![]() ![]() I could forget about how I’d left her on the couch while I ran to get disinfectant, the thought that she might roll off not even crossing my mind until it did. ![]() When rocking her, I could forget about the poo that had exploded from her diaper earlier, staining the beige couch in a Cheeto-orange smear. The gentle rise and fall of her chest and the heat of her pressed against me was so wondrous that for a moment, I could almost believe I was good at this. The soft smell of Giuliana’s hair sent waves of comfort through me, soothing me while the white noise machine hummed in the corner. ![]() ![]() It was the only time in the entire day I didn’t question if I’d made the right choice to be a single father. It didn’t matter that she’d already fallen asleep a half-hour before-the rocking was just for me. Finally, I had rocked Giuliana in the dark. It was far easier to put a clean diaper on a milk-drunk baby than try to do it before, when she was hungry and raging.Īfter the diaper came her footie pajamas, and the whole time I dressed her, I marveled at how small the jammies were, like a doll’s outfit. That was a trick my brother, Mason, had taught me. When her eyes had finally fluttered shut, her thick dark eyelashes dusting her rosy cheeks, I’d managed to change her diaper without any fuss. I’d fed my almost month-old daughter, Giuliana, her last bottle for the day. All of the proper nighttime rituals had finally been completed, and now I could almost breathe. ![]()
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