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I handed her the box of cookies. “I come bearing emotional support carbs.” I smirked.
“Marry me again,” she said.
“I wanted to, and you said no.”
We fell onto the couch, and I hooked my arm around her as she dug into the box of cookies.
“Man, my feet hurt today.” I leaned over and took off my shoes.
“Well, I love you, but I have zero sympathy. I’ve been bouncing a seven-pound dictator all day,” she said, shoving an entire cookie in her mouth.
“Fair enough. My sore feet can’t compete with that.”
“I also found spit up in my bra.”
“You actually wore one today? You haven’t since she was born.”
“I wanted to feel normal.” She sighed, grabbing another cookie.
“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—mouthful of cookies and all.” I smiled.
“Shut up. I accidentally used a baby wipe to wash my face earlier. I thought it was one of my cleansing cloths.”
“Come on.” I stood from the couch and extended my hand. “I’m going to start the water, and you’re going to take a beautiful, uninterrupted, hot, relaxing bath with one of your bath bombs.”
“You’re my prince.” She smiled, taking my hand.
“I thought I was your king?”
“Oh yeah. That too.”
As I led her to the bedroom, she stopped me.
“Are you crazy? I can’t take a bath in our bathroom. It’ll wake the baby up.”
“You’re right. You go to one of the other bathrooms, and I’ll grab a bath bomb from ours.
I walked into the bathroom, grabbed the basket from the cabinet containing the different bath bombs, and grabbed the one labeledThis Is My Alone Time, Don’t Ruin It.
Taking it to the other bathroom, I dropped it into the water. Willa climbed in and her body instantly relaxed.
“So, I’ve been thinking about something,” I said.
“You mean, you have room in your brain to actually think about something other than screaming babies, no sleep, and poopy diapers? It must be nice.”
“What if we considered hiring some help?”
“Like a nanny?” Willa stared at me as if I were crazy.
“Well, yes.”
“You want to pay a stranger to hold our baby? to rock our baby to sleep while I sit on the couch and scroll Instagram and TikTok like some washed-up has-been mom?”
“I mean—doesn’t that sound amazing?”
“I can’t believe you’re trying to outsource our child, Damien Blackwood.”
“I’m not trying to outsource her. I’m just saying that maybe we can get a little help so you can do things like shower, nap, and remember your own name and what day it is.”