“You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?” I say, watching her learn. “I can’t call you Christine. You’re just a baby.” I take a step to the side, pinching my bottom lip between two fingers as I think. She makes another little chirpy coo, and it hits me. “How about Cricket? You’re like a little cricket. What do you think of that?”
Her legs pump, and I decide she likes it.
Pulling out my phone, I shoot a desperate text to Edward to please come help me. Then I download the CitySitter app and start entering my information.
I have no fucking clue if there’s a nursery at the Dome, but even if there is, I don’t know where it is or how it works. I’ve got to have help before then.
* * *
I don’t knowhow everything went to hell so fast.
I thought I could take a shower while she was happy, but no. The minute I left the room and turned on some music, she started to cry.
Okay, I think,babies don’t like to be left alone. So I put her in the room with me in her bouncy chair. I positioned her so she didn’t see me naked, turning my back while I stripped down, and guess what? The minute I closed the shower door, she started crying again.
“Cricket, bro!” I hollered from inside the shower stall. “I’ve got to get cleaned up. Just be cool. I’ll be out in a minute.”
I might as well have been talking to myself. She was allfuck that, and she yelled the entire sixty seconds it took me to get the stink off my body. I jumped out, grabbing a towel andslinging it around my waist, but even with me in plain sight, she was still upset.
She started doing that little baby-hiccup thing again, like she was devastated that I would dare to shower… in the same room as her, talking to her the whole time.
I tried to do like Mom did. I held her to my bare chest and bounced, kissing her little forehead. It didn’t work. She was pissed at me. So I carried her into my room, put her on the bed in this pillow-framed nest-thing Dove picked out, and got dressed as fast as humanly possible, then I noticed it was almost six.
Okay, so maybe she’s just hangry. I get that. So I carried her into the kitchen and made that disgusting cereal, and she ate it. She stopped crying, but she was still doing a little hiccup thing that made me worry she was about to barf everywhere.
We took it slow, then I tried to give her some of those sweet potatoes Dove said she should have at dinner. She spit them all over me. Of course.
I stood, walking over to get a washcloth to clean the orange goo off my white tank. When I returned, I caught the telltale scent.
“Aw, c’mon, Cricket,” I groaned.
She crapped her pants.
Scrubbing my fingers over my brow, I inhaled slowly.Damn, that’s pungent.
No clue how this was going to go, I carried her to the living room and put her down on a towel on the rug.
Dove showed me how to do this, and she was really good at it. I should FaceTime her so she can talk me through it again.
Of course, my FaceTime says the call wouldn’t go through. Probably because they’re back on the farm in bum-fuck Egypt.
Exhaling a growl, I look down at the crying baby and decide I can do this. I’m a grown-ass man, for chrissake. I can change a poopy diaper.
Growling deep in my throat, I square my shoulders, making sure all the necessary equipment is within reach. I’ve got the fresh diaper here… the wipes right there… the towel is large and open… Shaking out my arms, I decide I’m ready.
Reaching for the tabs on her little sides, I pull them apart, and the diaper falls open. A wave of vile malodorous filth hits me slap in the face, and I fall back onto my heels, gripping my face with a loud “AW!”
Cricket starts to cry, pumping her little legs up and down like she does and smearing baby poop all over herself.
“No! Cricket, nooo…” I try to catch her legs, and the shit gets on my hand.
I cry out holding my hand as if I’ve touched toxic sludge. It’s orange-yellow and smells like the backside of death.
That’s when my stomach taps out. My throat closes, and the gag reflex starts. I gulp a deep noise that pulls my chin to my chest. Reaching up, I cover my mouth with my other hand, thinking it’s clean.
My eyes drift down, and I catch a speck of baby poo on my knuckle, and it’s over. I barely make it to the half bathroom before I barf loud and long into the toilet.
“Fuck…” I huff, pressing my eyes against my forearm.
