Dad Bod (Under Construction 1)

I shove off his chest and spin on my heels, hollerin’ for the kids to load up.

“You gonna leave me hangin’ just like that?” I don’t look back.

It would be a mistake. A stupid move on my part.

“Just like that,” I reply, a hint of laughter in my voice.

Madden’s chuckle washes over me. “That could be perceived as kidnappin’, darlin’.”

“These kids ain’t nappin’, Davenport. Go live your best life. You can tell me all about it—three pm tomorrow.”

I climb in the Jeep and crank the ignition, leaving a bewildered Madden in my wake.

*~*

How do Mommas do it?

Run after preschoolers, tots, and in-betweens from daylight till dark? Belle and Ken-man talked non-stop on the drive to Noble Farm, telling jokes and laughing, playing games, and singing. As soon as the Jeep rolled to a stop in the parking lot, Kenny unlatched his harness, then Belle’s, and they hit the ground runnin’ for the Amish playground as soon as the back door was open. They’ve played on the swings, the slides, the monkey bars; they rode tricycles through the corn maze. They have gone full throttle, and the sugar break they took halfway through the day only fueled them to play harder.

And play harder they did. After loading the back of the Jeep with pumpkins, apple cider, and Erin’s favorite kettle corn, we headed home for the evening to start our slumber party.

I don’t know what kinda slumber parties y’all had as kids, but down South, we cover every damn surface in the house that is waist-height with a sheet, secure the corners with any redneck ingenuity we can think up, and we call that a tent. Ken-man and I built our make-shift tent while Belle showered and dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of Kenny’s PJ Masks underoos, then while Kenny showered, Belle and I prepared snacks.

Belle shoves a chair over to the cabinet and stands, rummaging through the cabinets and canisters. “You gots anthing yummy to eat, Healthy Lady?”

“Are you hungry for good food or happy food?” I know the answer before she responds because we stopped at Chick-Fila on the way home.

“Give me the suga, lady. You know how I like it.” Her chubby little fingers motion toward me.

I open the cabinet and pull out a variety of snacks and place them in the basket Kenny and I often use to tote snacks to the living room. Kenny and I have a sleepover at least one night a weekend.

“Think you can handle this, kid?” I place Belle’s feet on the ground then reach her the basket. She looks it over and grins from ear to ear. “Fruit Roll-Ups. My favorite.” She winks, her alternative to a thumbs-up with her full hands.

Belle climbs under the tent with Ken-man and positions the snack basket between them. “Auntie, TV!”

“You got it, kiddo.” I flip the tube onto Ken-man’s Netflix cue and hand him the remote.

“Auntie is reading. Just yell if ya need anything. Got it?”

Faces stuffed with cookies, popcorn, and juice boxes, they reply with nods and turn their attention to the TV. I climb in my favorite corner of the couch and grab my Kindle, flipping to the book Bryn conned me into reading.

Two chapters into the book, I realize the only noise filling the air of the room is the sound of the TV and soft snores coming from inside the tent. I tiptoe over and find Ken-man and Belle snuggled up together, a Fruit Roll-Up gripped tight in Belle’s little palm, and snack wrappers strewn all about the space. The sight is freakin’ precious, and I quickly swipe my cell from the end table and snap a few pictures to send to Madden. I tuck the phone in my back pocket and go about cleaning up the mess.

I’m still a bit sticky from sweatin’ in the heat and playing with the kids all day, so I sneak a quick shower and return to the couch and my Kindle before the kids even notice I’m gone. I tug the throw over my legs and open the Kindle, starting the first sentence of the next chapter before I doze off into a fitful sleep.

*~*

I startle awake, wondering what show I left the TV on and why the volume is so loud. In my sleep-induced haze, I blindly search the coffee table for the remote, but I can’t find it. I stumble to my feet, searching the end table when I hear Ken-man’s voice as quiet as a whisper.

“It’s okay, Belly. Don’t cwy. Don’t cwy, Belly. You’s makin’ me sad.”

I stoop to my knees and crawl inside the tent. Belle is sittin’ up, criss-cross applesauce, rubbin’ her eyes as she cries out in her sleep, her words indiscernible. Kenny attempts to calm her with a sweet hand patting her knee gently. “I’s sowwy, Auntie. She not hear me. She cwies and cwies and don’t stop.”

“It’s okay, Ken-man. Let Auntie try.”

“Is she’s sick, Auntie?” Kenny is starting to panic, unsure of how to calm his friend.

“No, bubba. She’s okay. Can Auntie sit beside Belle?” Kenny shuffles away, giving me the room I need to move closer. I’ve never dealt with a child experiencing a night terror, but I want to be cautious in how I approach Belle so I don’t startle her and upset her more. Very gently, I pull Belle into my lap and sway from side to side, humming a lullaby. The words of the lullaby are a whisper on my lips, and I rub soothing circles against Belle’s back.