Page 129 of More Than Words

She protested loudly when I pulled her from her car seat, but settled once I had her tucked with her head against my shoulder.

Isobel had filled the little cooler with pre-measured bottles of her milk, and I pulled one out before I tucked the rest of them into the almost barren fridge. I still had an unopened case of premixed formula in the cabinet, so we would be fine overnight.

I went through the motions of slowly heating the bottle with warm water while I bounced her against my chest. Finley finally calmed down as I sat on the couch to feed her. She watched my face as she hungrily sucked down the contents, only stopping when I pulled the empty bottle from her mouth.

Knowing she was notorious for projectile reflux and spitting up, I pulled the diaper bag closer with my foot and grabbed a burp cloth to throw over my shoulder. Rubbing her back and patting gently until she burped, I tried not to worry as the hour grew later and later with no word from her mother.

Using her as a distraction, I tucked Fin into her bouncy seat and talked to her while I heated food for myself. “Daddy kinda sucks at feeding himself when Mommy isn’t around. She’d probably yell at me for eating this and tell me it wasn’t fair that I look like I do and eat crap. But Mommy looks beautiful with spit up in her hair, and I like her new curves. Don’t think she’s going to let me touch them anytime soon, but I can be patient.”

She stared up at me, and I felt like my own kid was sizing me up. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I have self-control.”

She made an adorable little cooing noise and then hiccupped. Poor kid had pretty much religiously gotten hiccups every night since we brought her home. It’d been adorable at first, but it usually meant she was about to lose her shit.

Thankfully, she waited to start crying until I was seated at the table. I unbuckled her and propped her up in my lap, trying to feed myself with one hand. She watched what I was doing with curious bright blue eyes, trying to grab my fork, but I was too quick for her even if it took me twice as long to eat.

I couldn’t blame Isobel for feeling overwhelmed. She was there to help most of the time I was with Fin if I needed it. If I had a hard time with her around, doing it by herself when her only companion was a screaming infant had to be nearly impossible.

We watched TV for a little while after, but when she yawned and her eyes started drifting closed, I took her to my room to get ready for bed. I’d become an old pro at changing diapers and there had been a sleep sack tucked in the diaper bag. The kid almost had more clothing than I did, although my closet was mostly full of suits.

“Alright, little demon, Daddy is flying solo tonight, so I need you to try to sleep. I know I’m not the same as Mommy, but she needs a break right now. I need you to work on this whole crying thing. I know it’s not your fault, but a little sleep would be nice.”

While Isobel had initially scolded me for calling Finley “little demon” during one late night feeding while we were both extremely sleep deprived, the nickname had stuck. She was prone to acid reflux—which her pediatrician thought might be related to the colic—which meant she often spit up after a bottle. But this wasn’t any normal spit up. The girl could have given the actress in The Exorcist a run for her money. We’d tried to switch formulas, and Isobel had adjusted her diet, but nothing seemed to help.

After getting Fin settled in the portable crib next to the bed, I retreated to the living room.

Isobel had been such a constant presence in my life for so long I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. Most of the shows I watched on streaming were ones I’d started with her, and I’d feel like even more of a dick if I watched them without her. Baseball season had started, but we’d been so busy trying to adjust to life with a baby that I hadn’t made time to watch the games, much less go to one.

Turning on ESPN for background noise, I opened my text messages, willing one to appear on the screen from Isobel so I knew she was okay, but it never came.

The dim glow of the television was the only light in the living room when my eyes opened several hours later. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch, but I also hadn’t wanted to wake Finley up by going through my normal routine.

Whimpers reached my ears from my cracked open bedroom door, and I arched my back and rolled my neck from side to side while I tried to work out the soreness. I’d slept in some weird positions during all the travel I’d done when I still played ball, but I was also nearly twenty years younger back then. Now, if I slept wrong, I’d permanently injure myself. Might as well slap on a neck brace and admit that I was getting fuckin’ old.

Yawning, I checked my phone, and there still weren’t any notifications from Isobel. Part of me wanted to text her to see how everything went, but it was three in the morning, and if she was finally getting sleep at her place, I didn’t want to disturb her.

A loud wail tore through the air, and I knew my rest for the night was likely over. Finley was hungry. And she was also pissed.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl? Are we ready for a late-night snack? I get hangry sometimes too. Mommy likes to call me a dick and shove a protein bar at me, but I bet you’d rather have a bottle than one of those.”

Her little face was red, her cheeks wet with tears as I pulled her up and tucked her against my shoulder. She screamed while I got her bottle ready to warm and only settled briefly while I changed her diaper.

She didn’t want to stop screaming to eat, but eventually hunger won out and she sucked down the contents of her bottle. I thought she was satisfied, and I might be able to tuck her back into bed so we could get a few more hours of sleep. But, of course, things couldn’t be that easy.

When I got her up to sway her, trying to see if movement would calm her down, she’d puked all over me, the smell of curdled formula mixed with breast milk saturating my clothing. I wasn’t sure how one tiny bottle had multiplied inside her little body, but she covered every piece of clothing I was wearing and herself.

“You know you’re supposed to keep that inside or you’ll get hungry again, right? I promise I won’t complain about the smells that come out of your diapers if you tone down on the projectile spit up. Deal?”

Deciding wiping both of us up would take too long, I made an executive decision. “Mommy probably wouldn’t be happy with me for doing this, because it’d be a fall hazard, but I won’t tell if you don’t.”

I stripped Fin down to her diaper, laying her on a blanket in the middle of the bed while I pulled off my clothing, my nose wrinkling at the smell. It’d only been in her stomach for ten minutes, and it didn’t smell like that before it went in.

Once I was down to my briefs, I picked her up and headed to the bathroom. Trying to shower one handed with a slippery infant was challenging, but we managed to get most of the funk off.

“That’s better. No more stink monster. Should we get dressed and try to eat a little bit so we can go back to sleep?”

She was in a much better mood once I’d redressed her in clean pajamas, gently drying her chaotic hair. She’d gotten a mix of my curls and Isobel’s straight hair. I was glad she was a girl because her cowlicks were wild. Fin was adorable as fuck—and I wasn’t just biased because she was my kid—with giant blue eyes that didn’t quite fit her face, the O’Neill dimples, and her mother’s button nose.

Her curious eyes followed me as I threw on a pair of sweats before I picked her back up.

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