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“Sure. Be careful. Olive and I are going to hang out with Uncle Graham and Uncle Asher and Uncle Hudson and watch a game. Isn’t that right, my Olive girl?” I coo, rubbing my finger lightly against her cheek.
Looking up, I see Maddison’s face soften as she stares at the two of us. “Later? Okay? Thank you for hanging out with her while I go. Call me if you need anything, seriously, anything.”
“Mads, I’ve got it. Okay? Don’t worry.”
She nods nervously, before offering me a small smile, grabbing her purse and leaving me and Olive standing there watching her go.
“I don’t know if you know this, Olive, but your mama is a worry wart. We’ve got this, it’s only a few hours. What could possibly go wrong?”
“Oh my god. This is bad. So fucking bad.”
“I’m going to puke.”
“What do we do? Graham stop fucking gagging and help me.Graham!”
“Asher, clear the sink out. Hudson... Google it. No, pull up YouTube.”
For the record, everything isnotfine. In fact, this is a fucking disaster.
“Dude, you have to call her.” Asher shakes his head, still plugging his nose.
“I am not fucking calling her. She’ll think I’m, nowe’re all,incapable of taking care of Olive by ourselves.”
Wearecapable. More than capable. We’re grown-ass men, we play professional hockey in the most ruthless, competitive industry in the world, damnit!
Fuck, I don’t know if we’ve got this.
“I’m literally about to puke all over this carpet. Sorry Olive-you, but you stink,” Graham mutters. He’s clutching his stomach, and honestly, he does look a little green. Hell, we probably all do.
It was going fine. The guys and I were watching a game, Olive was playing on her little play mat in front of us that sings and lights up, and then… we smelled it.
At first, Asher said it was Hudson, and then Hudson said it was Graham, but really, it was Olive. We were all unsuspecting, and completely fooled by her baby laughs and coos.
Turns out, those tiny little diapers really don’t hold much shit at all. Literally. There was an explosion of epic proportions, and before I could even get her off the play-mat, she was somehow covered in it from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes. Shit. Everywhere.
On her, the outfit, the play-mat, the carpet, even on me, and I’m an innocent bystander in all of this.
“Honestly, it’s a little alarming that someone so little can causethismuch damage.” Graham looks at me in horror. “Briggs… I think it’s on the ceiling. How in the fuck did it get up there? Oh god, that’s it, I’m barfing.”
He runs out the front door like it’s on fire. I can hear him actually throwing up outside, and if everything in the room, including me and Olive, weren’t covered in shit, I’d probably laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation.
I take a figurative deep breath, since I can’t actually breathe in right now, and look at Asher. “I’m going to put her in the sink, go turn the water on and make sure it’s lukewarm, not hot. Hurry.”
He nods, and sprints toward the kitchen. I’m holding Olive out in front of me with extended arms, careful not to touch anything else, including myself, with her and her explosion.
“I’ll get a towel,” Hudson says.
Finally, one of them uses their brain.
“Alright Olive. Not going to lie, baby girl, you took us by surprise with this shit bomb, I mean, poop bomb. So, we’re going to have to take some drastic measures.”
Not that she has any actual idea what I’m saying, she’s just staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. It’s amazing how, in just under two months, she’s changed. Every day I think she looks more and more like Maddison, and every day, I fall more in love with her.
“Ready,” Asher calls from the kitchen.
I carry Olive through the living room into the kitchen, where Asher is waiting with the warm water running and the sink sprayer in hand.
“When in doubt, spray.”
