Page 44 of Saving Little Clark

But the urge to chuckle died a swift death when I rounded the corner and took in the sight that greeted me. Because there was my sweet baby boy, stripped down to his training pants and sat precariously on a stack of haphazardlyarranged step stools, stretching with all his might to reach the faucet.

Before I could second-guess myself, I was across the room and scooping him into my arms, heedless of the water he'd managed to splash everywhere in his flailing.

"Oh no you don't," I growled, already marching us back to the kitchen. "Daddy isn’t about to let his best boy brain himself on the bathroom tile."

"But Brody," Clark whined, squirming futilely, "I almost had it!"

"I don't doubt that for a second, sweetheart. But some things are too dangerous for little bugs to do alone. That's what Daddies are for - to help keep you safe while you explore."

Depositing him on the counter, I reached for a clean dishcloth and wet it thoroughly, wringing out the excess with deft twists of my wrist.

"Now hold still. Let Daddy clean you up properly, yeah?"

And though he whined and wriggled, nose scrunched in distaste as I wiped the worst of the mess from his face and hands, I could tell he was secretly thrilled to be doted on like this - tended to and fussed over and treated like the most precious thing in existence.

As I tossed the soiled cloth and tugged his discarded jammies back into place, I could practically see the tension bleeding out of him, the last stubborn vestiges of hesitation and doubt melting away in the face of such wholehearted acceptance.

"Alright, my squeaky clean snuggle bug!" I proclaimed grandly, hoisting him off the counter and onto my hip. "I hereby declare you fit for consumption. By which I mean fit to consume mass quantities of dino nuggets and tater tots."

That startled a giggle out of him, his face alight with happiness. Then there was a loud tummy gurgle, startling us both into silence.

"Woah," I breathed after a beat, eyes wide with exaggerated shock. "You got a baby dinosaur in there, short stack?"

Clark dissolved into helpless snickers, swatting at my chest in playful admonishment as I carried us back. "No, it's just my tummy. It wants nuggies."

He wriggled impatiently until I deposited him back on his feet. When I moved to pull out a chair, he stopped me with a hand on my forearm.

"Brody?" he ventured, a tiny furrow appearing between his brows. "I wanna use my special seat. For little boys."

I blinked, momentarily thrown. But then understanding dawned.

"Sure," I assured him, letting my smile show just how delighted I was by the request. "In fact, I think that's a wonderful idea. Do you need Daddy's help getting it all set up?"

He shook his head. "Nuh uh. I can do it. I'm a big helper."

He scampered off down the hall in excitement. I busied myself laying out our plates and pouring drinks, keeping an ear trained for any signs of distress.

But barely a minute had passed before he was bounding back into the room, flushed and bright-eyed, a bright blue booster seat clutched in his arms like a trophy.

And suddenly, the image of Clark all strapped in and bouncing with glee, kicking his little feet and babbling around spoonfuls of dinosaur nugget while I cooed, airplane-zoomedand made an unholy mess of us both... it hit me like a freight train.

I held out my arms in silent invitation, chest aching with the need to feel him close. Clark wasted no time in clambering into my lap, shedding the booster seat along the way in his eagerness to burrow into my embrace.

"Good job, honey," I praised hoarsely, dropping a fierce kiss to his temple. "You did so good, finding your special seat all by yourself. Daddy's so proud of you."

Clark preened, practically vibrating with the force of his joy. "Cause I'm the best helper," he reminded me.

Chuckling softly, I hefted him more securely in my arms and stood. Together, we made quick work of getting the seat locked in place, Clark practically wiggling with excitement by the time I finished fiddling with the straps.

There he sat, his cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with unabashed delight as he wiggled experimentally, testing the give of the sturdy buckles.

“I'm hungry!" The pout on that mouth, coupled with the whiny pitch of his voice, never failed to turn my insides to molten goo. It was a miracle I managed to remain upright under the onslaught of weapons-grade cuteness being unleashed upon my person.

"Of course, baby bug. Daddy got a little distracted by how adorable you look in your big boy chair. Here, let's get a bib on you and then we can dig in."

But my attempt to affix the cute little dinosaur-print bib was thwarted by a squawk of protest and flailing limbs.

"No!" Clark wailed, turning his face away petulantly. "No bib. I'm not a baby."

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