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Bella Cullen/sensitive stomachs and dirty diapers
I haven't showered in three days, and I just want ten minutes of peace.
The hot water beats down on me, and I try to ignore the deflated balloon that is my postpartum belly as I wash my body.
There's a timid knock on the door.
"Bella!"
I roll my eyes.
And then I hear him start gagging.
"Maggie shit all over me. Please help."
The knocks become more insistent.
I rinse myself off and grab a towel.
I take my time because he can suffer for a minute but not too much time because I don't want to clean up a grown man's vomit on top of an explosive diaper.
My husband can't stomach baby shit.
Or any type of actual shit, for that matter.
Smoosh and Squash are lying on the bed, watching a green Edward dance around when I finally open the door.
He's holding our daughter away from his body like she's radioactive.
"Take it! I mean her!"
He throws the baby at me and steps into the shower fully clothed.