“What?”
“You need to learn the basics,” she said, slipping her phone into her pocket. “And no, before you say anything, a baby is not like racing.”
I eyed her as she stood. “Both require precision, quick reflexes, and the ability to stay calm under pressure.”
“If you’re comparing Hazel to a V6 turbo-hybrid engine, we have bigger problems.” She lifted Hazel out of her carrier. “Isn’t that right, cutie? Daddy’s got a lot to learn.”
Her whole face softened when she smiled down at Hazel, cooing at her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Why did she have to be so good at this?
I exhaled, stretching my neck. “Fine. What’s first?”
“She needs changing.” She smirked as she walked toward me. “And you’re going to do it.”
“But —” I accepted Hazel while a cold sweat prickled the back of my neck. “I don’t know how.”
“You’re going to learn.” She glanced around. “Liam bought the wrong size nappies, so we’ll have to improvise.”
Violet grabbed a clean tea towel from the pile of baby supplies and walked into the kitchen, shaking it out as she went.
I followed, my pace gingerly slow. Violet spread a blanket across the kitchen floor with brisk efficiency before turning to me expectantly.
“Put her down.”
I moved like I was handling live explosives, easing Hazel onto the blanket. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy with sleep, but she didn’t fuss. Yet.
Violet handed me a packet of wipes. “Alright. Nappy off.”
I stared at her. “You want me to take it off?”
“No, I want you to leave her in a dirty one forever,” she said, her expression deadpan. “Yes, take it off.”
My fingers fumbled with the tabs, and the second I peeled the nappy back, I recoiled. “Oh, for fuck’s sake?—”
Violet snorted, unfazed. “It’s just poop.”
“That is not just poop. That is a biohazard.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t want to get used to it.”
“Too bad.”
Hazel wriggled, kicking one tiny foot against my wrist, completely indifferent to my suffering. I swallowed hard and forced myself to grab a wipe and tackle the mess while Violet folded the tea towel.
“Where do you keep safety pins?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Safety pins.” She opened a drawer and rummaged through it.
“Do I look like I own safety pins? I have duct tape and superglue.”
“We are not duct-taping the baby.” She didn’t even look up, just slammed the drawer shut and moved to the next one, rifling through random kitchen junk.
“It would stay on.”
She muttered something under her breath and yanked another drawer open. I wiped Hazel’s legs carefully, hyper-aware of how small and delicate she was while Violet banged around in the background.
