Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“She’s beautiful.”
“Her hair is funny. Like an old man’s.”
I laughed. “It will grow.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever held a baby before. If I did…it was a long time ago.” He spoke quietly, and Paisley seemed enthralled by the sound of his voice.
“I think she likes you.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
I poked his shoulder, and watched them taking each other in, both father and daughter wide-eyed and amazed. It was so sweet, my throat started to tighten. I could sense the bond taking hold and felt in my gut Nate would grow to love her.
Suddenly Paisley’s face turned very red, and she gave a little grunt.
“What’s she doing? Why is her face that color?” Nate sounded alarmed. “Is she choking?”
I smiled. “She’s fine.”
“But what’s with—” He stopped talking and sniffed. “Jesus fucking Christ, what is that smell?”
“It’s baby poop,” I said, laughing.
“It can’t be. There’s no way.” He inhaled, and his handsome features contorted. “Oh my God, that’s so bad. How can something so tiny create such a disgusting stench? We should change her.” He stood up and looked around. “Where’s the bag?”
“You don’t want to change her yet, Nate. Trust me. She’s not done.”
He looked down at me, aghast. “How long will it go on?”
I shrugged. “A few minutes, maybe.”
“Oh my God.” His eyes closed. “I don’t think I can stand it.”
“You can put her in the car seat if you want.” I reached out. “Or I can hold her.”
“No.” He straightened his shoulders and sat down again. “No, I can take it.”
“Very alpha male of you.”
He nudged my leg with his. “Thanks.”
But his confidence was shattered when he went to change her dirty diaper. He must have gone through fifty wipes and she still wasn’t clean, he got poop all over her pajamas, and she screamed the whole time. Finally, I took over, but even when she was clean and dry and wearing a new onesie and sleeper, she refused to calm down.
I tried the pacing and bouncing while Nate threw her clothing in the washer, sealed the wet and dirty diapers in plastic grocery bags, and took them down to the trash bins in the basement. She still hadn’t calmed down by the time he got back, so we turned off all the lights and tried the pacifier (she refused it), another bottle (hell no, she didn’t want that), running the vacuum cleaner (did the trick on a couple of kids I used to sit, but Paisley wasn’t having it), and even swinging her side to side in her car seat—but nothing worked. Nothing.
The hours crawled by.
“My God, what’s wrong with her? Why won’t she go to sleep?” Nate asked, taking Paisley from me and placing her up over his shoulder. “It’s going on three in the morning. Even an alpha male needs sleep.”
“She’s got colic, I guess.”
“What the fuck is colic?”
“It’s when a baby cries for hours on end with no reason, usually at night.”
“What do you do for it?”
“Nothing.”
“No, I refuse to accept that. There must be a solution.”
God, he was such a guy, thinking every problem could be solved. “Sometimes motion helps. I wish we had a stroller,” I said over the wailing. I was worn out too, and desperate for sleep, but I didn’t want to leave him like this.
Our eyes met in the dark. “I’ve got a bar cart. Would that work?”
“Let’s try it. But let’s see if she’ll eat first.”
Nate held her while I prepared the bottle, then I fed and burped her while Nate cleared his Art Deco chrome bar cart of decanters, an ice bucket, glasses, coasters and some other random barware. We placed her car seat on top of the cart, strapped her in, and Nate held it in place as I pushed. It took some maneuvering to turn corners, but we managed to wheel her around the living room, circle the kitchen island, loop around the couch. Eventually, it worked.
“Oh my God,” Nate whispered. “It’s a miracle. She’s asleep.”
“For now, anyway.” I knew from experience an eight-week-old wasn’t going to sleep long. Stifling a yawn, I said, “Keep her in the seat, okay? You can take her up to your room or sleep on the couch.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” His voice was panicked.
“I have to get some sleep, Nate. I’m exhausted.”
“I know, but…don’t leave,” he whispered frantically. “I still need you. Please.”
I was nearly asleep on my feet, but hearing him say those four words did something to me. Usually it was the other way around with us—me needing him. And as bad as I felt for Nate tonight, I sort of liked the role reversal. When had any man ever needed me, unless it was to plan his wedding?
“Okay,” I agreed. “But we both need to sleep while she does.” I figured I’d crash on the couch, so I was surprised at his next words.