I know it’s game over when her opaque smoky quartz eyes blink up at me, wispy lashes fluttering, a beatific smile curling the corners of her lips.
Her cheeks flash crimson and eyes widen. Her diaper rumbles in the crook of my arm. "Whoops, I think someone needs her daddy." I look down at her—eyes now closed, same beatific smile—and marvel at how a creature this angelic could produce a poop that would leave a Great Dane envious.
"That one sounded wet." Josh closes the fridge door with a back kick, a can of Guinness in each hand. “Let’s hope it’s not the dreaded back poop."
Back poop never made it on a syllabus during college. But three months as a parent have made Josh an expert in areas neither of us could have fathomed when we were cramming for finals.
“Go ahead," he says, pointing at the gurgling Sophie on the changing table. “It'll be good practice for when you and Janine have a kid."
“Give it a rest, Josh. This is a human being you’re talking about. It's not like when you got an Xbox and tried to get me to buy one so we could play each other." I pull back the tape and take a quick peek.
"Holy crap!”
Josh hands me a wipe. “Trust me, you’ll get used to it.”
Drool pools in the divot between Sophie's chin and lower lip. Her eyes—destined to be brown like her parents’—brighten when I tickle her belly. Her face erupts with an open-mouthed toothless smile. I brandish the wipe and wrangle Sophie’s wriggling legs with my free hand.
“No fair rigging the game, Josh.”
I never did get that Xbox, But maybe I’ll talk to Janine about splurging on a console of our own.
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