Better Than Home: Better Than Good Novella

Henry shook his head, giggling when the letter H flew from his hair. Holly followed his lead, took one more bite of what was probably her third mini cookie, and burst into tears.

“Shh. It’s okay, Holly Bear.” Aaron whisked her into his arms and soothed her sweetly.

“Yikes, what did I do?”

“Nothing. I think it’s nap time.”

“Oh, thank fu—goodness,” I corrected sheepishly.

Aaron chuckled and led the way to the nursery where he cooed and paced and sang in Spanish. Then he cooed some more and cajoled them into sleep until he had control of the whole situation. I held Henry and followed his lead, so yeah…I guess I helped. But man…I was sweating bullets by the time we finally set them in their cribs and tiptoed out of their room.

“Well done, Uncle Matt. Let’s clean up and watch Drag Race.”

“After all that? No way. I need baseball,” I huffed.

“Well, you were pretty amazing. Baseball it is.”

He snickered when I pumped my fist in the air triumphantly, then set the baby monitor on the island and rolled up his sleeves. I helped him pick up the books and toys from outside before settling into the cushiest part of the sectional in the great room with a beer and the remote.

Okay, this babysitting stuff wasn’t so bad.

Except forty minutes later, they were awake again. Which was way too soon.

“I thought they slept for two hours or more. Is this normal?” I asked, picking up Henry while Aaron dealt with a very cranky Holly.

“I don’t think so,” he admitted, looking slightly concerned.

“Ooh. He’s stinky.” I wrinkled my nose and held Henry at bay with a smile on my face to let the little guy know I was still a big fan. I just drew the line at diaper duty. “That’s all you, babe.”

Aaron changed them both while I googled how to soothe a crying toddler. “Henry seems okay. Holly’s a bit flushed. Shh, it’s okay, niña bonita.”

“Hmm. It says here to make sure the baby doesn’t have a fever. Where’s the thermometer?”

“Bathroom.” He inclined his head toward the adjoining door. “Top drawer.”

On it.

So here’s the thing about Casa Reynolds-Morgan…it was huge and very grand with a modern-meets-traditional vibe. High ceilings, white walls, funky lighting, and ample windows with views of their lush gardens and tree-lined property. The furniture was oversized and kid-friendly with toddler accessible baskets of colorful toys neatly tucked into corners in the great room. Somehow, the house always seemed tidy. The nursery…not so much.

It was a colorful kid land with stuffed animals, rocking horses, and a reading area complete with Henry and Holly-sized chairs next to a wall filled with children’s books. The space was probably double the square footage of our master bedroom and the bathroom was equally impressive with its underwater motif. The mermaid and merman mural behind the sink was pretty darn cool, I mused, fumbling through the top drawers.

I found the thermometer and hurried back to Aaron, who at this point was only speaking Spanish. He did that when he was angry, turned-on, or in this case…using his superpowers to soothe an unhappy baby.

“Here you go.” I handed it over, then set a newly diapered Henry on the floor to run around toy heaven while we tended to his now hysterical sister.

Aaron took her temperature. “She doesn’t have a fever.”

“Good. Um…” I studied my Google entry for further clues. “It says that she might be hungry or need to be changed.”

“She’s been fed and changed.”

“Right. Uh…walk, rock, or sing to the baby,” I read. “It also suggests a pacifier.”

“She won’t take one.”

“Next up, they suggest a stroller ride.” I shook my head when Holly sobbed as if giving a firm “No thanks.”

“No to the stroller. Got it. Last tip—hold the baby close and take deep, calming breaths. Wow. What kind of crappy advice is this?”

Aaron dried her tears and hummed softly. “Language, Matty.”

“Sorry,” I grumbled, wiping my sweaty palms on my T-shirt.

“I wonder if her tummy hurts.”

“Do they have baby Tums or something? Tell me where they are. I’ll get them.”

“I don’t think there is such a thing. But I wouldn’t give her anything unless her dads okayed it.”

“So…what do we do?” I squeaked. No kidding. I sounded like a panic-stricken mouse from a Saturday morning cartoon.

In my defense, I had close to zero practical experience here.

There were no kids on my side of the family. My older sister, Shelly, was newly married, but she and her husband wanted to travel before they had kids, and my other siblings were happily single with no near-future plans to procreate…much to my mother’s chagrin. I was uncle by marriage to Aaron’s sisters’ children, though, and a few of my college friends and work associates had kids. I just never had to take care of them. I got to be goofy and silly.