we’ll see how you feel then.”
How bad can it be?
-
-
“M ax, no. Don’t put the remote in the toilet, buddy.”
Two-year-olds apparently haven’t quite grasped the skills of listening. My remote plunks wetly into the bowl and Max stands with a proud smile, watching it sink down. I just manage to save it from flushing down when my hand quickly grabs Max’s little one going for the lever on the tank.
I had no idea—seriously not a clue—that a two-year-old angelic looking little boy, with dark curls and thick eyelashes that would make a drag queen happy, could wage such destruction on my house in just minutes.
Apparently Max is not quite potty-trained, as is evident from my soaking wet quilt now tumbling in the washer. Beth had to run out to the store before Kendra would show, to get some diapers which his father had failed to pack. Left me in charge; chuckling that this was a perfect opportunity for me to showcase my skills. Fuck me . She hasn’t been gone more than ten minutes and already I have coffee stains on my carpet, the bottom cabinets in my kitchen have been emptied of all contents, which are now strewn over the whole house, and my TV remote is dying a certain death in the toilet bowl. I’m exhausted.
Half an hour later, Max has apparently run out of steam when his little head starts bobbing on my shoulder. He has a newfound fascination with my hairless head and spent the last five minutes rubbing his little hands all over it, while camped out on the couch beside me with some old magazine, which is now laying in strips around us. Trying not to look around me at the disaster in my living room, I rest my head back on the couch, closing my own eyes for a moment. I only register Beth’s presence when I feel the warm weight lifted off my shoulder and hear her soft chuckles.
“You could’ve warned me,” I groan, making her laugh harder. Squinting my eyes open, I find her smiling face burying in Max’s little neck, her eyes warmly on mine.
“What—and spoil all the fun?” she whispers cheekily before heading down the hallway to the bedrooms, Max securely in her arms.
Slowly letting my eyes roam over my surroundings, I flinch at the mess. Strips of paper, pans and Tupperware containers, the contents of a box of cereal, and other random items are littered about. Jesus . I groan as I get up and make my way to the kitchen for the garbage can, hauling it with me to pick up the debris from every elevated surface, not trusting myself to bend down all the way. Apparently the little monster had found his way into Beth’s bag, judging from the utilitarian cotton panties tossed on the dining room table. They stand in stark contrast with the lacy black and grey Victoria’s Secret bra that hangs over the back of one of the chairs. I know it’s Victoria’s Secret because I’m inspecting the label with interest when a shocked gasp comes from behind me. Busted .
“What? Ohmigod, that little terror,” Beth blurts out as she rushes to yank the bra from my hands and her panties off the table.
“Enticing combo; functional and frilly,” I tease her, deepening the blush on her cheeks.
“Whatever. Stop looking at my underwear. Oh Lord, I have to get a lock on my suitcase,” she mutters, stuffing the offending underwear in her pockets, not quite successfully, before snatching the garbage can from my hands. She makes short work of the rest of the scattered paper, scooping the containers and pans off the floor. It’s done before I can even blink.
A knock on the door reminds me that I need to replace the batteries in the doorbell. Beth heads to open the door to Kendra, whom I’ve met only briefly once before, while I was working on the clinic. Kendra’s face registers surprise when she follows Beth into the living room.
“Eh... you guys? If I’m interrupting something I can come back another time, you know?”
Beth looks at her confused and I can feel my mouth twitching. When Kendra indicates the
How bad can it be?
-
-
“M ax, no. Don’t put the remote in the toilet, buddy.”
Two-year-olds apparently haven’t quite grasped the skills of listening. My remote plunks wetly into the bowl and Max stands with a proud smile, watching it sink down. I just manage to save it from flushing down when my hand quickly grabs Max’s little one going for the lever on the tank.
I had no idea—seriously not a clue—that a two-year-old angelic looking little boy, with dark curls and thick eyelashes that would make a drag queen happy, could wage such destruction on my house in just minutes.
Apparently Max is not quite potty-trained, as is evident from my soaking wet quilt now tumbling in the washer. Beth had to run out to the store before Kendra would show, to get some diapers which his father had failed to pack. Left me in charge; chuckling that this was a perfect opportunity for me to showcase my skills. Fuck me . She hasn’t been gone more than ten minutes and already I have coffee stains on my carpet, the bottom cabinets in my kitchen have been emptied of all contents, which are now strewn over the whole house, and my TV remote is dying a certain death in the toilet bowl. I’m exhausted.
Half an hour later, Max has apparently run out of steam when his little head starts bobbing on my shoulder. He has a newfound fascination with my hairless head and spent the last five minutes rubbing his little hands all over it, while camped out on the couch beside me with some old magazine, which is now laying in strips around us. Trying not to look around me at the disaster in my living room, I rest my head back on the couch, closing my own eyes for a moment. I only register Beth’s presence when I feel the warm weight lifted off my shoulder and hear her soft chuckles.
“You could’ve warned me,” I groan, making her laugh harder. Squinting my eyes open, I find her smiling face burying in Max’s little neck, her eyes warmly on mine.
“What—and spoil all the fun?” she whispers cheekily before heading down the hallway to the bedrooms, Max securely in her arms.
Slowly letting my eyes roam over my surroundings, I flinch at the mess. Strips of paper, pans and Tupperware containers, the contents of a box of cereal, and other random items are littered about. Jesus . I groan as I get up and make my way to the kitchen for the garbage can, hauling it with me to pick up the debris from every elevated surface, not trusting myself to bend down all the way. Apparently the little monster had found his way into Beth’s bag, judging from the utilitarian cotton panties tossed on the dining room table. They stand in stark contrast with the lacy black and grey Victoria’s Secret bra that hangs over the back of one of the chairs. I know it’s Victoria’s Secret because I’m inspecting the label with interest when a shocked gasp comes from behind me. Busted .
“What? Ohmigod, that little terror,” Beth blurts out as she rushes to yank the bra from my hands and her panties off the table.
“Enticing combo; functional and frilly,” I tease her, deepening the blush on her cheeks.
“Whatever. Stop looking at my underwear. Oh Lord, I have to get a lock on my suitcase,” she mutters, stuffing the offending underwear in her pockets, not quite successfully, before snatching the garbage can from my hands. She makes short work of the rest of the scattered paper, scooping the containers and pans off the floor. It’s done before I can even blink.
A knock on the door reminds me that I need to replace the batteries in the doorbell. Beth heads to open the door to Kendra, whom I’ve met only briefly once before, while I was working on the clinic. Kendra’s face registers surprise when she follows Beth into the living room.
“Eh... you guys? If I’m interrupting something I can come back another time, you know?”
Beth looks at her confused and I can feel my mouth twitching. When Kendra indicates the
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