Page 5 of Daddy Detectives: Episode 1
He smiles, clearly pleased with the compliment.
We decided before the babies were born that Ian would be calleddaddy, and I would bepapa.
Ian glances up at me. “Want to put him back in his bed?” Will has fallen back to sleep once more.
“Sure.”
Ian stands and carefully transfers our son to me. I carry him to his bassinette and carefully lay him on his back. As I attempt to wrap him up tight again, his eyelids flutter open for a brief moment, his sleepy gaze unfocused, but then his eyes close, and he’s still.
Ian slips his hand into mine, and we both take a moment to watch our sleeping babies. Even after two weeks, it still feels unreal to the both of us, but especially to me. As a forty-something-year-old bachelor, I’d pretty much given up on ever finding love, let alone a life partner—a soulmate. It wasn’t until I met Ian and realized I was developing feelings for him that I began to hope it wasn’t too late for me.
“I’m so glad Will has your hair color,” Ian says wistfully as he reaches down to stroke our son’s dark hair. “I think he’s going to have your eyes, too.”
My sister and I have eyes that are an unusual shade of blue-green, courtesy of our Swedish mother. They’re not unexpected on my sister, not with her pale blonde hair. But on me, with my darker complexion courtesy of my dad, they are rather unusual.
Will indeed has my hair color—a brown so dark it appears black. When we started thinking about surrogacy, Ian insisted that I be the sperm donor. I thought we should both provide sperm and let fate decide who the biological father, or fathers, would be, but no, he insisted it be me. I’ll never forget his words. “I want to haveyourbaby, Tyler.” His words made me choke up.
And that’s what he got. Two of my babies, in fact.
If we do it again, I’ll insist that Ian be the sperm donor the next time.
My husband yawns as he slips his arm around my waist. “Let’s forget about the movie and go to bed. We don’t have much time before they’ll be hungry again.”
I follow Ian to the bathroom, where we brush our teeth at our his-and-his sinks. Our shorts end up in the laundry basket.
Once we reach our bed, Ian grabs my hand and pulls me down beside him on the mattress. He rolls onto his side, and I spoon him, wrapping my arm around his waist. He presses back against me and sighs as he relaxes into sleep.
* * *
The inevitable happens about two hours later. Lizzie wakes first, letting us know she’s at risk of starving to death. Will follows soon after, and now we have babies crying in stereo.
“I’ll make the bottles,” Ian says as he hops out of bed and pulls on a clean pair of boxers before he races out our bedroom door.
When Ian returns, both babies are wide awake, hungry, and wearing clean diapers.
The babies are lying in the center of the bed, and I’m seated on the edge attempting to entertain them, or at least distract them. “Perfect timing. They’re getting restless.”
Ian hands me one of the bottles, and then he tosses a burp cloth over his shoulder before he picks up Will. I do the same with Lizzie. Then we carry them to the rockers by the window and feed them.
Half an hour later, after burping and cuddling and washing their faces, we have both babies back in their beds and asleep.
I glance out the window to see it’s still dark out. “Back to bed,” I say, dragging Ian down onto the mattress with me. I pull him into my arms.
As usual, Ian falls asleep first. I lie awake enjoying the feel of him in my arms. I figure this must be what parenting is like—stealing a few hours of sleep when and where you can. And I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world.
Chapter 3 – Ian
The next morning, while I feed the babies, Tyler makes us breakfast. I enjoy watching him standing in front of the stove wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue knit shorts, his feet and torso bare, his short dark hair mussed from sleep. I’m loving these lazy mornings when we get to hang out at home and simply enjoy each other’s company. I know they won’t last forever because in six weeks our paternity leave will end. And frankly, I don’t want to think about that right now.
I absolutely hate the idea of leaving our babies and going back to work. Tyler keeps asking me what we’re going to do about childcare, and frankly I don’t want to think about it.Get a babysitter? A nanny? Find a daycare?I can’t even contemplate the idea.
I want to be the one to take care of our babies. I wonder how Tyler would feel if I stayed home with them. Would he be disappointed in me? The plan was for us to work together as private investigators—as partners. And as much as I love the idea of working with Tyler, I want to stay home with our kids.
It’s not that money is an issue. My paternal grandfather, Tobias Alexander, made sure of that when he left both me and my sister huge trust funds upon his death. I don’t have to work a day in my life if I don’t want to. But that’s not the point.
Tyler and I embarked on the PI business together, as partners. In fact, it was my idea. I wanted to work with him. I wanted us to spend our days together, as well as our nights. It was something we were going to do as a team.
I’ve loved all the stakeouts we’ve been on, the two of us holed up in his car late into the night—or into the wee hours of the morning as was most often the case, sharing a thermos of coffee,eating snacks I packed for us. I mostly got a kick out of spending time with him.
