her every night he was supposed to. I did.
Adley is definitely mine.
If this lasts, who knows? Maybe we’ll have another one. Maybe next time we’ll be more careful about it. Plan it and shit. I spend the next several minutes thinking about having a whole pack of kids. “We’d need a bigger house,” I say.
Adley kicks her feet.
“You’d probably want a pony.”
Her little pink lips form a smile around the nipple.
“And a kitten. And we’d need to look for a good school. Hey, you could go to our school. That would be neat.” Our kids will go to the school Bric and I went to. Of course, that was middle and high school. We’re gonna need to find a pre-school and an elementary school.
So many things to plan for now that Adley is here.
She throws the bottle aside and I lean over and pick it up, offering it to her. She throws it again.
“Done? Cool. Now we get to try baby food.” I get up and walk into the kitchen. “But first we gotta wipe that milk off your face.”
She shakes her head and squeals when I do that.
Kids.
Man, do I rock this daddy stuff, or what?
I get the spoon and the jar of tropical fruit, and take Adley over to her high chair. I really did need a video to understand this thing. That little hidden latch almost got me. But nope. I find it now, slide the tray down, put her in, and slide it back up.
So fucking good at this.
“OK,” I say, popping the lid on the jar of food. “I’m ready, Ads. I’m gonna feed you with a spoon for the first time. Are you ready?”
She spits out some drool, but it’s a happy spit. I can tell. Dads know this shit.
I dip the spoon in the jar, scoop up the goop, and head for her mouth. It’s wide open. No here-comes-the-airplane trick for me and my kid.
Mouth closes, lips smack, food gone.
“So easy,” I say, getting another spoonful. She gobbles it up. She gobbles up about ten spoonfuls, but then she starts kicking and getting cranky.
I think I smell the reason why.
“OK. It’s go time. The real deal, Ads. Don’t worry, I got this.”
I get her up on the changing table, clean her up (like a pro, I might add) and then decide it’s a good time for the bath.
“You want bubbles?”
I take her into the bathroom, holding her on my hip—really hoping she doesn’t pee on me, since she’s naked now—and start the water. Rochelle has this ring thing for Adley to sit in the tub. It’s new, I think. But when the water is the right temperature and depth, I set her in and she knows just what to do.
Splash.
Her skin is pink from the warm water. I start thinking about the hot springs and how I’ll need to lower the temperature in the pool if we want to take Adley swimming.
I picture her at my house.
Then stop.
My house is so… sterile. And not in a good way. It’s clean, yeah. But sterile as in… not homey, like this place. My condo is a place for adults. I’ll have to work on that.
“Hey,” I say, taking my attention back to Adley. There’s bubbles in the tub now and Ads is kicking her feet and laughing.
But she’s all flushed. “Is it too hot?” I ask myself, feeling the temperature. Rochelle will kill me if I burn her in the tub.
No. Seems fine.
But damn, her skin is so pink. In fact, I think it’s getting pinker as I watch. Red, almost. And right before my eyes, little dots start appearing under her neck.
Like… hives, or something.
“Holy shit,” I say, forgetting I’m not supposed to swear around her. “Holy fuck. Holy shit.” I grab my phone from my pocket and search ‘baby rash.’
Noooooooooo. Insect bites, food allergies, pollen, illness… it’s a long list. I was doing so well. I had this shit down!
I pick Adley up from the tub, wrap her in the little baby towel Rochelle keeps in the back of the door, and take her in to her room to get a better look.
Maybe I’m imagining it.
Six more welts have appeared on her stomach,