Page 24 of Cash

Ava showed with dinner for everyone, and I bit my tongue every time one of the twins put their hands on a window or TV screen. Also, each time one of the men’s boots left a mark on my spotless floors or a beer bottle was set down without a coaster. I glared daggers at my dad when he’d smirk knowing it was chafing at my OCD. I sincerely appreciate every single thing my family and friends did today, but I’m happy to be alone with Liam now. I’m also grateful that he’s been an easy baby so far and now sleeping, so I can put my house back in order.

Two hours after everyone left and my house looks perfect again. Well, almost perfect. I now have a countertop covered in baby things that I still need to find a cupboard for. I need to reorganize a couple of cupboards to make room for Liam’s necessities. Things all need to have their place, and it must be orderly or my head hurts. How someone so tiny can require so much stuff boggles my mind. It will have to wait until tomorrow because I need a shower and then sleep.

I check on Liam and find him sleeping peacefully. Walking through my bedroom, I grab the baby monitor and make my way to my bathroom. I flip on the water, set the monitor on the vanity and strip down. Stepping inside, I let the warm water ease the tension from my body. This seems like the first normal thing I’ve done all day. Grabbing the 3-in-1 body wash, I lather up from head to toe. Before I can rinse, I hear an unfamiliar noise. Sticking my head out of the shower stall, I realize it’s coming from the baby monitor. Liam’s awake and apparently being murdered in his crib. His screaming proves his lungs are healthy, but I don’t really register that fact as I scramble out of the shower.

Quickly grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist, I bolt for the door. Wet, soapy feet and tile are not a good combination as I find out when they join forces against me. My feet slide out from under me, and I’m flat on my back before I can stop my fall. Unfortunately, the back of my head finds the edge of the granite vanity on the way down. I lay still for a few seconds, mostly out of shock. Pain radiates throughout my head and travels down my body. Soon though, the cold tile gives me the incentive to get my feet under me and get the hell back up.

Liam’s still screaming as I make my way to his room while re-tightening my towel. I’d left a small lamp turned on, and I quickly note he’s not actually being murdered, thank God. Reaching the side of his crib, I carefully lift him and place him against my shoulder. He quiets for a brief moment, most likely to refill his lungs, before assaulting my ears once again.

I try to ignore the racket while thinking through all the things I was told today about babies. Sifting through the advice, I go with the dirty diaper theory. I place him on the changing table and remove his pajamas. I remove his diaper and it’s soaked. Tossing it away, I clean him gently before reaching for a clean diaper. Just as I’m remembering Gunner telling me to always have the next diaper ready, I feel warm liquid hit my chest. First official diaper change by myself and I’m getting pissed on. Jumping back, I toss a nearby baby blanket over Liam’s pisser. I look down at myself and see his gift making paths through the soap suds still covering me. I fight the urge to run back to my shower and instead use a baby wipe to rinse myself off with. Okay, I use about thirty of them, but I’m patting myself on the back for not leaving the baby and scrubbing myself raw in my still running shower.

I carefully approach the still crying baby and slowly lift the blanket while quickly covering his mess-making parts with the clean diaper. I again clean him with a baby wipe and say a quick prayer as I reposition the diaper and tape it into place. Grabbing clean pajamas, I attempt the impossible. How do you dress a squirming, screaming baby? With a pounding head, I manage it somehow through perseverance, patience and a few muttered cuss words.

While waiting for the bottle to warm, I walk around the kitchen with Liam against my shoulder, bouncing him lightly. I’ve watched the women, Gunner and Axel do it successfully many times, but it’s not working on my son. My head feels like it’s splitting in half with his screams, and I’m starting to think I need to call Dad. I hate to admit defeat though, so I don’t grab my phone. Dad would blab about it to all the guys, and Axel would never let me hear the end of it. I’m determined to figure this out on my own. Checking the bottle and temperature like I was shown, I find it’s ready.

I take a seat on my couch and move Liam to the crook of my arm. Holding the bottle to his mouth, I wait for him to latch on. He doesn’t. He continues screaming, and now he’s gasping for air. I try again and still no success. Liam cries, chokes, gasps and cries again but refuses the bottle every time. His face is red, his little hands are clenched and I’m feeling like the worst father ever. After several more failed attempts, I panic. Panic isn’t something I ever do under any circumstance, but I do it remarkably well tonight. His breathing sounds off to me, and he’s gasping more than crying now. I make a call.

“911. What’s your emergency?” asks a female voice.

*~*~*~*

“No need to thank us, sir. Glad to help. You’d be surprised at how many calls we get from new parents. Babies can be scary,” the EMT tells me while her partner tries to cover his smirk.

Fuck him, I think while glaring his direction. My kid was struggling to breathe, and I panicked. At least the female EMT was understanding and nice about the whole incident. She also had Liam calm and drinking from his bottle in under a minute. I don’t know how she did it, but in my mind she’s magical. Now fed and changed, Liam’s sleeping in his crib like a perfect angel.

“Now that your son has calmed down, can I take a look at your head?” she asks politely.

“My head?” I ask bewildered.

“It’s bleeding, sir.”

Reaching back, I run my hand across the back of my head only to find a blood trail left on my hand. I realize now that I hit my head harder than I knew and laid it open. I turn my back toward the EMT and wait for her verdict.

“I’m going to need you to take a seat, sir. Sorry, but I’m not as tall as you,” she asks in a sweet voice while her partner gives a quiet chuckle.

Turning back around, I catch her eyes sliding slowly up my body, stopping briefly on each tattoo. Looking down, I realize I’m still only wearing a towel wrapped loosely around my waist. When her eyes finally meet mine, I watch as her face turns slightly pink. Flustered at being caught, her eyes drop to the floor while her partner barks out a loud laugh.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I mutter as I open the door in a blatant hint for them to leave.

“At least let me get the bleed—”

“I’ll deal with it. Thanks again for your help,” I insist as her partner takes the hint and walks through the door.

The female EMT pulls something from her breast pocket and holds it out to me as she approaches the door. Taking it, I see it’s a business-type card thing with her name and number typed on it.

“Any more problems, call me. No need for 911 if it’s not an emergency. I’m more than happy to come over anytime. Okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks again,” I answer while gently ushering her outside.

Shutting and locking the door, I stride through my living room, head pounding. I toss the card on my counter and head toward the master bath. With everything going on tonight, I’d completely forgotten that I’d left the shower running. Flipping it off, I lean against the vanity to check out the cut on the backside of my head.

Not thrilled to see that I don’t do anything half-assed, I find a nasty cut that’s finally stopped bleeding. My neck and back have bloody streaks on them, and my body feels sticky. Some of that’s probably the dried soap that I’m still coated in. I cringe knowing my shower is going to be a cold one.

After taking the coldest, quickest shower ever, I get to work cleaning up the mess I made earlier. Bathroom scrubbed clean, I make my way around the house eliminating all evidence of my head wound and soapy feet. Finally satisfied with my home again, I hit my mattress with an exhausted sigh.

I don’t make it to 40 winks when I hear Liam on the monitor again. He’s making cute little baby sounds, and I find myself smiling. I listen for a moment and then pull myself back out of bed. I quietly make my way to his door, lean against it, and watch him wiggle in his crib. Hands waving around, feet kicking, he’s happy and content it appears.

I feel an overwhelming urge to protect him from the harshness of the world. From anything that could ever harm or scare him. From anyone and everything that could be a threat to his wellbeing. I’ve always been a protective person, but this is different. It’s fierce, wild and I know without a doubt, I’d kill anyone who ever caused him injury.

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