| |
JACK
When Sophie smiled at him, he wanted to puff out his chest and strut around acting cocky. When she kissed him, he went weak in the knees and wanted to buy her diamonds. And Lord help him, when she made that purring sound in the back of her throat, he nearly lost his mind. He wanted to give her the world.
With a smile tipping the corners of his mouth, he stroked the back of her head.
She purred again.
Yeah, baby, that’s it.
Man, he’d do just about anything to keep that sex kitten sound coming. She arched against him, tipping her nails against his chest, and scratched.
Hey, that kinda hurt. “Soph, honey, not so hard.”
She purred again. Scratched.
Okay, that time really did hurt. “Ow, jeez, Soph!” His smile disappeared, he opened one eye, and nearly came unglued. Hank was sitting smack dab in the center of his chest, purring and making biscuits on his shoulder. He looked smug, too, the way only a cat can, and Jack wanted to catapult him into the middle of next week.
Except ...
Except, well, he kinda liked it that Hank was purring. He could live without the clawing part, but he didn’t think he’d ever had a cat purr for him before. It was, well, comforting. Sort of like a cookies and milk feeling.
It’s perverted, pal. That’s a cat on your chest and you, Romeo, were making a bed tent.
Only because I thought it was Sophie! I was dreaming, I didn’t know...
Tell it to your shrink.
I don’t have a shrink!
Uh huh, well, maybe you’d better look into getting one.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and glared at Hank. Feeling like a bad case of karma had him by the ... throat, he inadvertently groaned, the baby stirred, and he went still. Hank, of course, stretched, clawed, and purred louder.
In one quick, self-preserving move, Jack lifted the quilt and pushed Hank under. There, served him right. The noisy, trouble-making, furry watermelon on legs could just stay there for a while. Maybe give Jack a chance for another hour’s much needed nap.
When no other noises emanated from the crib, he smiled, sighed, and closed his eyes. Okay, good. Things were gonna be fine. Just fine.
Emma didn’t come slowly awake from her nap with sweet mumbly baby noises. Oh no. She woke fully alert and with an offside yowl that raised Jack six inches off the couch, straight into a QB blitz that would have made the Cowboys’ defensive line stand up and cheer.
“What? Who? Where?” Mind still numb from lack of sleep, he stubbed his toe on the coffee table, cursed in Irish so that if Sophie heard she wouldn’t scold him, and approached the portable crib with a scowl.
Hands on hips, he looked down into the crib and low and behold, the little beast stopped screaming the second she saw his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. What is it this time?”
The kid’s lower lip quivered and a big fat tear rolled down her chubby pink cheek. “Oh, jeez, no tears. Anything but tears. I cannot do tears, okay?” Then she held out her arms and said, “Da!”
He dropped back a step. “Now wait just a darn minute. I’m your uncle, got that? Uncle means part time. Spoiling, presents, trips to the park and ball games. Cotton candy just to annoy your mom.”
Emma sighed, hiccupped, and kicked her chunky little feet. Then she blew a long, loud raspberry and aimed the kind of smile at him that made his stomach knot and his heart soar. “Da, da, da!”
“That’s not gonna work, you know. Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean I’m gonna keep you around for days on end.”
Drool was hanging off the kid’s chin which probably meant she was hungry again. Like she hadn’t just eaten an hour ago. This eating around the clock thing couldn’t be healthy.
“Da, da, da!”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.” With a resigned sigh he surrendered, reached over the side of the crib, and lifted the kid into his arms. One drool-covered hand went smack into his eye and the other fisted around his nose.
“Ow! Jeez, kid!” He didn’t know which hand to pry loose first. Just as he was about to stick her back in the crib and regain his equilibrium, Emma laughed. A deep, rich belly laugh that involuntarily kicked up the corner of Jack’s mouth. “Oh, so you like that, huh?”
“Buh!”
Slack faced, he shook his head and let his lips blubber, then rubbed his face against her fat little belly and blew air bubbles until she squealed and they were both laughing like lunatics. Okay, so the kid wasn’t all bad. At least she had a sense of humor.
Her bottom felt mushy, which meant he was going to have to bite the bullet this time and change her. If he asked Sophie to do it again, she’d probably press charges.
By the time he finished changing the little squid’s diaper he’d gained a whole new respect for what Sophie had gone through earlier.
Changing babies was at least a three man job. The kid cooed, kicked, flipped, flopped, and darn near rolled off the couch twice. It took him three new diapers and fifteen minutes of contortions before he finally got the fourth one on right. And then, as a thanks for his effort, as soon as he snapped on a clean one piece sleeper, she started in on another crying jag.
“Come on, now, you’re breakin’ my heart.” He jiggled and jostled and tried doing another bunny-hop, but the kid wasn’t having any and part of him wanted to yell, “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, DEMON?” but of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Probably. Emma screamed until her face turned red which reminded him of a water balloon ready to pop. And thinking of water made him thirsty, which in turn made him remember the evil little ogre poor tyke was probably hungry.
“Okay, okay, it’s Miller time. Well, not for you since you’re just a wee babe, but I’ve got a disgusting bottle of formula coming right up.” Jeez, he thought, she’s like some kind of mutant piranha. Always eating.
Apparently she didn’t want to hear such drivel because she only screwed up her face and screamed louder. Man, oh man, the kid could wail. Wasn’t there some sort of plug you stuck in their mouth when they did that?
The back door opened and the dogs ran inside howling with her in tune. Sophie was right behind them with a concerned look on her face.
He stared at the blaring baby, thought for a second, and then did what any self-preserving quarterback would do. He tossed her a good five feet into the air in a perfect spiral.
He caught her on the fly, and lo and behold, the noise stopped. It was truly a miracle.
For all of about two seconds.
Then she let loose with the kind of ear-piercing scream he’d only heard twice in his lifetime. Once when Rory Jenkins broke his thumb during a playoff game, and the second time when he’d blasted the team’s cheerleaders with a fire hose loaded with blue dye.
Boy, this kid had a bad attitude.
Desperate to stop the tears, he tucked her up under his arm and marched into the kitchen to make up a bottle, cursing brothers and sleep deprivation the entire way.
He started bouncing from foot to foot again, and bopped his way around the kitchen, crooning to Emma in smooth, persuasive tones begging her for quiet.
“Good thing you have high ceilings. Need some help?” Sophie asked from the doorway, trying not to grin.
“Thank you, yes. I can’t hold her and mix this blatterwick formula at the same time.”
She took the sobbing baby, cuddled and cooed and bounced.
Once Jack had the bottle ready and warm, she took it, along with Emma into the living room to sit down. Every time Sophie tried to give Emma the nipple, she turned her head away, uninterested. “I thought she was hungry. What’s going on here, does she hate me?”
“Of course not. Don’t be a bleatin’ goob.”
“Here,” Sophie said, handing him the baby. “You try.”
Jack didn’t have any luck either. “Is she sick? Do we need a doctor? What’s the deal here?”
Sophie picked up her phone, once again, and dialed. Once her mom answered, she put her phone on speaker.
“Mama, we can’t get the baby to eat. Or drink her bottle. She’s really fussy, what should we do?”
“She sick? Fever? Runny poo? Got the gas?”
Sophie looked at Jack and he shrugged. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t feel warm, her poo isn’t at all runny. How much gas? Like what, a frat boy? Mama, she was fine until I started to feed her. Then Jack tried. She doesn’t want her bottle, but she’s chewing her fist like she’s starving.”
“How old you say she is? Six months?”
“Yes.”
“How many teeth she got?”
“Two. On the bottom.”
“She drooling like a puppy?”
Sophie looked at Emma’s slobbery fist, arm, and chest. “Worse than a puppy. More like Cujo.”
“Who that is?”
“A super drooler.”
“Ah, okay, then. Now you gotta feel her gums on top. Wait! You washa your hands first!”
Sophie washed one hand, stuck her finger in Emma’s mouth and promptly got bit. “Ow!” Sophie yelped and pulled her hand back. Emma quit fussing and squealed with laughter. Little sadist. “She’s got two small, white small on top. They don’t look exactly like teeth yet.”
“They just not out yet, poor bambina. Okay, here what you gonna do.”
Jack moved forward with a hopeful look on his face. Even Emma seemed fascinated by the voice coming out of Sophie’s phone.
“Did Papa just say to rub her gums with whiskey? Does he want the baby drunk? I don’t think things are quite that drastic, Mama.”
“No you don’t rub the baby with booze! Ooofa! Is so old school. You check in diaper bag and see if there any teething toys. And get a wet washing cloth, then wring it out and stick in freezer, then give to the baby. She wanna chew on something cold. You try, she be a happier baby. Also check for hard baby biscuit. They also good.”
Jack handled the washcloth, stuck it in the freezer, then handed Emma a teether that resembled a mutant giraffe, and a cement cookie.
Emma hiccupped, said, “Gah, gah, buh!” and jammed the giraffe and the cookie into her mouth.
“Nobody move. It’s a miracle,” Jack whispered.
Max sniffed at the cookie box on the table and turned away, disgusted.
How bad did a cookie have to be that even a glutinous dog wouldn’t eat it?
#StopCryingOrI’llGiveYouSomethingToCryAbout
#JustWAITUntilYourFatherGetsHome
#Don'tYouMakeMeComeOverThere