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Damnit, at the very least, he was going to have to pick her up. His hands shook as he reached into the crib. Before he could touch her, he snatched his hands back.
Would anyone believe that as a thirty-year-old man, he’d never held a baby before?
What if he dropped her?
What if he grabbed her too hard and bruised all that soft baby skin?
What if he couldn’t calm her?
What if she hated him?
What if he hated her?
What if she grew up to use drugs and prostitute herself because he sucked as a father?
JP swallowed a lump the size of a golf ball. He didn’t do anxiety. Didn’t do worry and what-ifs and self-doubt. He had fucking fun and played hard. Life was short and not worth it if he couldn’t have fun.
But, shit, Jagger had been right. He needed to man the fuck up and take care of this baby because, like it or not, he had a daughter.
“Okay,” he said out loud. “I’m just gonna reach in the crib and pick you up. And you’re gonna stop crying and find a different way to tell me if I’m fucking it up.”
Shit. Was it wrong to say fucking around a six-month-old baby, or were they too young to notice?
As though moving through molasses, he reached into the brand-new crib someone had purchased and assembled and gripped the baby under her arms.
He lifted her to eye level with straight arms as though holding a stinky trash bag. Thankfully, Kayla stopped crying and stared at him with wide eyes the same color as his. Her dark hair stuck out all over. On an adult it’d look ridiculous, but when combined with her chubby baby cheeks, it was kind of cute.
“Uh, hi,” he whispered. “I think I’m your dad. I should probably apologize in advance for all the ways I’m going to fuck this up.” He winced. “Like swearing in front of you all the time. Lucky for you, my siblings are much better role models. Well, some of them. Not so sure about Ian.”
As he spoke, he brought the baby closer to his body. Seemed like he’d be less likely to drop her if she was flush against him. After a few seconds, he had her snuggled against him as she rested on his chest with his arm banded under her bum. She still stared at him with watery eyes but hadn’t cried since he picked her up.
Could she sense it? Some kind of blood connection they shared?
“If you tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny it, but you’re kinda adorable when you’re not imitating a banshee.” He wiped her damp cheeks with the back of his hand. “That’s better, huh?” He found himself doing some weird bouncing for some strange reason, as though bopping to nonexistent music.
Kayla seemed to like it, though, so he kept it up no matter how unfamiliar it felt.
She grabbed his fingers with a slight squeal then brought them to her mouth.
“Ouch!” he yelped. “Shit, you got a sharp little tooth in there, you baby vampire.”
Thankfully she moved his finger to a gummier part of her mouth before chomping down this time. It was…odd, to say the least. The moment he tried to pull his finger from her mouth, she whimpered, and her little lips turned down in the most pitiful pout he’d ever seen.
“Okay, okay. Here, it’s your finger now. If it keeps you from crying, you can have it.” He let her munch. “Guess this means you’re hungry, huh? How the hell am I supposed to know what to do about that?”
He knew the stuff she drank from a bottle wasn’t milk but baby formula, and that was the extent of his baby feeding knowledge.
“Let’s see if we can figure something out in the kitchen.”
With his daughter still on his hip, happily gnawing his finger, he walked into the kitchen. She was more solid than he’d expected. He thought she’d be floppy and super fragile, but she had some heft to her.
One of his siblings, Jagger it seemed from the shitty handwriting, had stuck a Post-it on the handle of the refrigerator.
Formula maker on counter.
Wrinkling his forehead, he looked at the baby. “What the hell is a formula maker? You got any idea what he’s talking about, Miss Kayla?”
She made a humming noise and continued chewing.
“Guess not. Okay, let’s see.” He scanned the counter. “What the…” On the far end of the counter was an appliance that looked exactly like a pod coffee maker. Another sticky note hung from it.
All set up. Just turn on and push start.
JP did as instructed, and the machine whirred to life. Seconds later, formula was streaming from the spout into the bottle beneath. “Well, shit. This thing is bougie as fuck, my girl. How much you wanna bet your Auntie Mickie is responsible for this fancy contraption?”
