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Ihonestly didn’t expect Wes to hold out till noon before checking in on us. I’m in the middle of stacking some bright-colored cups with Rosie, who’s determined to knock them down the second they’re up, when my phone dings on the counter.

Wes:Everything okay?

That’s it. No greeting. Just straight to the point.

I flick my gaze at Rosie, who’s currently singing a one-year-old’s version of a sea shanty before tapping out a quick reply.

Me:Yeah, we’re great! I’m just in the kitchen while Rosie tackles the stairs on her own. Thinking we might try skydivinglater too.

I send it off with a snort.

Sure enough, the little typing bubbles pop up before they quickly disappear. It happens a couple of times, but still no reply.

Uh-oh. Did I break him?

I snap a quick picture of Rosie for proof of life purposes and send it to him.

Me:Sorry, I promise I’ll leave the sarcastic humor at home until at least week three. As you can see, she’s doing fine. You can get out of your truck now. You don’t need to come rushing back.

It takes ten seconds for his reply.

Wes:I wasn’t leaving.

Liar.

But I let the anxious uncle have this one small victory.

Me:We’re good. Rosie just had her snack and is about ready for a nap.

Again, the typing bubbles flash on… then off. I can practically see him standing in the corner of his shop, phone in hand, wrestling with whether he should trust me or bail on work to check for himself.

Last week, I was here nearly every day for an hour or two, mostly to let Rosie get used to me, but I’m pretty sure Wes was the one who needed the most reassurance.

On our second day, I took Rosie for a short stroll around the neighborhood, and when we rounded the corner to come back, Wes was standing out front, tools in hand, pretending to tighten a screw on the mailbox. The mailbox, which was perfectly fine, considering he’d done the same thing twenty minutes earlier.

It must be killing him to be away all day today.

Wes:Okay.

Okay?

No lecture?

It’s progress.

Nodding in approval, I set the phone aside and go back to Rosie.

“I think we’re getting along just fine. What do you think, Rosie Posie?”

More babbling and spit bubbles.

I think that’s a yes.

∞∞∞

Rosie goes down for her nap like a dream. No major protests, just a few half-hearted whimpers, but I wait in the nursery until I’m sure her gentle snores have settled into a steady rhythm before backing away like I’m defusing a bomb.

Downstairs, I set the monitor on the counter and take in the aftermath of snack time.