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The joys of fatherhood. If my parents were still alive, I’d…
Well, I don’t know what I would do. Probably call them right now and demand they come over to give me step-by-step instructions on how to handle this shit.
When the pooping sound stops, I carefully and slowly lift the flap to see if I’m going to get another face full of piss.
Nothing.
Thank fuck.
“You’re a mess, son,” I say to him, looking at the shit and piss all over the place.
There’s a box of wet wipes sitting beside the diapers on the tabletop, but I don’t think that’s going to do the job.
Shit.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I press the button to call Johnathan.
“Brother,” Johnathan says, “it’s getting late and you’re starting to develop a pattern of interrupting things.”
“What do you do when your child has pissed and shit everywhere and wet wipes are clearly not going to handle it?” I ask in frustration.
“Shower, dumbass.” Johnathan laughs before hanging up the phone.
Oh.
Well.
I would have thought of that.
Unbuckling my belt, I push my pants down with one hand. Thankfully, I didn’t bother to wear underwear. Toeing my shoes and socks off with my feet, I push them to the side.
Keeping one hand on Abel, I remove my destroyed shirt and shove it into the garbage can with the cut-up baby clothes.
Fuck, we smell awful.
Standing naked in the bedroom, I look around myself.
Gods above and below, I really do love these two.
Picking Abel up in my arms, he giggles when I make a face at him. His little fingers touch my skin, and a little spark of joy touches my damned soul.
Moving out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, I carefully turn the water on. He’s a baby and I bet he can’t handle the heat I normally use for a shower.
It’s a quick scrub and rinse for us both, and thank fucking god Eden has baby shampoo. I have no clue what the fuck I would wash him with if she didn’t. I doubt regular shampoo is tear-free like the baby stuff says it is.
When I finally figure out how to get a fresh diaper on, I’m as tired as he looks.
“Buddy,” I say, lifting him into the cradle of my arms, “it’s bedtime.”
His sleepy eyes open and close while I carefully walk us back to the living room.
With how warm Eden is keeping the place, I don’t have to worry too much about having only a onesie on him.
My pants are clean enough to wear again, and the small throw blanket I slip over my feet keep them warm.
Laying my head down in Eden’s lap, I put Abel face down on my chest. His little fingers push up against my tattoos.
It’s interesting… When we were showering, he seemed fascinated by my tattoos. His little eyes looked from one to the next as his hands pushed against them.
