Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Willa
“So, I got to thinking. Maybe we should start with a night nurse,” I said to Damien as he fed Daisy her bottle. “I can handle parenting as long as I get some sleep. What do you say?”
“Maybe we should ask the boss of the house first,” he said, staring down at his daughter.
“She’s more like a dictator. She barely sleeps and doesn’t let me put her down, ever. She has demands, Damien.”
“Did she give you a list of terms?” He smirked.
“She did. But I don’t speak wailing. She looks at me with that look—‘Oh sorry, did you think this was your life? It’s mine now.’”
I could tell he was holding back a laugh. “She’s adorable. All seven pounds of her.”
“And those whole seven pounds control the entire household. We eat when she allows it. We sleep when she grants permission. My nipples have a punch card.”
“I’m jealous she gets your nipples and I don’t,” he said.
“Blame her. She won’t allow it.” I tipped the glass of wine to my lips. “And when we’re able to have sex again, she’ll dictate that too.”
“A night nurse, eh?” he asked.
“Yes. Let's start there.”
“I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow morning.” He smiled.
“I think I’ll keep you, Mr. Blackwood. A baby looks good on you.” I smiled.
“Okay. You can keep me. I’m here to serve your every need.”
* * *
I jumped up from the couch when I heard the elevator ding.
“That’s her. The woman who may just save our lives!” I said.
Damien ran his hand down his shirt. “Do I look desperate?”
“No. But you do have spit up on your shirt.”
“Shit.” He looked down at the stain.
Damien and I stood in front of the elevator, waiting to greet the woman, while Daisy was sleeping in her swing. The door opened, and a woman in her 40s, who smelled like lavender and boundaries, stepped into the foyer.
“Hi. I’m Sabrina. I’m here for the interview.”
“Welcome to the battlefield.” I grinned, hugging her. “I’m Willa Blackwood, and this is my husband, Damien.”
“Welcome to our home.” Damien shook her hand. “Can I offer you some coffee?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She pleasantly smiled.
As we led her into the living room, Daisy let out a burp from the baby swing and spit up all over her onesie. I looked at Sabrina, and she didn’t even flinch. “Aw, did you spit up?” She smiled at Daisy. “Let’s get you changed. Do you have another outfit for her?”
“You just picked her up without a care in the world that her spit up will get all over your clothes. That is so hot,” I said.
“She means professional. That’s very professional,” Damien said.
“Thank you. After I get her changed, we can talk schedules, responsibilities, and your comfort level of sleep training.”
“Have you ever seen a grown man cry because his daughter refused to burp?” I asked her.
“Come on, Willa. I did not,” Damien said, handing Sabrina a new onesie and a clean diaper.
“Yes, you did. I was there.”
“You were sleep-deprived and imagining things.” He smirked.
“So, how is her routine right now?” Sabrina asked.
“Her routine consists of sleepless nights, ten-minute naps during the day, eating until she vomits everything up, and having multiple diaper explosions,” I answered.
“Her schedule is chaos, and we live under Baby Law,” Damien chimed in.
Sabrina smiled. “That sounds about normal.”
“Yesterday, I took her outside for a walk, and she looked up, saw a cloud, and started screaming because it existed. She’s a non-stop screamer.”
“I run a multi-billion-dollar company and easily close multi-billion-dollar deals. But if I even think about warming up a bottle one degree too hot, I get screamed at,” Damien said.
“Have you two gotten any rest at all since her birth?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that word means,” I said.
“I closed my eyes in the shower once,” Damien said.
“Okay. If you’ll have me, I’m in,” Sabrina said.
“You’re—you’re in?” My eyes widened.
“Oh yeah. You two are a disaster. But you love her, and that’s what matters the most.”
“We only need you until she sleeps through the night,” Damien said.
“I’m aware, Mr. Blackwood.” She smiled. “I’ve been a baby night nurse for over twenty years.”
“You are now our favorite person.” I smiled as tears stung my eyes, thinking about all the sleep coming my way.
* * *
Two Weeks Later
Sleep had become our best friend, and I would never take it for granted again. Hiring Sabrina was the best thing we’d ever done. We moved Daisy to her crib, so Sabrina could care for her at night while we slept uninterrupted. It was a miracle, and I felt more human than I ever had.
Today, Daisy was one month old, and I wanted to do a photoshoot of her. Instead of hiring a professional to take the pictures, Damien and I wanted to do it ourselves. Was that a good idea? I didn’t know, but we’d find out soon enough.
I set up the backdrop: a wrinkled pink sheet clipped to a curtain rod, which Damien hung from one of the living room windows. I grabbed the box of props from the corner—the stuffed fox, a small crown, and a chalkboard that said, “One Month of World Domination.”
Damien adjusted the ring light I purchased from Etsy one night at two a.m.
“Okay,” he said, pointing his phone like a film director. “Place her on the blanket, but do it artistically.”
“And how do I do that? She has the posture of a potato,” I said.
“She needs angles, Willa.”
I set her down on her tummy with the plush fox beside her.
“She’s smiling!” Damien exclaimed, pushing the button on his phone.
“I think she’s pooping,” I said.
Suddenly, the ultimate explosion happened. She rolled on her back, hit the fox, and graced it with her poop.
“She rolled!” Damien shouted.
“She pooped on the fox!” I exclaimed. “Get the backup fox!”
“We have a backup fox?” Damien’s brows furrowed.
“Of course, there’s a backup fox, Damien! I own a company built on emotional collapse. I plan for chaos!”
I removed Daisy’s dress, cleaned her up, and changed her diaper. I stood up, crossed my arms, and watched as she flailed dramatically, like she was saying a big fuck you to us for making her do this.
“This is a disaster.” Damien hooked his arm around me.
“But it’s our disaster.” I smiled, laying my head on his shoulder.
“Man, I’m sweating,” he said.
“Nah. You’re glowing like a man covered in regret.”
He pointed his phone down at Daisy and started snapping pictures—pictures that were crooked, partially blurry, and full of chaos, but they were ours, and they were perfect.
“Post them,” I said.
“What should I say?” he asked.
“Caption it, Baby Photo Shoot. A.K.A. The Breakdown. One month in, still alive, totally smitten with our little dictator .”