“Baba. Baba. Baba,” she babbled and wriggled again. Then, to my horror, her sweet little rosebud lips downturned and her face screwed up. “Baba. Baba. Baba,” she cried, tears filling her eyes.
My jaw dropped.
What the fuck?
Why was she crying?
What did I do?
A tear leaked out of her eye and dripped down her cheek. “Baba. Baba.”
My eyes darted around to see Atlas watching intently. “Why’s she crying?” I demanded.
He shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. “She’s not my kid. I don’t fucking know.”
“Baba. Baba,” my daughter cried out, wriggling her little ass in my arms.
“Jesus!” I exclaimed. “I don’t know what the fuck to do!” I started to sway from side to side. “It’s okay, baby,” I crooned. “Daddy’s gotcha.”
“Baba. Baba,” she sobbed, her shoulders heaving with the force of her cries.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I chanted, looking around for help.
“When Lola whined, it was usually because she was hangry or she needed a diaper change,” Atlas told me. “Have you checked?”
My face screwed up in confusion. “Checked what?”
“Her diaper, you fuckin’ simpleton. Have you checked to see if her diaper’s shitty?”
My heart plummeted. “No.”
Atlas shook his head as if I was the resident village idiot. “Well, don’t ya think you oughta?”
My gaze dropped back to Imogen, who was clearly distressed. “Will she want me to see...” I nodded downward. “You know, her bits...?”
“She’s not even a year old, shit for brains,” Atlas said dryly. “I don’t think she has a fuck to give. But I suggest you do somethin’ because you can’t leave the poor kid sittin’ in her own shit. She’ll get a sore ass.”
My lungs tightened, and suddenly I found it hard to breathe. “I... Yeah... Right.” My hand felt twice the size as normal and clumsy as fuck as I hoisted Imogen a little higher, turned, and made for the house.
I was almost at the kitchen door when Rosie walked out with Imogen’s diaper bag over her shoulder. “Oh, there you are. Immie’s due for a change, so I thought I’d bring her bag out to you.”
“Who the fuck’s Immie? And I can’t change my daughter out there,” I protested haughtily. “Everyone will see her,” my eyes bugged out and I whispered, “Hoo-ha.”
“Nobody cares about you changing her diaper, honey,” Rosie said softly. “Every single one of those boys has been in the same position. All kids need diaper changes, and you’re Immie’s dad, so you have to learn.”
“What’s with the Immie?” I asked again.
“The girls thought it was cute. Your mom wanted Dolly, and she’s not backing down, so it looks like Imogen may get two pet names which could confuse?—”
Rosie was interrupted byImmieletting out a little sob followed by a loud hiccough, and she zeroed in on Imogen’s face. “Why’s she crying?”
“I dunno,” I wailed. “Atlas said she may need a diaper change, but I don’t know how to do that shit. What the fuck, Posy? I can’t even change my own daughter's ass.” My voice took on a whiny quality. “Can you do it? Please?”
Ro tilted her head to one side. “I’m not doing it for you, but I’ll talk you through it. You have to learn this stuff.”
“Mary, mother of Jesus,” I wailed.
“Come on, Drama Queen, we’ll go into the lounge where it’s quiet and lay her on the couch.” Rosie turned on her heel and disappeared back through the door, beckoning for me to follow.
