Make It Known

Bonus Chapter #4: Babysitting

"Babysitting"

early parenting years • Dylan's POV

***

"Ah, bloody hell..." I step back a few seconds too late just as the little man comes crashing into me, spilling a blue plastic tumbler of milk all over the front of my jeans, and himself in the process.

"Oops!" He looks up at me in a daze, blinking those big blue eyes that make him look like a mini Gav. "Sorry, Uncle Dylan!"

"Dylan, language," Melanie scolds, shoving the tiny wailing package from her shoulder into Gavin's bewildered hands before rushing to the kitchen for a couple wet cloths.

Not alright? or fancy a cuppa? or sorry one of the heathens spilled milk on you the second you walked through the door.

Poor thing looks... overwhelmed. Brown hair in a rat's nest, bags under her eyes. Loose grey sweatpants and an oversized black t-shirt. She rushes over to where I'm standing near the front door and passes me the cloth so I can sop up the mess Darcy has made.

"Darcy," she lectures, sighing. "What did I say about sitting at your table when you drink your milk?"

She wipes up the milk from his hands and the hardwood floor, scoops the pouting four-year-old up into her arms and trudges tiredly to the kitchen, deposits the empty cup into the sink.

Just another Sunday afternoon of parental life, I suppose.

I look over to where Gav is bouncing Ophelia on his shoulder. He hardly looks any better, miserable sod.

"Hey, man," he greets, rather unenthusiastically. One of his hands is big enough to cover the entire lower half of the little creature propped against his chest, swaddled in white blankets and screaming like a bloody banshee. "Uh, think I'm gonna have to give it a pass, Dylan. Fee's all colicky. Hasn't stopped crying for..."

The teeny thing with lungs of steel suddenly quiets down. She lets out some soft gurgling noises before cooing like an angel from hell.

Gavin looks down at her, shocked.

I take a second to look around their newish three-bedroom house. The place is a bloody war zone. The carpet of the living room just off the front door is covered with a colourful field of Lego. Sofa cushions scattered all over. A little green plastic bowl of Cheerios and goldfish crackers toppled over on the coffee table.

I feel anxious and exhausted just standing here.

"If you and Dylan wanna take Darcy out for ice-cream or something..." Melanie suggests, sliding Darcy's milk-sodden shirt over his head.

"It's like minus twenty outside, love."

I just stand there in the front foyer, still wearing my boots and parka. They look quite occupied. Should probably make a polite exit—

"Take your shoes off, man. Coffee or something?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

We were supposed to hit the gym. Three months or so since the birth of his second child and the poor bloke probably hasn't left the house except to go to work.