Page 3 of Daddy Detectives: Episode 1
“They sound the same to me—exactly like every other little baby on the planet.”
Ian raises his brow. “And how many tiny babies have you heard crying?”
“Not many, I guess.”
“Not many is right. Well, other than your sister Beth’s kids. On second thought, there are a lot of McIntyre babies, aren’t there?”
Ian’s referring to my sister’s in-laws. Her husband, Shane McIntyre, comes from a family of seven kids and a rapidly growing number of grandkids. I’ve lost track of how many there are now. Eight? I’m not sure. It seems like every time I turn around, one of the McIntyres is expecting. I can’t keep up.
Ian nudges me toward the stairs. “Go cuddle your daughter before she wakes her brother up. I’ll be right up with the bottles.”
I head upstairs to our bedroom, which is located at the front of the townhouse overlooking the street. The view out our big bay window is mostly obscured by trees. Currently, the babies are sleeping in white bassinettes placed at the foot of our bed. As I approach, I gaze down into the first cradle to see a soundly sleeping two-week old infant wrapped up like a burrito in a blue blanket. I move on to the second cradle to find a squirming, squalling bundle of joy swathed in pink.
Ian was right. It’s Lizzie who’s awake and crying.
“I don’t blame you, Lizzie,” I murmur as I carefully unwrap her. “I’d be crying, too, if someone put me in a straitjacket.”
I don’t understand the whole swaddling thing, but Ian insists that babies like it. He says it makes them feel safe and secure, like when they were in the womb. I’m not so sure I buy that explanation.
Once she’s liberated from her blanket, Lizzie does a full body stretch, extending her arms and legs and twisting her back like she’s a pretzel. She stops crying as she gazes up at me with big blue eyes, blinking like a little owl. Like her brother, she has a good amount of dark hair on her head. It looks like both kids inherited my coloring—dark hair and blue-green eyes.
A daughter and a son.
Elizabeth Ruth and William Alexander Jamison. We named Elizabeth—Lizzie—after my sister, Beth. Her middle name—Ruth—is Ian’s mom’s name. William was my dad’s name, and Alexander is Ian’s maiden name.
I reach down and pat Lizzie’s diaper, which feels suspiciously soggy. That might explain the crying. She hates being wet.
“All right, young lady. Let’s change your diaper.” I pick her up with both hands—careful to support her head with one hand and her bottom with the other—and carry her to the changing table.
It’s still sinking in that I’m a father, not of one kid, but two. I have a daughter and a son. It’s a bit overwhelming—the responsibility, I mean. Keeping them safe. Raising them to be good people.
When I skim my index finger over her tiny little hand, she grasps it tightly. My chest tightens as I stare down at her hand, holding my finger, and marvel at her existence.
As I’m finishing up with Lizzie, I hear Will stirring in his bassinette. “I hear you, buddy. Hold your horses. I’m coming.”
Then it’s Will’s turn. And as I’m putting a clean sleeper on him, Ian walks into our bedroom carrying two burp cloths and two tiny bottles of formula. “Who’s ready for brunch?”
* * *
That evening, after dinner, after the babies are tucked once more into their straitjackets and put in bed, Ian and I head for the living room for some down time. It’s pretty much the first time we’ve had all day to relax together. After he turns on the baby monitor, we crash on the sofa to watch a movie. We prop our feet up on the coffee table and sigh in unison. I’m starting to suspect that being a parent is more taxing than being a private investigator. I don’t ever remember being this tired, even after an all-night stakeout. Of course it doesn’t help that we’re getting up several times in the night to feed and comfort crying babies.
Ian reaches for the TV’s remote control and starts skimming through our viewing options. “Let me know if you see something you like.”
I glance over at him. Before coming downstairs, we had both changed into shorts, no shirts. Ian’s long legs are stretched out in front, and his feet are bare. My mind is fixated on the knowledge that I could undress him in less than thirty seconds.
“See anything good yet?” He has scrolled through the previews of half a dozen movies, everything from rom-coms to sci-fi to action movies. “What are you in the mood for?”
“You can stop now,” I say. “I know what I want.”
Ian pauses his scrolling and glances at me. “And what’s that?”
I take the remote from him and toss it onto the coffee table. “You.”
Chapter 2 – Tyler
Instantly, Ian’s expression morphs into a huge grin. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” I swear Ian has no idea how appealing he is. He’s attractive, yes, but it’s more than that. It’s his eternally optimistic personality. The sparkle in his green eyes. It’s the whole package.
