Page 37 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

Following Gracie’s sleep regime, I wake Livvy at ten. I introduce her to Sable, who sniffs her and then runs away to hide. It may take a little while for them to be best friends. I play with her, introducing two of the sensory toys I got her, then prepare the baby bath. Daddy’s so good at giving me baths that I encourage him to give Livvy her bath while I get everything ready for what Gracie calls “the big bedtime” in her schedule.

When I hear him singing the Rubber Duckie song to Livvy and her magical giggle, I know I’ve made the right call. Daddy’s uncertain about his ability to care for Livvy but the things thatmake him a great Dom will make him a great parent. He just needs to relax and not worry about making mistakes.

Wailing from the bathroom tells me Daddy’s tried to end Livvy’s bath without giving her something to divert her. I don’t blame her for crying. Who wants bath time to be over?

When I enter the bathroom, Daddy’s trying to wrangle a wiggling, wailing baby into a onesie while not dropping her back into the bath. I dump out the baby tub, then line it with a dry towel so Daddy can put her down. All the things I’ve prepared for Livvy are in baskets above the toilet, so I grab the “after bath” basket and put it beside the sink.

“Before we dress her for bed, let’s give her a massage, Daddy. That always helped calm Gracie’s son after his bath.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Daddy says, looking relieved. He lays Livvy on the towel and tugs off the onesie he was trying to get over her kicking legs. He managed to get a diaper on her but I bet she’s still chilly. I fold up a baby blanket and lay it over her tummy. Then I tip a little baby oil onto my fingers and start at her shoulders. Daddy follows my lead, starting at her feet. The vein that was throbbing in his forehead goes down with each stroke. Livvy quiets, looking up at us and hiccupping.

“You needed some transition, didn’t you, Livvy?” I ask. “It’s double-tough to be made to stop something warm and fun to do something cold and not-fun. But this is nice and then we’ll get you fed before night-night.”

She blinks up at me with big, wet eyes and coos hesitantly.

“So many changes but you’re a trooper, Livvy-bit,” I croon to her. “And your very own bunny, Little Peter, is waiting for you in your crib. You’re going to love cuddling up with him.”

I finish with her hands. Babies hold their hands in fists but when I rub the baby oil in circles on the back of her hands, she uncurls her hands and flexes her tiny fingers.

“There you go,” I say encouragingly. “That feels good, doesn’t it? Daddy, do you want to pull the onesie up her legs now and I’ll pull it up the rest of the way while you put her legs in the sleeping sack?”

Daddy grunts. “I can do that.”

Livvy’s quiet and unresisting as we dress her in a long-sleeved onesie and the sleeveless, sleeping-bag-like contraption that Gracie swears by. I encourage Daddy to pick her up so he gets more comfortable carrying her. He scoops her up and begins singing “Scarborough Fair” to her, which makes my eyes prickle. Daddy has a lovely, deep voice. He should sing more often.

Daddy’s sitting in the rocking chair in Livvy’s room when I follow them in. I put the bottle warmer at his elbow for when he’s ready to give her a feed, toss a pillow by his feet, and curl up on it.

“Do you want to feed her, baby doll?” Daddy asks once he’s finished the song.

I shake my head and prop my chin on his knee. “Should we dial in to Storytime while you give her the big bottle?”

“Sure.”

I take out my phone and join the voice channel Max set up for us. It’s Daddy Jack’s turn and we’re a little late joining. He’s already well into the story. Tonight, he’s readingThe Little Mermaid.

I smile happily and wrap my hands around Daddy’s firm thigh, listening to Daddy Jack’s deep voice, the baby’s quiet sucking, and Daddy’s slow breathing. Hearing that Miranda’s coming to New York was a nasty surprise and cast a pall over the day. But sitting at Daddy’s feet, in the peace of the house, filled with love for my Daddy and his daughter, everything settles.

I’m exactly where I should be.

I don’t feel quite as serene the next day. Livvy’s finally balked at all the changes and fusses from the moment she wakes up, although she does sleep until almost eight a.m., only waking once around two a.m. and going back to sleep after a little cry but without even needing a feed. Gracie’s awesome schedule at work.

Breakfast doesn’t go too badly. Everyone passes the baby around and she’s quiet for a while in the rocking swing I’ve set up in the corner of the dining room while we eat and clean up. But by the time I’ve showered and dressed and take her from Daddy so he can wash up, she’s in full melt-down. She spits out her pacifier every time I offer it to her. Walking her around the house doesn’t help. Knowing Daddy will try to take her off my hands if he feels she’s giving me trouble, I decide it’s time for our first outing.

After clipping the last of the asters from the garden and making a small bouquet, I wrap Livvy up warmly, pop her in the chest carrier, and sling her baby bag on top of her stroller. One great thing about having a baby is that no one will question me about carrying around piles of stuffies. I load up with Peter Aloha Bunny, Little Peter, and a horde of Little Larrys. Then I head out into the November sunshine.

The chilly air makes Livvy sniffle and fuss, so I tuck another blanket around her and pop a soft, crocheted cap that Mistress Maude made over her dark curls as I walk the fifteen minutes to Maman’s nursing home. Livvy quiets and gurgles around her fist, looking around. Even though I know she can’t see very far, I can’t help pointing out the community garden and my favorite café, Konk, as we pass.

When we reach the covered porch of my mother’s nursing home, I pause and take a deep breath to steel myself. Maman doesn’t recognize me anymore. She hasn’t for some time but the move to New York from Syracuse made her worse. Something Frances keeps blaming me for, even though Maman’s carers all tell me her decline is inevitable. I hope seeing Livvy will engage her, since not much else seems to. The fluffle of therapy bunnies now housed at Blunts were a big hit with the other residents when we brought them but Maman didn’t even pick one up.

Straightening my shoulders, I push the stroller through the front doors and into the reception area.

My phone goes off. Daddy knows where I am but I check it anyway, stepping out of the way of the doors.

Daddy: Your heart rate is high, BD. All okay?

Instead of responding by text, I tap a video call.

Daddy picks up, looking surprised as he holds his phone up so I can see his face. He’s sitting in his office. “I keep forgetting you can do that.”

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