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Chapter Three

So, I lied to Brian a little bit. I wasn't totally clueless about babies. The thing was that I didn't know if I liked babies. And I wasn't sure I wanted to find out that I did like babies. My own mom and dad excelled at making us, but raising us? That was a whole 'nother story. Besides, I didn't want to see if the crappy ass parenting gene had been passed down to me.

Except now it seemed like I didn't have a choice. I couldn't believe I had been dumb enough to go in without a raincoat. I might have been reckless in a lot of areas in my life, but baby blockin' was my speciality.

Until now.

Bentley continued to slobber on my chest as I rooted around for clothes to wear. The stench coming from his bottom meant a diaper change was in order, but I was desperate to play dumb and have Bri do it. I heard him talking to Leighanne, his voice becoming more and more animated.

"...looks just like him."

"...nine months."

"...miss him that small."

I rolled my eyes as I shook out a ratty t-shirt. I walked into the bathroom, propped the baby up on the sink and, holding him with my knees, wiped off my chest. Bentley's hands went to his diapered crotch.


"Yeah, you're telling me," I said. I wormed my head through the neck of the shirt and pulled it down. I scooped him back up and looked around for a pair of jeans. I was trying not to think of the sagging I was feeling in the white plastic ass sack pressed into my forearm.

Just as I found a pair of jeans, hanging over the shower head and smelling only slightly like AJ's cigarettes, Igby chose that moment to emerge from between the shower and toilet. His ass shook side to side in excitement. Bentley pointed.


At the sight of the chubby finger pointing at him, Igby let out a bark, crouched down low, hopped up, twirled in a circle, and for the grand finale, crapped right in front of me. It was too much shit for me to handle. Literally and...meta...metta...metabolically?

"BRIAN!" I wailed.


"What's w--oh god, it reeks."

"Here!" I said. I thrust the baby out. Brian took him and began to make automatic 'shush'-ing noises. I grabbed a piece of toilet paper.

"You can pick up dog poo but you can't change a diaper?" Bri asked.

"It's different! This is flushable!"

"LeighLeigh and Baylee are going for emergency supplies. Diapers, formula, baby food and---

"Unless it's Starbucks girl, it won't be good enough!"

"We'll figure this out."

I purposely took my time with Igby's shit. I wanted to crawl back in bed and pretend this never happened. The little blonde baby with the bright blue eyes was starting a whole new wave of freak out in me.

"I found one diaper in the seat. You done? He needs changed."

I pouted. "I don't know how," I lied. Well, half-lied. I knew the general mechanics, but I didn't know how to figure in a squirming being into the equation.

"Can you do it?" I pleaded.


"How do I know he's mine?"

"How do you know he's not? Changing a diaper doesn't seal the deal!"

I stifled a groan. Igby's stench left with the flush. The little dude's lingered. It was getting too much even for me, the King of Stank.

"Fine," I said.

"Walk me through it."


You know in the movies when they're about to do a military task and they're preparing the weapons and all how they play those leading drum beats? Da-dadada-duht-da. Da-dadada-duuht-da. The camera kind of alights on the barrel of a gun, on the bullets being loaded. The boots of the soldier being pulled on to his feet. The click of the buttons on his coat.

Replace the gun with a diaper...the bullets with powder...the boots with purple latex gloves we hijacked from the cleaning supplies under Nick's bathroom sink, and the buttons with the tape on the hips of Bentley's dirty diaper... and you've pretty much got the image of the moments leading up to the incident.

"Okay, prepare the new diaper," I instructed once the tape had been pulled off Bentley's hips. "Don't pull down the old diaper until you--"

Nick ripped the old diaper off, "Jesus, it smells, though," he complained, haucking the old diaper into the shower stall and slamming the door.

I stared at the diaper, limp in a pool of left over shower water.

"Nick, you wanna get that new diaper on the baby really qui--"

"Gross," Nick's eyes were focused downward, "Dude he's got poo all over his--"

It was an arch of shiny gold, travelling through the air. One minute, Nick was talking, disgusted by the overflow of diaper contents to certain anatomical parts, and the next moment he was gargling with a well aimed stream of urine.

He spit.

He hacked.

He doubled over onto the floor, choking, holding his heck with his hands, scratching at the skin, gurgling.

Bentley let out a shriek that rocked the walls of the bus.

"Oh dear Lord," I gasped. I jumped over Nick's flailing form and grabbed the face cloth we'd dampened, swiping it over Bentley's skin, grabbed the powder, expertly poufed it on, and slid the diaper under him, over him and sealed it shut.

Nick was still moaning on the floor.

"You might want to -uh- to - to use some - uh - mouthwash."

Nick gurgled and grabbed at his neck again.

I swooped Bentley off the counter and rushed out of the room, leaving Nick on the floor. "C'mon, Benters," I whispered, "Let's give your poor dad a break. He's had a rough morning already."

I grabbed the car seat from the table and out the door.