Senior year is truly where I went wild, and I brought Vylad with me. He was tamer, but I couldn't say the same about myself. I wasn't much like Kandi in her rebellious ways, but there had been a difference between my relationship with Garroth and my relationship with Vylad.
With Garroth, while I felt loved and adored, I knew there was a clear difference between us. Kandi has told me before that he gave off a playboy persona, and this contrasted with my own. The idea of my heart breaking because of our differences was in the air, so it was a surprise when we got together.
He was obviously the face in our relationship. The name that came first. The reason people like Ivy would kill me in the bathroom stall if it wasn't illegal.
Maybe we were a stereotypical couple people thought of. I had the brains. Cheerleader. He was the hot one. Captain of the baseball team. He had me on his arm like arm candy.
But there was more than it seemed. Garroth was my first boyfriend. He introduced me to what happens in a relationship. It almost felt like a fairy tail. We lasted a year, but it seemed safe.
I didn't sneak out of my house to be around him. I didn't propose silly ideas that were questioned but followed anyway. He almost parented me, saying it was a bad idea and leaving it at that.
I was Vylad's first girlfriend. His only girlfriend at that. I introduced him to what a relationship was. I didn't feel under pressure for ruining his reputation or ruining the image people wanted. I wasn't worried of what would happen with Vylad's relationship with Kandi like I was with Garroth's relationship with Laurance.
"How is my little girl doing?"
I look back, seeing Vylad leaning his body against the nursery doorframe.
"How'd you know we were in here?"
"You're always in here."
I shrug.
Changing a baby's clothes has maybe been one of the strangest things I've ever had to do. I'm afraid I'll rip her head off if I pull her onesie off, or I'm scared I'll hurt her. I've decided slipping my fingers through her sleeve and pulling her arms works best, but it's probably faulty. In the beginning I wasn't sure, and Vylad was convinced it was a two person job.
Changing a diaper is gross. Pee is one thing, but baby poop is actually disgusting. I don't know how many times I've gagged while trying to clean her up. Thankfully she doesn't have an interest in her dirty diapers right now. But considering I've cleaned Caleb, I fear this won't last for much longer.
"We wanted to get all dressed up for when daddy came home," I comment, lifting myself onto my feet.
Paris is four months old, and I'm dreading the time she learns how to crawl. Once she learns that, we can't just place her on the ground and quickly run to use the bathroom. We have to place her in something and pray she doesn't cry.
"Especially because we were going to make daddy go on a walk."
He chuckles before reaching for Paris, holding her in his arms. She looks so small in his gasp, like his chest is swallowing her whole body. "I suppose a walk wouldn't be too bad. The weather is nice."
"You're right there. I didn't put pants on the child not to take her outside."
"I'll take her downstairs if you need to do anything before we leave."
I think that's his nicest way of telling me I look absolutely disgusting, and I'm not against that. I smell like baby. I probably have spit up on me. My hair is a mess. I haven't worn makeup in days.
I like when Vylad is straight up with me. But sometimes when he beats around the bush with me when I'm incredibly tired, I enjoy it more.
He presses a kiss against my cheek and then against our baby's before walking away from the nursery.
I can't help but to glance into the mirror with a sigh, realizing I've neglected myself more than I thought I was.
I know I could easily have someone watch over Paris with a single phone call, but that on its own is a struggle with making sure everything is alright. Vylad has taken over the breadwinner position, so he can only do so much when he's home from work. Maybe it's asking for help that's hard.
I only take a few minutes to make myself look presentable before going back to the other two. Paris is fast asleep in Vylad's arms, and I'm thankful that she doesn't fight sleep. I've been blessed with that.
But I haven't been blessed with knowing if my baby truly has blue eyes or not.
"You ready?" He asks, standing up from the couch. Paris doesn't move a bit, her eyes remaining shut. "We just need to set up the stroller."
I've fought with that damn stroller more often than I'd like to admit.
"Do you want to set the stroller up? I'll get her shoes on."
He seems skeptical for a moment, but I like to think he sees the pleading look in my eyes and decides to go along with it. I'd rather carry her than fight with an object that can do the same thing I can.
By the time Vylad comes back outside, Paris's blonde head is, somehow, covered in a hat and her feet have shoes on. He cooes at this, but there's a single tear on her cheek because she started to cry while he was gone.
"Vylad, I was thinking," I comment, watching as he straps our child into her stroller.
"Hm?"
"Let's send her over to your mother's for a weekend."
