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“Does she not have a diaper on?”
“She does. A blowout is when they poop so much that it literally blows out of the diaper, up their back, sometimes even up their front. They’re disgusting, but they happen.”
I held Juniper, still crying, away from me, toward Quincy, and noted the mustard-brown streaks up and down the front of her formerly white-with-pink-bunnies one-piece outfit.
“Hell,” I finally said.
“You go shower,” Quincy said. “I’ll get her out of this outfit and… You don’t have other clothes for her, do you?”
“She showed up with the clothes on her back, the car seat, and the blanket, which I’m betting is toast now too.”
“Likely.” Quincy held Juniper at eye level, and the baby stared at her between cries. “You’re gonna need some new outfits, aren’t you, sweet pea?” Switching from her baby tone to her normal one, she asked me, “Ava said she’d go to Nashville, right? I don’t know of anyplace in town that has baby clothes. We can wash these, but she could have another blowout an hour later.”
Jesus. “I’ll text Ava.”
“Have her bring the diapers and formula here first. Emergency. Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I’ll be out to help in five minutes,” I said, texting Ava as I headed toward the master suite on the opposite side of the living room.
I’d pulled my shirt over my head by the time I hit the door to the bathroom and tossed it to the floor, disgusted.
After shutting the door behind me, I set my phone on the counter, stripped down, then started the water, feeling shell-shocked and like the day was surreal.
I was in and out of the shower quickly, though I scrubbed like crazy with soap to get the smell off. I dried and dressed in clean clothes—sweats and a tee because who knew what I’d be getting myself into for the rest of the day.
And then what?
I didn’t have a place for a baby to sleep. I didn’t have a high chair. I didn’t have one bit of confidence that I could even make it through the next hour with an infant, let alone until tomorrow.
Once I was dressed, I hurried back out to Quincy to see what I needed to do next. I found her in the hall bathroom with a naked pink baby in the sink, splashing her hands in the shallow water, no longer screaming.
“You got her quieted down,” I said, grateful but scared she’d tune up again at any moment.
“She loves the water. Don’t you, sweet pea?” Quincy had a hand around the baby’s middle, supporting her, even though it appeared she could sit on her own. “This is our third round of clean water. Juniper was a mess. Can you hold on to her for a second while I grab the towels? We’re going to dry her off with one and swaddle her with another until we get diapers, ointment, and clothes.”
“Swaddle,” I repeated, probably sounding like a moron taking mental notes—because I was.
“I’ll show you how.”
I put my hand around Juniper’s tiny, pudgy torso the way Quincy had. Quincy stepped to the towel rack near the tub and grabbed the clean towels. When she returned to the sink, she edged in close so she could reach Juniper, and I caught the scent of Quincy’s hair. It was sweet, something I couldn’t quite place, but it somehow reminded me of sunshine.
As soon as she had a secure hold on the baby, I stepped back. The bathroom was small enough I couldn’t go far, but I did my best to give her space. I needed every ounce of my focus to go on what the baby needed, not how good Quincy smelled.
She had Juniper dried off in no time, with me watching every move. We moved to the spare bedroom next, where she spread a dry towel on the bed and taught me how to swaddle Juniper into burrito form. Halfway through the process, the crying started again.
“She’s hungry, I’m sure,” Quincy said.
“Ava should be here any minute.”
“Good. You want to pick her up, maybe pace? Sometimes that will help them calm down, although when they’re hungry, not much besides food will settle them.”
I picked up the bundle, the incessant crying skyrocketing my stress level, but at least she smelled clean now. And who could blame her for screaming her head off? She was having a hell of a day, one that would likely be formative in her whole life. You didn’t get deserted by your mother and not come out unscathed.
My chest constricted at that thought. My own mother had done the opposite of Gina and made every effort to make up for me only having one parent. She’d handled all of this and more. A crying, stinky baby for a couple of hours? Take that times a million and that was what my mom and all the other single parents out there did to raise children.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to hug my mom one more time and tell her a heartfelt-more-than-ever thank-you. I swallowed hard on the sadness that rolled through me.
It struck me that I was in the position to be for this baby what my mom had been for me. A rock and a provider, at least until I figured out a long-term plan.
