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She better not be about to laugh.
I shift the baby away from my chest and look down. I’m dressed casually since we’re hanging out at home but I’m still not thrilled to have the gray T-shirt I’m wearing covered in regurgitated formula.
"Well that explains why he was so upset," she finally says.
I grimace. "Guess so."
Romeo has definitely quieted down now.
I stand and hand him over, then start for the stairs so I can clean up. "Be right back."
"I’ll come with you and we can clean him up too."
I turn to look at her. "We can?"
"He’s poopy too," she says, wrinkling her nose. "You can just take him in the shower with you."
I stop and lift a brow. "Are you getting in too?"
"I’ll be there to help. But I should stay out of the shower with a towel so you can hand him back off."
"But you should probably be naked for that. You wouldn’t want your clothes to get all wet."
She grins. "Are you starting to notice some other good things about having babies around?"
"It’s not not a perk," I tell her.
There’s another shriek from the kitchen. "No cheese!"
Dani looks at me with white eyes. "Wasn’t this the kid who was eating cheese nonstop on the Fourth?"
"That’s how I remember it," I agree.
Michael comes down the hallway from the kitchen, carrying a very unhappy Gracie.
She has tears streaked down her red cheeks and she is pouting better than anyone I’ve ever seen.
"I’m striking out with everything," Michael announces. "Gracie and I think that she needs some quiet time."
"No!" Gracie announces.
Dani is biting her bottom lip. I give her a look that says do not smile.
I’m sure she knows better. Michael is our rock. He is extremely difficult to shake. But I get the impression that over the next few years with our children, we may see Dr. Hughes actually reach his limit. He might even raise his voice.
"We don’t yell, we don’t throw food, and we don’t spit cheese on the floor," Michael tells Gracie.
She simply opens her mouth and lets out a long, loud, "Aaahhhhh!"
"What is going on in here?"
We all turn to see that Crew has come through the front door.
"Babysitting," Michael says grimly.
"We don’t have any c-u-p-c-a-k-e-s," I tell him.
"We still need more practice," Danielle adds.
