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SOPHIE
As I walked the dogs back inside, I heard a crash and a muffled curse come from the kitchen.
A split second later Emma decided it was time to show the world what girls were really made of. She didn’t coo. She didn’t burble. No, the little pink screamer decided to split the ozone with her loudest squall yet, which must have unnerved Hank all to heck and back because he tore out of the kitchen, raced up Max’s back, dug in and held on just before he did a double gainer off the top of Max’s head and zoomed down the hall as though he’d just been told he’d never live to yak up another hairball.
I briskly made my way into Jack’s huge kitchen, not surprised to find him bouncing Emma ineffectually in place. Emma, her face rapidly approaching the color of strained beets, was still screaming.
Sophie raised her voice to be heard above the noise. “What’s going on?”
“Hank knocked a glass into the sink. At least it didn’t break, but I think he scared one of his nine lives out of existence. Startled Emma, too,” he said over the din. “Plus, I think she’s hungry.”
Sophie looked at a yawling Emma who was trying to swallow her fist, and sighed with sympathy. “Are there more bottles? What does she eat?”
“Dottie didn’t tell me to put anything into the fridge. I don’t know if she has more bottles. I think the last time she had one was just before she got here. No idea what babies eat at this age. I can make her a sandwich.”
“Don’t be a feeble head. She only has two teeth, I don’t think she can handle a sandwich. Maybe something mushy?”
Jack muttered to himself about things I probably didn’t want to hear as he rummaged through his pantry. He finally produced a can of refried beans. “This is the mushiest food I’ve got. She’s goin’ to be floatin’ air biscuits for days.”
I took Emma from Jack so he could heat up the beans. She must have smelled them when Jack cracked the can open because she stopped her yowling, patted my face, and started gnawing on her fingers. “I saw some sort of high chair in the other room. Hold on, I’ll go get it,” I said, and wondered if beans and babies went together.
When the timer on the microwave dinged, Jack tested the temperature and slapped a glob onto a paper plate. I’d just fastened Emma into the eating table thing when Jack set the plate and a fork on the tray.
“Gah, gah, gah!” Emma exclaimed. I grabbed the fork just as she reached for it. “You can’t give her a fork, she’ll poke her eye out! Are you crazy?”
“Oh, right. And yes, I think I must be. And mental. And ass-draggin’ knackered.” He sighed and replaced the fork with a spoon.
Both dogs were sitting all pretty-pawed next to the high chair, probably hoping for a stray bean. Woe to the nose-breathing world if Max gobbled down even one. He didn’t do fluffy little air biscuits, he emitted seismic fart bubbles that hung in the air like a rancid fartocalypse that would knock Superman sideways.
Emma grabbed up the spoon, peered at it closely, said, “Buh!” then whomped the tray and the spoon went flying. Buttercup grabbed it and ran. Instead of waiting for Jack to hand her another, she took both chubby hands and dug into the beans with gusto. Squished between her fingers, she smeared them into her hair, onto her neck, chest, ears, and face. Some must’ve made it into her mouth because she spit vigorously and promptly knocked the plate to the floor.
Just as I bent down to start picking up the mess, Max rushed me. I went sideways onto my butt, and Max gobbled down the beans, plate and all. “Darn it, Max!”
Max licked his chops and gave me a smug grin. “You won’t be grinning, buster, if you let loose with one of your toxic butt bloomers, you’ll be in the backyard for days.”
Jack wiped up the mess and stood. “Well, now what?”
I picked up my phone and dialed. That’s what moms were for, right? Advice, support, and guilt?
Her mom answered, said she had her hands full with Nonna, and handed the phone to my dad. I put the phone on speaker so Jack could hear just in case I missed something.
“Princessa! How you doing with the bambina, eh?”
“I think she’s hungry, Papa. We tried beans, didn’t go well.”
“How old she is?”
“Six months.”
“And you give her beans? No, no, those give her the sore belly. She need milk. Not cow milk. She too young. You give her mama milk.”
“I don’t think there is any.” I looked at Jack and he shrugged.
“No? Well, that no good. Uh, maybe you try—”
“What going on? You starving a baby?” my nonno asked, indignant, obviously having taken the phone from my father.
“Of course not! We just don’t know what to feed her.”
“I tell you what you feed her. Milk. You get her to her mama so she can eat what she need.”
I rolled my eyes. “Her mom is out of town, that’s why we’re babysitting.”
“Ice cream okay,” I heard my Nonna yell. “You give her plain. Nothing fancy or she choke. Maybe mashed up liver.”
Jack reached in the fridge and pulled out a package of liverwurst with a look of triumph.
“Sophia, mama mia! No gelato,” my mother said, back on the phone and sounding exasperated. “Or liver. Surely there’s a diaper bag with formula or baby food in it.”
“Oh. I thought a diaper bag was just for diapers. I haven’t looked.”
“Diaper bag is just name. You go get it and look.”
Jack set the liverwurst on the counter and went to retrieve the diaper bag.
He opened the main compartment and shook his head no. I signaled to look in the side compartments.
Jack pulled out formula, bottles, jars of food and rubber tipped spoons.
“Found it,” I said. Then I hurriedly thanked my mom and hung up before I got more advice than I needed.
“Thank the saints,” Jack said. “I’m going to send your mother flowers. A truckload. Okay, so. I’ll make a bottle and you try feeding her,” he picked up a jar with green glop inside and read the label, “strained peas.”
He handed me a baby spoon and the jar. Emma banged on the table, then rubbed her face, smearing the beans up her nose. I wet a wad of paper towels and cleaned her up. At least as well as I could considering she’d suddenly learned to crank her head in every direction in some twisted baby version of The Exorcist.
I finally got a spoonful of peas ready and she opened her mouth into a wide O. In went the peas. “Yum, yum, Emma—”And the peas spewed out, onto my face and into my hair. Maybe into my mouth. Cavolo! Taking care of a baby was not for sissies. As I closed my mouth and the peas taste set it, I realized I wouldn’t eat that nasty bland stuff either. Poor baby. “How’s the formula coming?”
“Still reading the directions,” Jack said, rather absently.
“Why, Jack, that’s downright womanly of you.”
He grunted. “Thank you. And before you ask, no, I don’t need a tampon. I’m simply being a responsible adult.” He glanced up. “The peas look good on you by the way. Match your eyes.”
Emma started pounding the tray again. I set the peas aside and grabbed a different jar. Sweet potatoes. Had to be better than that disgusting green glop.
Max inched closer and I gave him a stern look. “Max is eyeballing your package.”
“He always does,” Jack muttered.
“Maybe if it wasn’t at eye level, he’d leave you alone.”
“This is the only place he gets any. Doesn’t matter what level it’s at, he’s gonna sniff it out.” Even so, Jack moved the liverwurst further back from the edge of the counter. Not that that would stop Max if he was really determined.
“Where’s Buttercup?” I asked, since I hadn’t seen her since she’d filched the kitchen spoon.
“Sleeping in the portable crib. No doubt on top of the spoon she left here with. Klepto-hoarder can’t get into the bedroom until the possum’s gone.”
I loaded up a rubber spoon with sweet potatoes, Emma’s mouth opened wide, I shoved the food in and ducked just in time. I tried applesauce next. She took one bite, then nailed me in the face with the next. “Is this normal baby behavior or is she being deliberately hostile?” I asked, wondering why Emma didn’t want any of the food I’d offered.
“Maybe she’s tired. I’ll give her a bottle.”
“I’ll do it,” I said, knowing Jack was still lusting after the liverwurst he hadn’t gotten to eat yet. I took Emma and cleaned her up while Jack made himself a couple of sandwiches. “You’re not making one of those for me are you?”
“I know you hate liverwurst, so no. But Max loves it. He’s pretty darn been patient, especially for him, so he gets his own.”
I sighed. “He just ate an entire can of refried beans. You really think adding liverwurst to that nightmare is a good idea?”
Jack lifted one chiding eyebrow. “Again, this is the only place he gets it. He loves it. Besides, the beans are a done deal. No going back now. You want me to make you a ham and swiss?”
“No, but thanks. I had a big breakfast.”
Jack tossed Max a sandwich then scarfed his own down, finishing up just as I got done cleaning Emma, which, truth be told, took a while.
“Here,” Jack said, and took the baby. “I’ll give Emma a bottle and you can get the food goop off your face.”
By the time I finished cleaning myself up, Jack and Emma were both fast asleep. I set the bottle on the end table and scooted Buttercup out of the crib, then laid Emma down without waking her.
Finally, peace and quiet. Time to take the dogs into the backyard to play.
#Don’tLookAtMeWhenYouGoBlindFromNotEatingYourCarrots
#Nothing’sBrokenNowGoPlay
#ThereAreStarvingKidsInAfricaWhoWouldGladlyEatYourDinner!