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Everybody always returns to where they were happy... He never thought his happiness would involve changing diapers, but there he is again, awake in the middle of the night, changing the diaper of his four-month-old daughter.
His wife needs rest, and insomnia won’t leave him alone. It was convenient to hear Anya’s cries; tending her needs will help clear his mind from work. He laid his baby down on the changing table, carefully removed her tiny, fuzzy pajamas, and unfastened the diaper.
‘‘A number two diaper is on its way’’ he said with a smile as he removed the diaper. ‘‘Okay, now we clean you up a bit and apply your cream’’ with a damp towel, he gently cleaned her, applied the cream to prevent rashes, and finished by sprinkling some talcum powder. He put her pajamas back on and picked her up. ‘‘All done, sweetheart.’’
He kissed her head, gently nuzzled his nose against her neck and hair. He loves her scent, the "newborn smell" —as his wife calls it— is addictive, very addictive. He kissed her tiny hands as she yawned.
‘‘Let’s get you your bottle so you can sleep.’’
He recognized the signs; he had been through this same routine with his son Liam, now five years old. He adjusted Anya’s position so her head rested on his chest, freeing one hand. He turned on the living room and kitchen lights, walked straight to the drawers, and pulled out a small pot. He filled it with a bit of water and set it on low heat. He grabbed the bottle filled with his daughter’s milk —which once belonged to her brother— and added a bit of formula.
He shook it a little, placed it in the warm water, and turned off the heat. Meanwhile, he played with the little peanut he held. When she was born, she weighed three kilograms, and her thick pink hair was noticeable at first glance. Sometimes he smiles remembering that the first thing Liam said when he saw her was to take off her wig. Now, his little girl is four months old, her hair resembles cotton candy, and she loves her pacifier.
He heard his son’s door open, and the sleepy boy walked to the kitchen, leaning against him.
‘‘Daddy’’ the boy said, dragging out the "y", ‘‘I’m thirsty. Can I have a glass of water, please?’’
‘‘I’ll get it for you.’’
His role as a father could be compared to his role as a spy: he never gets a vacation, has to be alert all the time, every day, and constantly worries about impossible, illogical scenarios, always needing a response or reaction. Of course, there’s one difference: as a spy, he must protect his life and identity as an agent, while as a father, he has to care for two little rascals who depend entirely on him.
Little rascals he loves with all his life.
He poured water for his eldest son and handed him the glass. The boy took it, walked to the living room, sat on the couch, and slowly began to drink. It’s his nightly ritual, and though he doesn’t understand it, Liam follows it religiously, to the letter. He glanced at the prepared bottle, made sure it was the right temperature, positioned his tiny creature correctly, and gave her the bottle. In seconds, Anya downed nine ounces.
‘‘You were hungry’’ he said, surprised, as he placed the empty bottle in the sink. He proceeded to burp the baby.
‘‘Can I sleep with you guys?’’ the boy asked.
He nodded in response and watched as the boy headed to the bedroom he shared with his wife. He’d pick up that glass later.
He went to the bedroom and found Liam and Yor cuddled up in bed. His wife noticed his presence and called him to come closer.
‘‘I knew you’d take care of everything, my love.’’
‘‘Thank you for trusting me, darling.’’
They shared a brief kiss. His daughter fell asleep quickly, so he laid her down in her crib, tucked in and comfortable. He went to his bed and snuggled with his family. He wasn’t sleepy, but he loved the feeling of calm and security that came from being cuddled up with Liam and Yor.