Baby of the Band

Eight

The next month passed in an unbelievable amount of Peace, considering what all'd happened since the Morn Rob woke up as a diaper-shitting rugrat. Even his wife deciding to quit her job back home in Florida and essentially move back to Cali couldn't really Destroy that Peace. If anything, it made things even more peaceful, considering he wasn't separated from his baby boy, even if it was a bit harder to really spend Time with him.

        He wasn't the least bit surprised when Mishy finally admitted to starting a fling with his drummer about a week after they'd actually done it. Knowing there wasn't anything he could do for her in a sexual sense, all he could do in responseta her admission was shrug where he sat in the high chair he shared with their son. It wasn't like he hadn't known such a thing was likely to happen–he'd been warned when Rikki told him after his family'd shown up. Besides, if he were honest with at least himself, he'd felt the Love they'd once shared Waning–mostly due to his Time away from home and his drinking, both at home and on the road.

        Said wife seemed a bit surprised that he was being so nonchalant about it, but since he currently didn't have access to the Scrabble tiles, she didn't have a clue what was going on in his head. Maybe he wasn't bothered by her admission, simply 'cuz he'd already known, as evidenced by the sentences the drummer'd left intact on his coffee table. Then again, maybe there was some other reason Rob was being so nonchalant about her basically telling him that she'd cheated on him–and with one of his best friends, at that.

        None of the group got the chanceta find out, though, 'cuz it wasn't long after that that the pint-sized bassist woke up sick. It wasn't anything like nausea and vomiting, which coulda hinted at a rare Summer case of the flu, but rather heavy, raspy breathing and coughing. If he'd caught anything, it was likely one of those dreaded Summer colds, and during his visit to the ER about his hand.

        "C'mon, buddy–I know ya don't wanna go, butcha gotta," Rikki crooned as he got his friend dressed.

        "Ahhhh," he whined, cutting himself off with a barking cough.

        "If ya don't go see a doctor, you're prolly gonna wind up feeling even worse," the drummer told him, not daring to say that he might End up with pneumonia.

        "Hmph," Rob grunted, crossing his arms once he'd gotten a T-shirt on him.

        "Well, do ya wanna wind up in the hospital for longer than it takesta get a cast, 'cuz we let this get worse?" he asked. "And what about possibly giving whatever you've got to baby Zak?"

        The pint-sized bassist's eyes widened and he shook his head at the Thought of causing his son to get sick.

        "All right, then," Rikki said. "Best we getcha checked out and warn the doctor ya see that we've another, younger baby in the house, too."

        He couldn't do anything but groan, even as he let him pick him up off the changing table.

        The drummer carried him down to his car, both surprised and not to see Mishy getting Zak's carrier buckled into the back seat next to the car seat already sitting there. Naturally, Rob was worried about his baby and perked up a lil more, reaching over toward the carrier once it was snapped into place. Surprisingly, his arms were just long enough that he was able to snag the smaller infant's hand, a small smile crossing his face as they held hands.

        At the nearest pediatrician's office, they got the pair of babies outta the car with hardly any fussing on either of their parts. It was pretty obvious that neither one felt good, although Zak seemed not to feel quite as bad as his daddy was. Even though they didn't feel good, at least they weren't feeling bad enough to pitch fits as they got them checked in, even though it woulda been understandable.