coo as I lift him into my arms. Quickly, I feel around in his bed for his binky and pop it back in his mouth. “Daddy’s got you.” I rub my hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him. “You know, before we get breakfast, we have to take care of your diaper.” His cries turn into a whimper, and then one shuddering breath later he’s calm, nestled in my arms.
I love these moments.
When I’m the person he needs.
Carefully, I lay him on the changing table, and start unbuttoning his pajamas. His little arms and legs are flopping all over the place, and from the sound of the suckling, he’s going to town on that binky. My time of calm is limited. So, I opt to leave him in his jammies for now. A quick swap of the diaper that weighs thirty pounds for a clean one, and I button him back up.
“All set,” I say, lifting him into my arms and kissing his chubby cheek. “Now we get some breakfast.”
In the kitchen, I make his bottle one-handed with ease. I’m becoming a pro at this dad gig, if I do say so myself. My feet pad across the hardwood floor to the living room and settle on the couch. I stretch out, and through the early morning light, watch my son as he eats. As usual, he gets pissed off when I take the bottle from him to burp him. “I know,” I tell him. “Daddy’s just trying to keep you from a belly ache. Aunt Gabby said that was important. Come on, buddy, you can do it.” A few more pats on the back and he belches, and it’s one for the history books. “There it is.” I place the bottle back in his mouth, and he goes to town.
Ten minutes later, the bottle is empty, and he has a blissed-out look in his eyes. His belly is full, and he’s a happy baby. I move to put him in his swing, crank it up and go to the kitchen to see what I can scrounge up to make Hollis and me for breakfast. That’s another selling point of what sold me on this house. I love the open concept and to know that I can be cooking and still keep an eye on Milo.
I have some eggs, some cheese, and some ham lunch meat. Omelets it is. Pulling out everything I need, I search through the cabinets for a pan. I know I saw Gabby washing one yesterday. I finally find it on the third try. I’m not much of a cook, but omelets I can do.
Ten minutes later, I have two omelets plated, and I’m popping some toast in the toaster. Glancing in the living room, Milo is still just swinging away, taking in his new surroundings. “I hope you like it, little man. This is home.” Nothing left to do except finish up the toast, I find myself in front of her door, raising my hand to knock. I’m just getting ready to knock again when the door slowly opens.
I swallow back the urge to tell her she’s beautiful. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail haphazardly as tendrils that have come loose in the night frame her face. She blinks those big green eyes at me. “Colton?” she asks, clearing her throat.
That’s the moment I realize I’ve woken her up. It was just a little after six when Milo woke me up. “I’m so sorry. I forgot not everyone is on my son’s timeline. I made us breakfast but go back to sleep. I’m so sorry.” I say it again. I feel like an ass. That’s the second time I’ve done wrong by her. Hell, I don’t have to worry about her being a distraction; she’s going to get tired of my shit and move out.
“You made breakfast?” she asks, placing her hand over her mouth, covering a yawn.
“I did. I forgot what time it was, and I felt bad for not giving you my mattress, and I wanted to make it up to you, so I cooked, and then here I am waking you up. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.” I turn to walk away when she calls my name.
“Colton.” I turn to face her once again. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”
I nod. “Okay.” Turning back around, I go to check on Milo, who is still just swinging away and then finish