January 3, 1990 – 2 years, 2 months

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaa! Da!" Olivia called to her father through the baby monitor.

In the master across the hall, Remington pried open grainy, reddened eyes, and with a groan, rolled over to consider the ceiling while vigorously rubbing his face, trying to wake. He and Laura hadn't gotten in from their stakeout until a few hours ago, and even now, she slept blissfully beside him while Mildred, who'd volunteered to stay with Olivia, did the same down the hall.

"Da-da-da-da-da! Up!" Livvie called again.

"Coming, coming," he muttered to himself, as he sat up and reached for his robe. With a stretch of his jaw and a pull of his hands through his hair to make it semi-presentable, he stood and pulled the robe on, then padded across the hallway to his toddler daughter's room.

"Maidin mhaith, a stór," he called to her as part of their morning ritual, "Cad iad na rudaí nua—" His greeting ended midsentence with a "What in the bloody hell," when his bare foot landed on something soft…

… and squishy…

… and shockingly warm.

He braced himself, then looked down with dread to see what it was he'd stepped upon.

"Oh… uh… Ah, no," he protested, with a great deal of disgust as he lifted his foot from the center of the soiled diaper, holding it aloft as he lifted his head to peer into the crib. "Ahhhh, no," he groaned, as he observed his proud, bare-bottomed daughter… the wet and soiled bedding in her crib.

"Ewwwwwww," Livvie observed, pointing to the diaper.

"Yes, 'ew'," he enunciated the word, "would be an apt description."

"No diapey," she announced, jumping up and down in the crib.

"Yes, that much is vividly clear."

He eyed the mess in the crib, the child that needed to be bathed, and the foot still in the air. Well, it was one thing to spend a day sleep-deprived, quite willingly. But this?

"Lauraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" he yelled, grasping the crib rail to keep from teetering over.

In the bedroom, Laura rolled out of the bed, grabbing her robe and slipping it on as she quickly crossed the hall into the nursery. She took in the scene – naked toddler, soiled crib, husband with foot in the air, diaper on the floor…

And giggled. Oh, if only his adoring fans could see him now.

"You bellowed?" she managed around her laughter. He turned his head and gave her a quelling look.

"If you can get your amusement – at my expense, I might add – under control, I could use a spot of help here."

"It seems to me," she answered, her mirth continuing to bubble over, "You have a foot up on the situation."

Mildred, having heard Remington yelling, stumbled to a stop behind Laura as she cinched the belt on her robe tight. Her observant eyes quickly scanned the room, and her laughter joined Laura's.

"Really put a foot into it this time, didn't you, Boss?" He heaved an aggravated sigh, and his shoulders slumped.

"Et tu, Mildred? I'd expect as much from my traitorous wife, but you?"

"Aw, Boss, I know your day hasn't started out on the right foot," next to her Laura snorted, then laughed all the louder, "but don't worry. The day'll get better and you'll find your footing." Laura howled and Olivia joined in, clapping and laughing, mimicking the other two women while drawing her father's eyes to her.

"Ah, Livvie, a veritable knife through the heart," he told his daughter, dramatically.

"I don't know what you're so upset about…" Laura began, speaking around her laughter.

"I'll go start Livvie a bath," Mildred volunteered, then left the room, her own laughter following her down the hall.

"Those books of yours said when she's ready to get her feet wet," he groaned aloud at this, "With potty training, she'd start removing her own diaper," she reminded. Taking pity on him, she grabbed several wipes from the changing table and handed them to him.

"That they did," he confirmed, reaching down to clean his foot, "But they never made mention of…" he waved a hand full of wipes between his foot and the bed, "…this."

"I suggested months ago that we begin potty training her…" she reminded, airily, as she reached into the crib to pick up Olivia.

"Yes, well, the evidence would suggest she's now ready," he noted, ruefully.

"I hope you're ready for it," she commented, as she reached into the crib and pulled up the ends of the fitted sheet. "I remember when Frances was potty training Mindy. It'll really keep you on your toes, and it's crucial you get off on the right foot with it."

"Lau-ra," he groaned his disdain, suspecting even now he'd have to endure any number of foot idioms at both home and the office for some time to come.

"In fact, before it's over," she added, as she walked towards the nursery door with Olivia in one arm, a pile of roled up bedding in the other hand, "You may long to return to those days when you were foot loose and fancy free." She smirked at him over her shoulder, then left the room, his obligatory moan following her.

A smile lifted his lips.

Not on your life, Mrs. Steele.