Sloane snorts. “She’s your daughter. What did you expect? I’m surprised she’s not skateboarding yet.”
I lift Adele into the air and blow bubbles onto her stomach. “Who’s my little skateboarder?” She giggles. “Shall we take her to the park today?”
“Um, dude, I think she’s a bit young for the skateboard park.”
“I don’t know. I bet she could sit on a skateboard while I push her around.”
“Remind me to buy her a baby helmet.”
“You can buy her a baby helmet later. Let’s go to the park.”
It’s Saturday and I’m off all day. Sloane has to work later tonight but she can spend the majority of the day with us. I’m hoping once she’s officially appointed assistant manager, she’ll work fewer evenings. I miss going to bed with her.
Between waking up at two in the morning to fuck her and middle of the night feedings for Adele, my sleep pattern is completely out of whack.
Miles found me asleep on the toilet at work the other day. I don’t know who was more surprised. Him, when he barged in on me, or me when I woke up and forgot I was sitting on a toilet with my pants around my ankles?
“As long as we stick to the baby swings.”
I bat my eyelashes. “What about the slide?”
“Fine. But you’re helping her down. The last time I was on the slide, some kid’s diaper blew up in front of me.”
I chuckle. “It’s a good thing I’ve mastered getting shit stains out of laundry.”
“Words I never thought I’d hear Zane Raider say in this lifetime.”
Does she realize I’m a changed man? That I don’t want to chase other women? That she’s the only woman I see?
“I’ll change her while you get the diaper bag.”
Sloane raises her eyebrow. “You’re volunteering to change her diaper?”
“I change her diaper.”
She snorts. “When there’s no choice in the matter.”
“Whatever,” I mutter since she’s not wrong.
I do try and avoid changing her diaper. But who can blame me? The smells that come out of this little baby girl are rancid.
And this is from someone who once fell into a sewer. Parkouring is not for the faint of heart. Especially when you’re in a country with open sewers. I don’t recommend parkour in Nigeria.
“Do you have a dirty diaper?” I ask Adele as I carry her to the nursery. I set her down on the changing table and tickle her tummy. She giggles. “Who’s my beautiful girl?”
The doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it.” Sloane points to Adele. “You get her diaper changed.”
“If it’s my brothers, tell them to fudge off.”
I cringe at the word fudge. But I can’t afford to swear anymore. Not since Sloane started a swear jar. She says Adele is old enough to imitate sounds and we need to be cautious. She doesn’t want Adele entering kindergarten ‘swearing like a sailor on shore leave’.
By the time I finish changing Adele’s diaper and dressing her, Sloane hasn’t returned. Crap. My brothers are here. So much for a quiet Saturday morning at the park with Adele and Sloane.
But when I enter the living room, I’m not greeted by Raiders. It’s Sloane’s mom instead. I’d prefer my brothers – pranks included.
“Poppy.” I nod in greeting.
