Page 78 of Loved By You

“Shall I go get Ria?” Brad asks looking a little green. “Shit, it smells so bad. What’s she feeding her?”

“No, no, we can do this.”

“WE?” they both shout, staring at me.

I lay Elle down on the changing mat, take off my suit jacket, and start rolling up the sleeves of my shirt.

“Right, Haz, you get me the wet wipes and a new diaper. Brad, you get the trash can ready.”

“Roger,” they say in unison like we are back in the Marines.

I unbutton Elle’s onesie and peel back the yellow sticky tabs on the diaper like I’ve seen Ria do. I pull it down and I’m met with the most toxic smell that makes my eyes water.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

“I’m gonna puke,” Harry says, dry heaving. “Why the fuck are there no windows in here?” he mumbles, looking round the room for a way to escape.

“Man, that's toxic. How did that come out of someone so tiny?” Brad asks, holding my suit jacket over his mouth and nose.

Elle starts to roll and the most feminine screech I’ve ever made leaves my throat as I reach for her, terrified she's going to get shit all over my contracts.

“I told you not to do it on the desk, Jacqueline,” Brad laughs.

“Harry, wipes, now.” I hold out a hand, waiting for the wipes, but when I look up and he’s lying on my couch still dry heaving.

“God, you are useless. How the hell did you cope at war?”

“War didn't smell like that, brother. I’ve seen some things, but that, that smell could end a war. Just drop one of Elle’s diapers into enemy territory. They will be waving the white flag in no time.”

“Pull yourself together and get me the wipes.” He gets up and takes one of Elle’s spare onesies, tying it round his face like a mask, only exposing his eyes as hands me the wipes.

Elle gurgles and squeals, kicking her legs and trying to roll as I wipe her. “Baby girl, hold still, please.” Christ, it's like trying to baptize a cat.

“Right, I need a clean diaper and some butt cream, or powder. I can’t remember.”

“What’s the difference,” Brad asks. “Why would you put powder on a baby’s butt?”

“I don’t know. Something about a rash?” I rub my forehead, feeling a tension headache forming.

“Let me Google it,” Harrys says, pulling out his phone.

“Lexi, what does mommy use? , does she use powder or cream?” I ask her.

Why the heck I am asking a four-year-old for diaper changing advice? Desperation, clearly.

“Erm, both.”

“What goes first, the cream or the powder?” Harry asks holding up both items.

“I don’t fucking know,” I whisper shout so Lexi can’t hear me swearing.

God, I feel myself teetering on the edge, sweat rolling down my back.

“It like the egg and the chicken debate. Who came first ?” Harry laughs.

“The egg,” Brad blurts out.

“The what?” I ask, confused as hell at this conversation.

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