Free Stay At Home Dad 03-Father Knows Death by Jeffrey Allen Page B

to Julianne’s own urine and, then, based on what color the urine changed to, we’d know what gender our child was going to be.
    She ate another forkful of eggs. “That was an old wive’s tale. I just thought it might be fun to try.”
    “You were halfway to ordering an entire blue wardrobe and engraving the crib with the name Carlos before the voice of reason stepped in.”
    “Yes, your mother did convince me I shouldn’t put too much weight on that particular . . . test.”
    I sat down next to her. “I meant me.”
    “Hmm.” She changed the subject. “Speaking of the crib, did you finally get it assembled?”
    I cringed. The nursery had been a sore spot for the last month. Julianne had insisted we wait to work on the baby’s room, mostly because she knew she’d want to keep busy with it during her nesting phase, but also because she’d been so busy setting up her new practice, she’d barely had time to think about it.
    At the beginning of month eight, she’d tackled the guest room with a vengeance, hauling out the old furniture and stripping wallpaper in preparation for converting it into a nursery. She’d ordered a new crib and a whole slew of baby items.
    Boxes arrived daily. Carly thought it was Christmas. I thought it was April Fool’s Day.
    “What on earth is this?” I’d asked, holding up a space age–looking trash can.
    “A Diaper Wizard,” Julianne had said.
    “And it’s magical how?” I’d asked as I examined the opening.
    “It’s supposed to keep diaper odors at bay.”
    “So do plastic Walmart bags.”
    “No, this is different,” she’d said.
    “Yeah,” I’d told her. “This cost fifty dollars. Plastic Walmart bags are free .”
    And then the crib had arrived. A crib that supposedly converted into a toddler bed and then a twin bed. I’d stared at the slats and springs and the 72-page instruction manual and thrown my hands up in frustration.
    “Why can’t we just use Carly’s old crib?” I’d asked.
    “Because Victor has it,” Julianne had reminded me.
    Yet another strike against the midget. His wife had recently given birth to their own baby, and in a burst of generosity—or insanity—we had given him the crib Carly had outgrown.
    I’d studied page one of the instructions on the fancy new crib. “This thing is ridiculous. I could assemble a space shuttle quicker.”
    “The baby would probably love a space shuttle. You can do that after the crib. I’ll call NASA now.”
    “The baby might be sleeping in a shoebox,” I’d mumbled.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.” I’d laid the instructions out in front of me. “This will probably take me a couple days.”
    A couple days turned into a couple months and it was still in a state of disarray upstairs. A shoebox was a distinct possibility. But I wasn’t worried. I had big feet. The kid would have plenty of room.
    Carly bounded down the stairs, already dressed in shorts and a tank top, and immediately made a face. “What are you eating, Mommy?”
    “Eggs,” Julianne said, her eyes watering. “With hot sauce.”
    Carly eyed her suspiciously. “Does it hurt?” Julianne shook her head no, but couldn’t produce any words.
    Carly looked at me. “Is it to get the baby outside of her?”
    “Yep.”
    “I don’t think I ever want to have a baby,” Carly said. “It seems . . . hard.”
    “Your mom is kinda insane right now,” I whispered.
    “What’s insane?”
    “Crazy.”
    “I’m right here,” Julianne mumbled, her mouth full of eggs and burning fire. “I’m pregnant, not deaf.”
    “What are we doing at the fair today?” Carly asked.
    “You and Mommy are working in the baby animal barn, I think,” I said.
    Julianne nodded. “Yeah. Would be a nice place to have a baby.”
    “Is the food stand open yet?” Carly asked.
    “I’m not sure, kiddo,” I said, standing up. “I’m gonna head over there now and find out what the deal is today.”
    “Can I come with?”
    “No,” I said, running a hand