I was just about to suggest that he empty the trashcan, too, when Reggie came into the kitchen looking flushed.
I grinned at her and she flipped me off.
“This is not funny, Nathan,” she grumbled.
“It’s hilarious,” I countered.
She rolled her eyes and quickly washed her hands.
“It’s not,” she argued. “But that’s okay. I can deal.”
I looked at her freshly changed scrubs and thought about earlier when she’d coughed, sneezed, and then peed on herself.
That was happening surprisingly more than I’d ever given her credit for.
“On to work?” I asked as I pulled her into my arms.
“On to work,” she said, pressing her small baby belly into my side. “You’ll come see me?”
She looked over at Dare who was flicking Cheetos into the trashcan instead of just dropping them inside. Half of them landed on the floor beside the trash.
“I’ll bring you lunch,” I agreed. “After I drop that one off at your parents. Or mine. I’m not sure which one yet because Dare has yet to decide.”
“It’s like choosing your favorite shoes. Boots will help you stomp in the mud,” Dare said. “But tennis shoes help you run fast.”
Dare’s honest and sincere answer had me shaking my head.
He was right.
“And how does that correlate to which grandparent you want to go see?” Reggie wondered, her face resting on my chest.
“Grandpop gives me rides on his motorcycle. Poppop takes me for a ride in his tow truck,” he answered.
I smoothed my hand down Reggie’s face and then cupped her chin as I said, “That’s so your kid.”
She pinched me. “Whatever. You were exactly like him and you know it.”
I was.
I so, so was.
And seven months later, when we introduced another little boy into our lives that looked exactly like Dare? I just hoped that one was exactly like me, too. There was no way in hell I could handle one like Reggie.