toward the door, “…run down and feed him while you…” and wave my hand in front of me where Mack stands, “…finish your shower.”
Why am I breathing so hard?
He flashes me a quick smile. “Okay. Well, I’ll finish up in the bathroom and be down in a few minutes.”
“Yep! Great. Sounds perfect,” I blurt out, as I practically rush from the bedroom and down the stairs.
By the time I reach the main floor, I realize I didn’t change Oliver’s diaper. I read online to change the baby’s diaper before you feed them, as it often helps them fall back asleep easier with a clean diaper and a full belly. Glancing around, and resolved to heading back upstairs, I spy a diaper bag over along the wall. Inside, I find a few tiny diapers, a travel packet of wipes, and a pad used to protect the surface.
I spread out my loot on the floor, carefully setting Oliver down between my outstretched legs. “Now, listen here, Oliver. I’ve only done this like twice in my entire life, so if you could, you know, not pee on me or sprinkle the walls, that’d be great. And as soon as I’m done, we’ll get you some steak and eggs. Deal?”
The little boy’s dark eyes are open, and I’m not sure if he can see me or not, but I can sense we have an understanding. He still fusses, but stops the hard crying, and for that, I’m grateful. I do everything they did in the online video—yes, I watched instructional clips of all the important things likes diaper changes, baths, and feedings—and before I know it, I have a fresh, clean diaper on Oliver’s bottom.
“I did it!” I cheer happily. Oliver gazes up and I think he even smiles, but it’s so short lived, I could have imagined it. He starts pumping his fists, another angry cry ready to fly. “Okay, okay. We can celebrate my victory later. Let’s get you an omelet.” With the baby back in my arms, I head to the kitchen to fix a quick bottle. It goes decisively quicker than earlier, and before I know it, I’m sitting in Mack’s rocker recliner, getting ready to feed a baby for the very first time.
I place the bottle against his lips, just like I saw Mack do earlier, just like I watched in the video, Oliver’s head cradled in the crook of my arm and slightly elevated. “I can do this,” I whisper as he latches on and goes to town sucking. “Slow down, little man, or you’ll give yourself painful gas.”
I find myself smiling down at him as he settles into his feeding. Once he realizes I’m not going to steal away his bacon, his suckling slows to a steady pace. His eyes remain locked on me though, like he’s keeping a close watch on me, just to be sure. How is it possible this little guy has already wormed his way into my heart?
I hear the stairs squeak and glance up to find Mack at the bottom step. He’s watching me, the softest grin playing on his own lips. “He doesn’t mess around when it comes to food,” he says.
“I’ve noticed. He’s watching me like a hawk,” I reply, gazing down at the sweet little boy.
Mack watches us for a few minutes before slipping into the kitchen. I see him stir the pot on the stove and place the rolls in the preheated oven. He pulls two bowls and two glasses out of the cabinet, filling each glass with lemonade. I notice the bottle is already about halfway empty, so I move Oliver to my shoulder, just the way Mack did. He squawks, but settles in for the burp. When I get a small one out of him, I return the bottle to his mouth to continue the meal.
By the time the biscuits are cooked, the bottle is finished, and Oliver is passed out against my chest. Mack rushes upstairs, taking them two at a time, and comes back down with the bassinet. He places it along the far wall, away from the windows, and I take that as my cue to move him. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind holding him for a little longer, but I can see Mack at the stove dishing up dinner, and my stomach is growling, considering I haven’t eaten much today. Nerves and the unknown, plus travel, doesn’t exactly make it an easy day on the belly.