Page 137 of My Wife
“Like his dad.”
“But why the stroller?”
“He hasn’t had all his shots yet, so he has to stay in the stroller when we go outside until he’s up to date.”
KJ pets the dog a few times before turning to me and signing something along the lines about how Elizabeth kept trying to kiss him and she has germs.
I want to laugh. That’s right, buddy. Girls have cooties at least until you’re eighteen.
I sign back. “What’s his name?”
KJ tries the letters and Jessica crouches down to spell it with him.
“Ranger?” I ask.
KJ nods and tells me it’s the same as his favorite army guy.
“We were just about to take a walk.” Jessica holds the kid’s hand and points to the stroller.
“I’m not pushing it.”
Her response is matter of fact. “Yes, you are.”
I huff but give in, hoping I’m not spotted by hockey fans who’ll post this absurdity online.
While we’re walking and the kid is signing to the dog, Jessica says, “I’ve been wanting to tell you that Grandma Dolly and I have been talking with the audiologist. There is a procedure that KJ is a candidate for.”
“You mean for him to hear? What does that have to do with getting a dog?”
“For you or me, suddenly being able to hear after an injury or something like that would be amazing. But for him, it might be jarring. Grandma Dolly explained that there are ways to make the transition easier, one of which is a companion animal.”
I nod, understanding what she means and fully trusting Dolly is in the know as she shares some more details.
Then Jessica links her arm through mine. “I have my comfort blanket so I can sleep. Figured he ought to have a buddy, too.”
I snort. Why does the idea of being her buddy, a comfort blanket, make me feel warm all over?
“About that. Now that we’re married, we need to have new rules.”
“What about scrapping them and just seeing how we do?”
That works for about an hour. While KJ takes his post-lunchtime nap, which has turned more into quiet time, or playtime given the new dog, I review game footage. Jessica tosses a pair of dirty socks at me and they land on my chest.
I instantly gag. “What was that for?”
“You left them outside the basket … again.”
Since this has been a regular argument, I open up a new tab on my computer. “I’m ordering us separate laundry baskets.”
“That’s a ridiculous solution. There’s only room for one.”
“Now you’re taking over my bathroom?”
“I’m going grocery shopping. I’ll be back with … some whipped cream.”
I almost, but don’t quite laugh, knowing exactly what she plans to do with that.
Having had a chance to cool off and by that, I mean get rid of those stinking socks—they are genuinely disgusting after a workout—KJ’s quiet time is over and he, the dog, and I play around in the living room.
