Epilogue
Easter
Some time later…
A lthough I wouldn’t trade my life for anything, I swear I’m too old for this. Bouncing up and down on my toes, I take in the counter that’s a right mess; baby wipes, spilled formula, a pair of tiny bunny ears, and toys all over the place. Huxley looks like he’s finally hopped off to dreamland, but Lilac still glares at me with her huge blue eyes, her button nose scrunched up like she’s smelling something foul. She better not have pooped again—I just changed her diaper for the third time today. Who knew babies were proper poop machines? Not me , said the sleep-deprived daddy.
“Aren’t you sleepy yet?” I yawn at her and her face twists into that indecipherable baby smile that could either mean a) I’m working on a new diaper for you, fucker, 2) I’m getting ready to scream my head off, old man or 3) You’re the centre of my universe, Daddy. I hold my breath, and then, just like that, she yawns, smacks her lips and passes out next to her brother. Oh, thank God. Thank the good old fucking Lord.
Experience tells me that the sheer luck of both of them being out at the same time is the equivalent of A Hundred Year Flood or Halley’s Comet. Within seconds, I move like a ninja, scooping up half-finished bottles and used tissues. Hurrying out back, I dump the pile of shit into the diaper bag, making sure there are still two fresh bottles left in the side pocket, one with a pink cap for Lilac and a sky-blue for Huxley. I accidentally got the bottles mixed up once at 4-something-am and let’s just say that Her Royal Majesty, aka my daughter, was not a happy camper. She nearly blew out my eardrums and woke up her other daddy, aka my heavy-sleeper husband.
I rush to the bathroom because taking a leak post-babies is also A Hundred Year Flood —pun intended—and my bladder is currently working overtime on not bursting. Perhaps I should just wear a bloody diaper too. Relieving myself as quietly as I can, still bouncing a little, humming Old MacDonald Had a Farm , I do a quick mental inventory, making sure I have everything packed and ready for later. Fuuuck, I can’t wait to just get the fuck out of Babyville for 48 hours with the most amazing human in history, aka my husband, my Bunny.
Once my bladder sighs with contentment, I pull up my pants and move to the sink. And that’s when I glimpse myself in the mirror. Thank God the light in here is dimmed because, holy crap. My blond hair, now with a few sprinkles of grey in it, stands out from my head like I’ve been electrocuted. There are dark circles under my eyes that would make Frankenstein’s Monster green with envy, and my scruff has turned into an almost-beard. A large stain of dried baby drool adorns my right shoulder like a badge of honour, and I only just now realise that I’m wearing my T-shirt inside out. And yet, I’m smiling like a loon, my tired blue eyes glazing over with a layer of unshed tears as I take in Lilac and Huxley sleeping peacefully, snuggled up against my chest in the Babybjorn Baby Carrier strapped around my shoulders. Huxley whimpers in his sleep, his long ears twitching, and my heart melts and I turn into goo. I’m so fucking tired, I could sleep standing up for days without end, and still, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
Lilac smacks her lips until they curl into a cute pout. She’s only four months old. She’s tiny, with dark downy hair peeking from behind the knitted yellow hat that Mum made for her. She’s a right monster when she’s awake but a pure angel when she finally sleeps. We’d been on the adoption list for eighteen months when they called and told us they had a baby girl for us. She’d been given up for adoption shortly after her teen parents found out that they were pregnant with her.
‘Lilac,’ Benjamin breathed with awe next to me when I held our daughter in my arms for the first time. ‘I want to call her Lilac. Can we? Please East? After Bunny,’ his voice broke, her tiny hand wrapped around his index finger. ‘Bunny was a Lilac.’ I just nodded, no idea what he was on about, but going along with whatever he wanted like I usually do because he’s my heart. He and Lilac. Huxley too, in some weird way. Later, much later, when Lilac was sleeping on my chest and we were both wiped out but disgustingly besotted with our daughter, he told me about Bunny. How Bunny was a Lilac, which is a very rare but treasured bunny breed. I didn’t think it was possible, but at that moment, I swear I felt my heart expanding in my chest, my love for him growing even bigger than before.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I whispered into his sweet-smelling hair. ‘You are beautiful, my treasured little family. ’
Huxley came a month later, completely unexpectedly, when Mr Harvey found him caught in the butterfly net covering his cabbage. He was fucking tiny, and after Mr Harvey had waited for the baby’s mum to show up all day, he eventually brought him home with him. Benjamin took one look at the light brown leveret, and that was all it took for it to become known as ‘ the day that Bunny convinced his Master they needed a baby hare in addition to a baby girl. ’ Needless to say, he managed to convince me. The stuff my husband can do with that tongue of his… right. Hopefully, I’ll have a chance to get reacquainted with his tongue a few times this weekend. His hole too, mate, my cock chimes in. We’re close to busting a nut, arsehole. Right, right.
Because that’s the only downside actually of being one big happy family—your non-existent sex life. I know it’ll get better once we’re safely out of Babyville, but still, I miss fucking my Bunny in his onesie without having to worry about Lilac screaming her lungs out or Mr Harvey yelling dinner!
We all moved into Mr Harvey’s house when we found out that we were expecting Baby Lilac. It kind of made sense. Mr Harvey isn’t getting any younger and my flat upstairs was only ever meant for one, really. Not an entire family. An entire family. Who would’ve thought a grump like me would end up being a whipped family man, missing my husband the minute he walked out the door?
Speaking of which, he should’ve been here by now. He was just going to give Mr Harvey—whose given name is actually Frank—a hand building a fenced play area for Huxley in the back garden next to Mr Woolley. I look at my watch. It’s only 3:27. Our dinner reservation isn’t until eight, but we agreed to give Frank a hand with dinner before we left for the weekend getaway I’ve booked at a B&B just outside Canterbury. Mum’s staying with Frank while we’re away. They get on like a house on fire and he always laughs over her questionable vegetable euphemisms, his eyes lighting up whenever she stops by, which is pretty often, come to think of it.
The familiar door bell chimes and I curse. Shit, I forgot to put the ‘ We’re Closed!’ sign up. I swear to anything that might exist if some chocolate-deprived customer wakes up the babies, I’ll commit murder in broad daylight. Rushing out into the front, my anger evaporates the minute I see him, my Benjamin. My beautiful husband, my baby daddy.
“Hello there, gorgeous.” He winks, beaming at me, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink from the spring sun. “I see you’re still rocking that Babybjorn like a badass daddy,” he smirks.
“Hey, you know me,” I blow at my index fingers real John-Wayne style, then pretend to be putting my badass airguns back in an invisible holster around my hips. “Chocolatier extraordinaire by day and sexy baby daddy by night.”
“It’s not night yet,” he snorts, then blushes even harder, his eyes darkening with longing.
“Not yet,” I muse, moving towards him, catching his lips in a sloppy kiss when I get there.
“Mmmm, carrot,” Benjamin hums against my lips, smiling. “How’s Huxley getting on with the carrot mash?” He peeks into the baby carrier, a concerned frown between his dark brows, before pressing a tender kiss against Lilac’s forehead.
“Better than the porridge,” I say and we both wince at the same time and I think I gag a little too. Yeah, that was a regular shit show, pun intended .
“Thank God,” he laughs and my heart bursts with happiness. “We can try zucchini next,” he giggles, digging his teeth into his bottom lip.
“Jesus, darling. Not here,” I croak in a whisper.
“There’s no one here,” he laughs again.
“The babies,” I hiss, my gaze dipping to the sleeping devil’s spawn, my hands cupping Huxley’s huge ears, sheltering them from my husband’s dirty mouth. Benjamin’s gaze softens, the greyish-brown now a deep moonstone.
“Awww,” he coos. “Look at you.” He smiles. “Being all protective.”
“Look at yourself,” I counter like I’m five or just a grumpy arsehole. “Being all…” I can’t think of anything because he is everything.
“No, look at youuu,” he teases, sweeping his fingers through my wayward locks. “You look yummy,” he moans. “Being a dad suits you.”
“You look fucking delicious yourself,” I growl, smacking his perky turnip butt and he giggles, his voice a soft trickle, filling the room. And that’s how we go, him and I, like the crazy, lovestruck fools we are. We go on and on and on until we forget ourselves and the world all around us. Until there’s nothing else but him, my live-in co-chocolatier, my darling husband, the father to my babies, my sweet, sweet Bunny. My heart, my love, my life.
The End