Chapter Three
Chad
I don't know why I thought this would be an easy process. Sometimes, I can be naïve that way. But I thought if a person left a will, whether it was drawn up by an attorney or scribbled on a napkin, that was that. Maybe that's true for jewelry or real property, but apparently, that's not how it works with kids.
According to this Ralphson guy, it's gonna take a concerted effort and maybe even a legal battle for me to get permanent guardianship of Harper and Austin. And that's okay. I don't mind fighting for them. What I’m worried about is the fact that they're seeking out next of kin. Britney didn’t want that. And because it was her dying wish, I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen. “So, how does this temporary guardianship work?”
The social worker is standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as if he doesn’t know what to do next. On top of that, he looks young. Like barely legal young. I wonder if this is his first case.
“Well…” He clears his throat like he's carefully choosing his next words. That doesn't inspire a lot of confidence in me, but the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot indicates his nervousness.
He seems to be watching me until I make eye contact, and then he quickly turns away once he’s caught. It’s actually kind of adorable. He’s definitely the nerdy type, not someone I would usually hang out with. But he's cute, so I try to seem as unintimidating as possible. Besides, I need this guy on my side, not thinking I'm some aggressive jerk who can't be trusted with kids.
“How about we have a seat, and you can take me through the steps?”
He nods and gives me a small grin, stepping toward the table that we often play cards at when we’re bored and waiting for a call. Once we're both settled, I offer a smile in return. “So, you were explaining the process for temporary guardianship.”
He pulls his bag onto the table and starts flipping through the files inside. “I have a few forms you can fill out now to get this process started. Apparently, your chief vouches for your character, and since we don't have very many homes that will accept a newborn, this works out well. If you're comfortable with keeping both children, I can give you temporary custody while we petition the judge for permanent guardianship.”
“Oh, that's it?” I lean back in the chair, relieved. “That doesn't sound too bad. I can wait a week.”
“Hold on.” Ralphson lifts his hand to stop my moment of relief. “It won't be over after one week. This is a long process, but we have to take it week by week, sometimes day by day. There are many steps before you can be granted permanent guardianship.”
I look into the man’s light blue eyes, wondering just how far on my side he’ll be. “You'll help me through each step?”
His eyes immediately dart up to mine, locking there for several long moments. He’s evaluating me with the same caution I’m evaluating him. Finally, he offers a genuine smile without breaking eye contact. “Yes, I’ll be here every step of the way.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ralphson.” I reach across the table to shake his hand again, more sincerely this time. “I really appreciate all your help.”
“Sawyer. You can call me Sawyer.” He takes my hand and doesn’t pull away when I hold it for a second too long.
Most of the social workers I've come across like to be addressed more formally, like they're on some kind of power trip. But I like that he’s feeling comfortable with me already. “Alright, Sawyer, let’s figure out how to make this happen.”
Austin starts to fidget in my arms, and warm wetness spreads over my chest and the arm under his bottom.
“Shit,” I say quietly, lifting him away from my chest to inspect the damage. A bright yellow stain is spreading across my T-shirt and through the blanket he’s wrapped in. “This should be fun.”
Sawyer chuckles softly, not looking at all guilty when I glance at him.
I grab the diaper bag off the ground and fish through it with one hand. “I haven't done this in a long time.” I look up sheepishly at Sawyer, hoping that my rusty diaper-changing skills won't affect his decision to let me have temporary custody.
Instead of looking concerned, he reaches for the bag and opens it up. “Here, let me help you.” Within seconds, there's a cushioned pad on the table and one of the tiniest diapers I've ever seen.
I carefully lay Austin on the pad and realize everything he's wearing is destroyed. Sawyer and I both just stare at the disgusting mess, wondering how to proceed.
Sawyer digs back into the bag and pulls out a pink onesie. “Well, at least we have this.”
“Okay, but how do we even get his current onesie off?” The snaps are buried under more mush than I've ever seen.
Sawyer just looks at me with a smirk on his face. Jerk.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to just plow forward, sticking my fingers into the mess and unsnapping the tiny buttons attached below his diaper. “Is this normal?” I ask Sawyer, giving him a quick glance. “Is he sick or something?”
Sawyer laughs louder this time, clearly amused by my predicament. “This is pretty normal. We call it a blowout, and you're gonna need to get used to them. While he's on a liquid-only diet, the messes can be pretty extreme.”
I hold my breath, trying not to gag as I attempt to maneuver the soiled cotton over his chest and head without spreading it all over the clean parts of his body.
I'm not successful.
“There aren't any wipes in there, are there?” I ask, glancing at the bag.
“No, but we should probably give him a bath.”
Right. I should’ve thought of that. There’s a sink in the kitchen, but I’m not sure if that’s what he means. “Like, in there?” I nod toward it when Sawyer looks up at me.
“Yeah, that’ll work. Get the rest of his clothes off him, and I'll get the water warm.”
Without another word, we both set about our tasks. Once he’s naked, it’s clear that baby Austin didn't get a bath after birth and really needs one. This is a good opportunity to get him cleaned up.
Assuming nothing is worth trying to salvage, I drop the full diaper onto the onesie and the blanket then wrap everything up in a ball. Pulling off my ruined shirt, I add it to the pile before tossing everything in the trash can. Then, I carry the tiny, crying baby over to the sink that Sawyer is preparing. He’s layered several paper towels at the bottom of the sink and over the drain. A low stream of warm water is trickling from the faucet as he steps aside. “You hold him still, and I'll spray him down.”
I do as he says, grateful for the help. I’m sure this gets easier with practice, but trying to do this on my own would have been terrifying. As tiny as Austin is, he’s strong and his lungs are powerful. His wails get even louder once the first stream of water hits his back.
“Is it too hot?” The water feels warm on my hands, but maybe he’s too sensitive for it.
“No, it’s good. Some babies like baths and others don't.”
After another ten or fifteen seconds of screaming, Austin settles down, and I run my hand up and down his body to wash off all the gunk of his first twenty-four hours of life. As soon as he’s clean, I get a fresh diaper on him and wrap him in a receiving blanket the department had on hand. Once he’s swaddled like a burrito, I pull him against my chest to warm him up.
Sawyer wipes down the counter, watching me from the corner of his eyes. That’s when I remember I’m still bare-chested. I threw a sweatshirt over the arm of the sofa earlier, so I grab it and manage to get it on and zipped up around Austin’s small body, holding him against my skin like a mama kangaroo.
“So, what do you say? Did I pass the test?”
His eyes are locked on the baby snuggled against my chest. “Better than I expected.”