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You hear the baby crying before Nina does, which is surprising, as usually she sleeps lightly. Maybe she’s more tired tonight than usual. It doesn’t matter, though. You carefully untangle yourself from her limbs; no matter what time you wake up, you find that each of you has your arms and legs entwined with each other. You don’t even bother to check the time, as to you, it’s still dark, so that means it’s the middle of the night. You’ve seen Nina do this so many times that you know exactly what to do: get the bottle from the kitchen, go into the nursery, see if the baby needs to be changed, and then rock him in the chair while feeding him.
As you go into the nursery, a cat walks beside you, as if they too have a duty to see if the baby is okay, but instead they go to the cat bed that’s in the corner and curls up to go to sleep. “Good mornin’, Damon, or should I say good night?” you say to the baby as you carefully pick him up. You remember how this act used to feel so foreign to you, but now it comes second-nature. You make little shushing sounds as you take the baby to the changing table, change his diaper, and then go over to the rocking chair. You gently rock in the chair as the baby hungrily suckles on the bottle. “That’s good. Eat up lil’ guy,” you tell him.
You wonder how you came to have this life.
You were just a guy working in a record shop. You weren’t really meant for greatness, but here you are in a world-famous band. You were supposed to die in the shooting with your friends, but instead, you have a caring girlfriend and a son. It feels as though all of this has dropped into your lap. Should you feel bitter that you’re thriving while your friends met their end with the Grim Reaper? If you knew Damon, your friend, not the baby, then he would be teasing you about settling down. You quietly laugh to yourself and look up at the ceiling.
“Guess I have settled down. No more nights of partying with drugs, but it’s alright. You’re probably glad I kicked the habit, right?”
You wait for an answer that’ll never come. You look down at the baby and see he finished his bottle, so you set it on the stand, rest him against your shoulder, and burp him (an action that Nina had to explain to you to do multiple times before it stuck). You stay rocking with him as you start to hum one of Blur’s many songs. Your mind is a discography of their songs. It used to make you depressed just hearing their music, and on some days it does get to you, but now you think of how you’re passing their accomplishments down to your son.
When you feel yourself nodding off, you decide it’s okay to put the baby back in his crib and go back to bed. Before you climb in, you stare at Nina and admire how peaceful she looks in her sleep. You slowly get back in bed, trying not to disturb her, but as you settle down, she puts an arm over you and tugs you closer.
“Is he okay?” she mumbles out
“Yeah, fed an’ changed him.”
“That’s good. Love you.”
You stare back at her, marveling at how second-nature saying that comes to her. You kiss her forehead and hide your face against her and hug her tightly, “You too.”