Diaper
Bottle
Burp
Rock
Don’t panic
I manage three out of five.
The diaper change becomes a full-scale tactical operation.
She fights.
I lose.
Badly.
By the time I finish, I’m sweating like I just ran a mile uphill.
“Respect,” I mutter, wiping my hands. “I see your game.”
The bottle goes better.
She grabs my finger with her entire hand while she eats.
The grip is tiny.
But strong.
I sit in the rocking chair and just… watch her.
Memorizing everything.
Her tiny nose.
The soft curve of her cheek.
The little flutter of her lashes.
The way she sighs when she’s full.
When she finally falls asleep against my chest, I don’t move.
I can’t.
Because in that quiet moment, something hits me.
Something terrifying.
I don’t remember what my life looked like before her.
38
Saint
She wakes again an hour later.
