Page 52 of Sex. Love. Marriage.
I smile and pat his shoulder. “If you’re nice, I might help ya out even.”
I push away from him, intending on seeing what the pounding is all about when Noah whirls me into his chest. “Did you hear a question mark on the end of that statement?”
With my hands on his chest, I curl my fingers into the cotton of his shirt and stare at him, fighting back a smile. He’s so hot when he’s rough and possessive. “No.”
“It was a demand. I’m getting you out of it, and you’re going to let me suck on those hangy-down tits I love so much.”
I burst out laughing because guess who is at our feet and points up at me as she says, “My tits!” and makes the sign she knows for milk while scowling at Noah.
Clear as goddamn day, our daughter’s first words are, “my tits.” They’re not said politely either. It’s like she’s been thinking about it for an entire year and chooses that moment to claim her territory.
Parents of the year, right here.
Noah and I stare at one another, then to Finley, and burst out laughing. We could argue she was hungry, but I don’t know. Maybe not?
(I could have done without both.)
TITS.
My daughter’s first word is tits. With Oliver or Sevi, I think I would have been proud. With Fin, I’m concerned. Her first words after seeing me with my hands on her mother’s tits are “My tits!”
Part of me wanted to pick her up and celebrate the moment. After all, she said her first words. That’s a big deal. Then there’s a portion of me, a very large portion, that wants to tell her, “They were mine first.”
Instead, I laugh, because apparently, I lack maturity, and hearing the word tit by someone so small makes me laugh. Don’t tell Kelly this, but I used to teach Oliver bad words just because I thought it was funny. Now I understand why this is potentially a bad idea.
While Kelly feeds Fin, I sneak downstairs with my Dracula cape Kelly told me I was wearing tonight. I hate dressing up for Halloween. Even as a kid, I never saw the point in it. I also can’t stop thinking about Kelly in that fucking Catwoman outfit, if you can call it that. Jesus Christ. How the fuck am I going to make it through the block party with her dressed like that? Do you remember the pounding we heard? I’m on the hunt to find out what it is when I round the staircase and into the kitchen. That’s when the pounding gets louder and louder, until… I find it.
Side note here. Since having five kids around, nothing surprises me anymore. Okay, rarely anything. Even the scene before me isn’t all that surprising because you knew Hazel would get her revenge on Oliver someday, didn’t you?
That being said, I find Hazel leaning against the basement door eating candy. One piece at a time with about five wrappers around her.
And then I hear the banging continue and Oliver yelling at the top of his lungs. “Let me out, butthead!”
“No!” Hazel yells back.
I fight off a smile. I should keep a straight face, but it’s hard to with how mean Oliver has been to her lately. “Hazel, what are you doing?”
She looks up at me. “Mind your business.”
“Mind my business?”
Oliver continues yelling, and when he hears my voice, he screams even louder. “Dad! Open the door. She locked me in here.”
I wait. And then he starts crying.
“He’s fine,” Hazel assures me. “He’s totally fine.” And then she slips a candy under the door. “You be quiet.”
“I’m not playing.” He hits the door. “Let me out!”
Casually, I lean into the wall, my arms crossed over my chest. “He doesn’t sound fine.”
“He is. Sevi, on the other hand”—Hazel points to the corner of the kitchen—“he’s stuck.”
I lift my eyes to where she’s pointing in the corner of the breakfast nook. And there, our little puppy is stuck in the furnace vent. Don’t worry, he’s fine. Totally fine, as Hazel would say. Just stuck up to his chest, his floppy ears from his costume, I’m sure we’re never getting off him, in his face and he’s chewing on his tail without a care in the world.
“Is everyone ready to head out?” Kelly asks, coming downstairs with Fin on her hip, her tiny hand onmytits. I swear, if Fin could flip me off, she would.
With wandering eyes, I check out my wife in her Catwoman costume. From head to toe. I’ll admit, it’s more revealing than I’d care for her to be wearing, but goddamn, it’s like a fantasy. Is it hot in here?
