HEATHER MACALLISTER - The Bachelor and the Babies

Though Harrison sounded as if he were the host of a children’s television show, the little boy carefully set the diapers in the spot where Harrison pointed, then turned and grinned at his uncle.

That grin made up for a lot of the hassle, Harrison admitted to himself. He knelt down. “You little rascal, you’ve got the Rothwell smile, don’t you?”

Nathan giggled.

“I know all about the Rothwell smile, so don’t you try using it on me.”

Nathan grinned wider.

“Rothwell smile?”

Harrison and Nathan looked up.

Carrie leaned in the doorway. “Oh, I see,” she said slowly. “Yes, you’ve got the same smile. In fact, you look a lot alike. Both of you with those big brown eyes and your hair is almost the same color of brown, with the same little flecks...” She stepped forward and squinted. “Oh, that’s cereal.”

In spite of himself, Harrison laughed.

Carrie had a wistful expression on her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile, Harry.”

Harrison stood and Nathan ran down the hall. “I suppose it’s pointless to ask you to call me Harrison?”

She stared at him for several long moments, then straightened. “I’ll call you Harrison.”

“Thank you.”

“Hawee!” Continuing the game, Nathan was bringing another box of diapers to the room.

Harrison and Carrie exchanged looks. “Good job, Nathan,” he said.

- Carrie waggled her fingers. “Gotta go. Matt’s in the playpen, but he’s not going to be happy by himself for long.”

Harrison walked her to the door. “Thanks,” he said, knowing the word was inadequate.

“No problem. See you around.”

They both nodded solemnly, knowing that when they next saw each other, it was likely to be on opposite sides of a hearing at the next White Oak Bayou Condominium board meeting.

Harrison thought the afternoon and evening went well, especially after he discovered which channels broadcast “Sesame Street.” “Sesame Street” allowed him to install the safety latches without Nathan underfoot. Jon had wisely insisted in putting in the outlet plugs before he left.

Harrison bathed both boys, diapered them, gave Matthew his nighttime bottle, read the book Good-night Moon and they were now asleep. Harrison wanted to join them, but decided to use the time to reclaim his living room and mop the kitchen floor.

He was surprisingly tired after his efforts, but all in all had no doubt that he could cope with two young children. Cope? He was doing better than coping. He was a natural. If he wasn’t doing things in exactly the way his sister-in-law insisted, well tough. The boys were fine. In fact, he had several ideas to include in his domestic primer.

One of the sidelines of Harrison’s business was designing products to go with his time management technique. Before he went to sleep, Harrison sat at his desk and sketched a piece of furniture, a sort of wall cabinet, with a place for all this baby equipment.

“The Well-Organized Baby” he called that chapter . when he was finished outlining ideas for it.

Though it was one-thirty in the morning, Harrison felt extremely accomplished and self-satisfied when he turned out the light in his bedroom.

At three o’clock, he felt groggy and put upon. Matthew was crying.

Groping his way into the living room, Harrison turned on a table lamp. “Hungry, Matthew?” He bent down and picked up the baby, then squinted at the schedule Jon had left. There was nothing about a middie-of-the-night feeding. Maybe the long afternoon nap had thrown Matthew off schedule.

But Matthew didn’t want a bottle. Harrison changed him, but that didn’t help, either. In fact, since he had to go into the bedroom for diapers, he woke up Nathan. Fortunately Nathan was a trooper and immediately went back to sleep.

Matthew did not.

Though he hated to do so, Harrison called Jon at his hotel in Chicago.

‘“Lo?”

Harrison didn’t have to identify himself. Matthew’s wails caught Jon’s attention.

“Harrison is that you?” He sounded amazingly wide-awake. “What’s happened? Is Matthew all right?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling you.” Harrison explained the problem and everything he’d tried so far.

“Try this. Take your finger and press along his lower gums.”

Harrison did and Matthew clamped down on his finger so hard, he yelped out a word neither of his nephews had any business hearing.

“He’s teething,” Jon said. “Stephanie lets him chew on a plastic ring she puts in the refrigerator. It might be in the diaper bag, but I probably left it at home.”

“Gee, thanks, Jon.”

“I’m sorry, Harrison, but I warned you.”

Harrison gritted his own fully-erupted teeth and answered, “No problem.”

By four o’clock in the morning, he was ready to admit failure. He was ready to grant unlimited parental leave to all employees with infants, because these people were obviously too deprived of sleep to function in the workplace. He also realized that he held the cure to the world’s overpopulation problem right in his arms. After spending a day with a crying infant, any sane person would rethink the decision to become a parent. Those who didn’t would be sentenced to a week in a two-bedroom condo with a toddler and a baby.

Harrison knew just the place.

He paced, more to keep himself awake than because it made any difference to Matthew.

Poor kid. At a time like this, a baby needed his mother. Just how far out in the wilderness was Stephanie anyway? Her group had only left Saturday morning. How far could a bunch of women hike in a day?

Over the din, Harrison heard a knock on the door. Great. Which of his neighbors had the baby awakened?

He looked down at himself. He was wearing loose knit boxer shorts, his usual sleeping attire. Clutching the baby to him, he peered out the peephole.

An eye peeped back at him.

Startled he jerked backward, which set Matthew off on another round of sobbing.

More knocking. “Harry—Harrison? It’s Carrie.”

“Terrific,” he muttered to himself and flung open the door.

“What are you doing to the baby?” she demanded. “I’m not doing anything to him! He’s teething.”

“Ohhh, poor Matthew. Come to Carrie.”

She held out her arms and Harrison gladly relinquished his nephew.

Carrie headed for the couch, talking nonsense to the baby, and darned if Matthew didn’t tone down his bawling to a few hiccuppy sobs.

Soon, even those subsided.

Carrie was an angel, an angel of mercy dressed in black leather, patterned stockings, boots and enough jewelry to lard a Nevada silver mine.

“He’s exhausted,” she whispered as the baby’s eyes drooped.

Matthew wasn’t the only one. “That’s a trick. He does it just to give you hope, then snatches it away,” Harrison grumbled. He lowered himself onto the chair by the sofa. Every muscle ached.

“You can hear him crying all over the complex,” Carrie said.

“Did he wake you up?”

“Do I look like I’ve been asleep?”

Harrison took in the dark eye makeup and the way she’d bunched part of her hair on top of her head. No telling what she’d been doing. “You look like a corrupted doll.”

She quickly looked down, but not fast enough to hide the flash of hurt in her eyes.

Harrison felt guilty for taking the verbal jab. “I meant...well, the contrast between the way you’re dressed and the fact that you’re holding a baby...” Oh, give her the compliment. “By the way, black leather is a good look for you.”

She didn’t look up, but she smiled. “I got home twenty minutes ago and started writing up my reviews. Saturday is my busiest night.”

Matthew gave a shuddering sob, then wrinkled his face. Carrie reached for the bottle on the lamp table. “Is this the one you were trying to feed him?”