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No reply. A gathering of concentration on internal matters, eyes narrowing, face going red. Several seconds passed. It dawned on Jack that the kid was pushing. Then the job was done. Relief came. Relaxation. A look of blissful peace. Jack chuckled. It was so obvious.
“Good to get rid of that lot, eh?”
He recalled Nina’s description of the range of expressions reflecting the kid’s reaction to a bath and shook his head in amusement. Who would have thought personality was developed so young? He could see there might very well be a fascination in watching it grow. Maybe besotted parents weren’t as foolish as he’d thought. On the other hand, it was patently ridiculous to let a pint-sized infant rule the roost.
He picked up the capsule and carried it into the bedroom. No point in lifting the kid out until he had to. Stuff might run down its legs. He put the capsule on the bed and examined what Nina had laid out on the change table. He figured a towel and a wet washer might be useful and fetched them from the bathroom. Nappy-changing carried unsuspected dangers. Maurice’s kid had gone off like a fountain this morning, hitting him in the face before he could block the spray off with the absorbent pad.
Having assembled everything within easy reach, Jack felt supremely competent and confident as he gathered up the danger zone and moved it to the change table, holding the little body horizontally to prevent possible leakage. Mission successful. Jack grinned triumphantly as he unsnapped the fasteners on the terry-towelling body suit, freed the tiny feet from it, and pushed the garment up out of the operation area.
“Got to hand it to your old dad, kid. Think ahead. That’s what you have to do in this life to avoid mishaps.”
The response from her pursed lips was a spit-and-splutter raspberry.
“No respect,” Jack chided. “You’ll have to watch that, kid. I’m supposed to be the authority in your life. You don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”
The odour started rising as Jack unfastened the plastic tabs on the nappy. It was incredibly foul. Worse than rotten egg gas. Jack’s throat convulsed as he fought against gagging. Manfully he peeled down the front section of the nappy. The source of the smell revealed itself in all its slushy, yellow-green horror.
“Yuk! No wonder you wanted to get rid of that!”
A gurgle denoted agreement.
Jack hastily but carefully removed the liner that contained most of the mess, burying it in a heap of tissues. He set to work cleaning up the kid’s bottom. The stuff had oozed everywhere. Tissues, he decided, were a great invention, but he was glad he’d had the foresight to have a washer and towel on hand to do a proper job of removing every putrid smear.
The assault on his olfactory nerves lessened as they got used to the stench. Or he got rid of it. One way or another, it wasn’t too revolting after a while. Not the most pleasant of jobs, Jack reflected, but paint stripper wasn’t pleasant, either, and it was an unavoidable adjunct to his work with furniture. Some things just had to be done.
He did, however, gain an insight into the fixation parents had about potty-training. There was definitely reason behind their madness. Cause and effect. He appreciated how important—indeed, obsessive—the issue could become when a person was faced with this every day. Jack resolved to be more sympathetic to potty-training discussions in future.
“That does it,” Jack informed the kid, having achieved absolute cleanliness.
He slid a fresh nappy under the pearly white bottom, positioning it with well-trained precision. A bit of baby oil, a shake of talcum powder, and all was sweetness and light. Gently moving the tiny legs apart in order to bring up the front piece of the pad, Jack was suddenly struck by the irrefutable fact he was looking straight at unfamiliar territory.
Maurice’s kid had recognisable equipment. A boy was a boy. This was…a girl.
Jack blinked. Somehow she didn’t look right. It took him a second or two to realise he’d never seen what a girl looked like before the age of puberty. No sisters. No girl cousins, either. Having been in a boys’ boarding school from age seven, he simply hadn’t been exposed to a young girl’s anatomy.
Not that it changed, he reminded himself, but it obviously got more disguised. This was…so bare. It gave him a funny feeling—a strong rush of tenderness mixed with a fierce urge to protect.
A girl. A daughter…
Jack shook his head in bemusement. Was this what the father-daughter thing was about? A girl looked so vulnerable. She needed a dad to keep her safe from the bad guys. Mothers were fine. Mothers were irreplaceable, he amended, the memory of Nina breastfeeding still highly vivid and captivating. But fathers definitely had their role to play in looking after little kids.
“Don’t you worry, Charlie girl,” he told his daughter as he covered her up and fitted the nappy firmly with the tabs. “Any bad guy is going to have to get past me, and I’m no pushover.”
She made a popping sound with her mouth.
“Blowing me a kiss, huh?” He grinned as he put her feet in the body suit and did up the press studs. “There you are. All snug. How about another kiss?” He gave her tummy a little tickle as he leaned over and made a popping sound with his lips.
She gazed at in him in wide-eyed fascination. Jack prompted her with a repeat demonstration. She caught on and gave it right back to him.
“That’s Daddy’s girl!”
He suddenly heard the drooling indulgence in his voice and jolted upright, appalled at how quickly, how insidiously he had been drawn into baby drivel. It was a highly sobering experience. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined himself succumbing to such soppy nonsense.
He eyed the kid with glowering suspicion. There was a power here that had to be resisted. No kid was going to turn him into a blathering idiot. No, sir! He was master of his own behaviour.
“Back to your capsule, kid,” he commanded, picking up the thimble-sized piece of dynamite and transporting it to the restricted area where it belonged, doing no harm and coming to no harm.
“A place for everything and everything in its place,” Jack recited sternly, ignoring the wail of protest as he dealt with the mess on the change table.
