Page 102 of Turning Back

I’m basically a baby-diapering prodigy because I got it right the very first time. Some dads said they put them on backwards. Some said the diaper fell off because they made it too loose. But me—sailed through that lesson like a champ.

I have no experience with babies at all. None. So I’m pretty proud of myself. “I’m good at this, right, Adley?” I ask her.

She drools and smiles again.

I take that as agreement.

“We’re a whole family of geniuses.”

I get a giggle for that.

“What do you say? You want a bottle?” I ask. She squeals and knocks our tower of blocks down.

I stand up, pick her up, and hold her close to me. Babies smell good, too. She smells sweet. Like soap. Nice soap. Not guy soap. Baby soap. I looked up soap too. And baby powder. So much shit to know about babies.

“But I’m learning, right?” I take her into the kitchen. I know she likes to be held when she drinks a bottle, so I settle her on my hip as I get the bottle out and put it in Rochelle’s little bottle warmer thing. I looked that thing up a couple days ago. No idea what it was. Who knew mothers had these secret appliances that warm bottles?

That’s when I spot the baby food. “Ohhh,” I say, picking up one with a very colorful label from the counter. “This looks good. Tropical fruit. Do you like tropical fruit, Adley?”

She laughs. Which is another yes in my book.

“I’m dying to try out the spoon. If Bric can do it, I can do it, right?”

She kicks her legs.

“But I think we should do the bottle first. I think that’s more important.” I read that online too. I’m practically an expert now.

The little warmer thing dings, so I get the bottle out, open the lid, still balancing Adley, and make sure it’s not too hot.

Nope. Perfect.

I got this shit down.

We go over to the couch and I put on a Nuggets game. They’re losing, but I don’t care. “I got you, huh, Adley? Who needs basketball?”

I settle her in my lap and as soon as I aim that nipple at her mouth, her little chubby hands grab it. She looks at me as she sucks it down, her little fingers tapping on the bottle.

God. I love this dad stuff. I had no idea babies were so cool.

“I think you have my eyes. Do you think you have my eyes? They’re blue, like mine. Nice bright blue. Just like mine.”

I have to admit, I have been thinking about her eyes more than I should. I really think she has my eyes. Bric’s eyes are dark. Really dark blue. Not like this at all. And I read that babies with fair skin and light hair can change eye color as they get older. But she’s six months now. I think these are her eyes and I think they look like mine.

“I’m definitely your real dad,” I say.

Then I want to take it back. I shouldn’t say that in front of her. She probably doesn’t even know what I’m saying, but if we’re gonna all be together, she needs to think Bric and I are both her dads. Not one over the other. We might as well just get the DNA test if it matters.

I decide it doesn’t matter. I know she’s mine. No need to rub it in.

I was with Rochelle way more than Bric was. He didn’t even see her every night he was supposed to. I did.

Adley is definitely mine.

If this lasts, who knows? Maybe we’ll have another one. Maybe next time we’ll be more careful about it. Plan it and shit. I spend the next several minutes thinking about having a whole pack of kids. “We’d need a bigger house,” I say.

Adley kicks her feet.

“You’d probably want a pony.”