Page 20 of Surrender

With the tinfoil vented on top, I slide the frozen lasagna onto the top rack and shut the door. I set the timer for an hour.

“Oh no! Bennett, no!” Lucy shrieks from the couch.

“What’s the matter?”

A loud, dramatic retch precedes her screech. “Bennett pooped!”

I chuckle as I remember the diaper changes from my niece this weekend. “Ah, it’ll be okay. Where does your mom keep the diapers?” I say more to myself than the three-year-old.

I’m not sure Whitney would want me to change her kid. I can give the appearance of trying to help to appease Lucy until her mom finishes her shower. A few minutes in a dirty diaper won’t hurt him. I don’t think. The stubble on my jaw scratches against my palm.

“He pooped on me!” She screws up her face as she sits frozen like a statue.

The smile is wiped clean off my face as the odor assaults my nostrils. I choke back a dry heave at the putrid smell.

“Mother of god.” My stomach turns over on itself as I near the kids. I slip my hands beneath the small boy to free his sister.

Why is it wet? Is that? No…

That’s not.

No.

I draw in a ragged breath. Absolute horror flattens my lips into a thin, tight line. This kid has detonated his diaper and beyond.

“Shit,” I mutter, my voice thick with another gag. My tongue feels swollen, and saliva pools in my mouth. I choke it down.

“Shit,” Lucy parrots, her face screwed up to mimic mine.

“Shh. Don’t say that. Pick up your coloring book and stand so I can help you.”

She knocks the book to the floor and looks down at herself. Her angelic face twists into one of terror.

“He pooped on me!” she screams loud enough to shatter glass. Within seconds of dawning understanding, chaos erupts. Sure enough, smeared across her frilly pink top is a yellowish-brown streak of her baby brother’s poop. Which means my fingers are definitely covered in it.

Lucy begins to wail.

I twist Bennett around, and yep, it’s everywhere. Up his back. Down his legs. The color begins to seep through the thin cotton of his onesie. It’s oozing out the top of his shirt into his neck and in his sandy-blond hair and squishing out of the leg holes with each flutter of his feet.

I tilt my chin back to stare at the ceiling in search of answers.

“Whitney?” I summon all my patience and calm to call out to her. Hopefully, she can hear me over the baby monitor. The control in my voice is a tightly pulled thread, threatening to snap into a panicked shout.

Lucy cries louder at my side. Apparently, I’m not moving fast enough for her, but I’m at a total loss here. It’s as if my brain short-circuits with the size of the mess. I don’t even know where to begin cleaning this up.

My hands are covered in shit. Lucy is covered in shit. Bennett is drenched in his own shit. My options are to hold him until help arrives or set him back down on his mess and, with my very filthy fingers, gather god-knows-what supplies while dirtying everything I touch on the way to find them.

A wet, huffing noise drags my gaze from the ceiling to the couch.

“Cooper!” I bite off sharply. Through all the chaos, the dog came to investigate. He’s buried his nose in the liquid mess all over my couch.

The smell permeates the air, a strange mix of sour, rancid milk and buttered popcorn, so sharp it burns the inside of my nostrils.I retch again.

“Down, boy.” Using my legs, I shove Cooper behind me and away from the horrid mess.

“No wonder you were crying all last night. Feel better?” The infant kicks away in my hands as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Somewhere along the way, he dropped his toy, and now he sucks on a chubby fist. “I bet you’re hungry. Emptied the tank right onto my couch, huh?”

“Jack!” Whitney shouts.

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