I didn’t switch my days off for this. As you know, my wife’s birthday and mine are a week apart, and she has a twin, so we were planning on celebrating our birthdays on the 28th, but then my wife came down with a stomach bug.

It’s been a rough couple of days. She’d messaged me when she’d woken up, telling me that she’d thrown up, and then she’d continued messaging me throughout the day, telling me how hard of a day she was having. I messaged her, telling her that I was going to have to take a late lunch. There were errands that I had to run for the shop. I had, however, gotten her a gift while at work. I’d come upon it while working my way through the stack of books that I had piled in front of my desk. It’s called Baby’s First Book, and it’s from Beatrix Potter. It is filled with illustrations, and it’s still in its original plastic wrap from the seventies.

I don’t know what I expected. Her mom was there when I arrived. My wife was doubled over. She couldn’t speak. She threw up once while I was there. I showed her the present, but she didn’t open it. She just shook her head and slept for the rest of the day.

That left me to take care of the baby. My mother-in-law handed her over to me, then she put some corn dogs in the oven and left before they finished cooking. There’s milk in the fridge, she’d told me, which I wasn’t happy about because refrigerated milk only lasts for a half an hour after heating it, and it takes five minutes to heat up.

It can be tough telling if a baby is hungry or if they want something else. You can’t force them to eat. You end up with wasted milk: liquid gold as my wife calls it.

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Posted in Lit

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