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Usual housekeeping.
None of this would exist without Team Momo: Midnight Cougar and Alice's White Rabbits are in the editing chairs. AgoodWITCH, AushaPasha, RobsmyymmyCabanaboy and Eternally Addicted pre-read. Lizzie Paige made the gorgeous banner. MarieCarro is the manip goddess. All the teasers and manips for the story are posted to my FB group LaMomo's Lair (just type in the search bar to find it).
Shout-out to all the participants and winners in the Eras Contest. Lots of great stories and amazing creativity there-go check them out!
Back to our Rocker DaddyWard-let's see how he adjusts to parenthood, shall we?
This is in late June 2019, so Edward just turned 35. Harper was born on December 5, 2018.
DREAMS UNWIND – CHAPTER 10
THEN – Edward's story
Seattle, WA – June-September 2019
99.99% match.
Harper was my daughter, and now I had scientific proof.
After the test results came back, Mum went to bat for Harper and me. It took a solid month, but with her help, we got the King County court to sign off on Tanya's termination of parental rights. We also had her sign an NDA that was a comma away from being punitive but still enforceable. Those were Mum's words. For my part, I'd required a translation into regular English.
"It means we'll kick her ass if she breathes in the wrong direction," Esme had replied.
Soon after, we filed for Harper's legal name change. It became official eight weeks later, but to us, it didn't matter. She'd been Harper Rhiannon Cullen to us from day one.
Mum had taken it upon herself to outfit the guest room at their house as a nursery for her granddaughter. Meanwhile, I'd realized the condo wasn't child-friendly at all. I wanted a house. Self-contained, more privacy, more space. Mum gave me a few pointers—good school district, pediatrician, play park nearby, and possibly, a gated development. With that info in hand, I'd unleashed Angela to find me a realtor.
My conversation with the band, Jamie, and Leah had been interesting.
Leah seemed contrite, almost regretful, but recovered quickly and turned her mind to devising a media strategy going forward. She approved my idea of saying jack squat about Harper, let alone about her mother. Because the law provided precious few protections for celebrity children, she'd explained, minimizing Harper's exposure to the media was key. It helped that I lived in Seattle. I didn't have a horde of paparazzi following me around everywhere; it happened only whenever we were in Los Angeles as a band or at public events. By now, the press had figured out I was a boring recluse offstage.
Jamie had shrugged it off. "It's your personal life, Edward. It's not my job to interfere in it. As long as you meet your contractual obligations, we won't have a problem. But if my instincts don't lie, that cute daughter of yours will boost your creativity. I haven't seen you this happy and relaxed in years." Jamie's assessment completely ignored the bags under my eyes since Harper's sleep patterns were still out of whack and, in turn, so were mine.
The guys and Vic were another kettle of fish. Sam and Jake, the only two dads in the band, razzed me with horror stories from their early parenting days. Paul, who was close to tying the knot with Kim, eyed Harper with curiosity, but refused to hold her.
Vic, unexpectedly, went gaga over my daughter. The unapologetic, goth-grunge vixen, who sported a collection of vintage T-shirts of hard rock bands and had a local luthier make her a custom ax-shaped bass guitar, had melted into a puddle of goo when confronted with a six-month-old baby girl. It was adorable and a little funny. She'd proclaimed herself "Aunt Vic" and had taken to buying tons of stuff for Harper. Her specialty was finding custom-made onesies on the internet.
"None of this pink princess shit for Harper. She's rock royalty," Vic declared at one point, throwing outfit after outfit in my direction. By now, I'd filled a chest of drawers with the most hilarious onesies. The mottos on them cracked me up. "Born to rock just like my Daddy," "Daddy's little rock star," "Newest member of the band," "Naps are for quitters," and my absolute favorite, "I wanna rock and roll all night and potty every day."
Since Vic was single again, she also volunteered to babysit, which was a huge help. One afternoon in mid-June, she came over to watch Harper while I ran errands and went house hunting with Angela. When I came back, Vic was trying to soothe Harper and looking increasingly frustrated.
"Sounds like you have a riot on your hands," I commented, closing the front door behind me.
"Thank God, you're here. Nothing I'm doing seems to work. She's inconsolable."
When she saw me, Harper screamed louder and reached out her tiny arms to me. Poor thing was crying her heart out. Vic handed her over to me, and she quieted some. Briefly.
"Hey, there. What's all this racket you're making? What do we need? Poop? Food?"
Usually, her main issues were primary needs—input or output. But now, with her tiny fists punching the air, and her absolutely devastating cries, the little lady was frustrated big-time. So far, I'd been fucking lucky. Mum's advice had been stellar in that regard—even a novice like me had managed to figure out what Harper needed every single time. But after checking her diaper and trying to feed her a bottle, which she pointedly refused, I was stumped. She was still crying.
Not even music seemed to calm her. After a solid ten minutes of that, I was panicking. Vic hadn't left yet, bless her.
"Vic? Can you hold her for one sec while I call my brother?"
"Isn't he a brain doctor?" she asked, but dutifully received Harper in her arms.
"Yep, but he promised a referral for a pediatrician."
Jazz had given her a once-over, and so had my personal doctor, but she needed her own pediatrician. Sooner rather than later, it seemed.
"Hey, Wildflower. Come to your Aunt Vic. We'll listen to some cool music."
The endearment stopped me in my tracks. "What did you call her?"
"Oh, that. Sorry. I can stop if you don't like it."
I shook my head. "It's not that. I'm just curious." I loved that Vic embraced her to the point of finding a nickname for her.
Vic shrugged. "The Tom Petty song? I played it earlier, and she liked it, so I started calling her that."
"I think it suits her. Wildflower it is."
Jasper didn't pick up, but he could very well have been with patients. I left him a voicemail, then called in the big guns.
"Mum? You got a minute?"
"Is Harper okay?"
That had become the standard reaction from my parents since Harper had appeared in our lives. I could have been at death's door, but God forbid if Harper hadn't pooped that day. Clearly, it became a matter of state. Now, though, with my miserable daughter still wailing in Vic's arms, I was fucking worried.
"Not exactly. Can you hear that?"
Vic was pacing the room, still trying to soothe Harper. She wasn't succeeding because baby girl's cries grew louder by the second.
"Oh, poor thing. That's just pitiful. What seems to be wrong?"
"That's it; I can't figure it out. Not hungry, not poopy, not sleepy. Not colicky either. She sounds mighty pissed to me." We'd had a couple of colicky nights. It had been … not fun.
"You know, Edward, it's not too early for teething. She's closer to seven months old than six."
"Teething. Okay. How do I check that?"
"Is she drooling more than usual? Does she want to gnaw on everything in sight?"
I'd put Mum on speaker so I could check on that. When Harper furiously bit on my index finger, I got my answer. "Yes, to both. So, what do I do?"
"Cold helps. I put a few teething rings in your freezer last week. See if she wants one. She'll chew on it and self-soothe. Keep an eye on her temperature; she might run a fever."
"A fever?" Scratch the panicking; I was terrified now. The thought of Harper being in pain petrified me.
"Yes, but it's normal. I left some children's Tylenol and ibuprofen in the hall bathroom. Did Jasper send you pediatrician recommendations?"
"I called him again just now, but he didn't answer."
She sighed. "I think he had back-to-back consults today. He'll come through; he always does. Give him time. But now that the name change is official, it's time to set her up with her own doctor."
"Yeah, you're right. God, she's still crying." I groaned.
"There's not a lot you can do, I'm afraid, other than giving her some baby ibuprofen; it'll help with the swelling and pain in her gums. But it's going to be a bumpy ride for a while. This is all new to her, too, you know?"
Fuck, Mum was right. The voice of wisdom. How had she gone through law school with two rugrats like Jazz and me always around? The woman clearly had superpowers.
"Thank you, Mum. I'll go see if I can get her to settle."
"I'll bring dinner over with Dad later. You may have a long night ahead of you, Edward."
Didn't I know it.
&&&DREAMS&&&
The long night turned into a long week, but eventually, I got the hang of it. Cold seemed to do the trick every single time. My freezer was bursting at the seams with teething rings.
I'd also set up Harper with a pediatrician.
Dr. Kate Sheffield had been wonderful with her and had reviewed Harper's medical records, allaying my fears about the possible impact of Tanya's recreational drug use. Without access to Tanya's drug testing, there was no way to be sure about her actual drug intake during pregnancy, but so far, nothing in Harper's health pointed to tangible effects. We'd agreed to monitor her development and be vigilant. However, Dr. Kate had also been adamant that children's developmental milestones weren't carved in stone. Some kids might hit a milestone earlier or later without that fact alone indicating any compromised abilities. She called me a typical first-time parent, which I suspected was code for hyper-anxious. In short, I had to take a chill pill.
Angela and the realtor had come through on the house front. They'd found the perfect property for Harper and me. The almost A-frame structure sat on the shore of Lake Washington, at the end of a dead-end street in Madrona, two blocks away from a public park. Within reasonable distance to Jazz's and my parents' place, it still allowed me plenty of privacy, and it was quirky and spacious enough to fit my personality. With three huge bedrooms, I would have space for Harper's room and mine. The architecture and décor were still new, clean, and to my taste, so other than a few cosmetic fixes, the house was move-in ready.
Mum wanted Harper's room to be a Pepto-pink princess paradise, but I put my foot down. I didn't want to impose pre-determined tastes or stereotypes on my daughter. If she bought into the princess craze when she could choose for herself, I'd let her have a go at it. But I wouldn't decide for her. And sure as hell, I didn't want to spend a small fortune on decorating a room only to redo it if she ended up detesting the color.
When I got the keys after closing and gave Jazz and my parents a tour of the new house, Jazz mentioned that his girlfriend Alice could probably help with decorating Harper's room. Yeah, the same Alice who'd been doing graphics for Avalanche's covers for a few years. We liked to keep it in the family.
So, I called Alice, and the little sprite showed up on moving-in day, in a whirlwind of batik scarves, poofy pants, and sparkly ballet flats, wielding a notebook and colored pencils. She asked a ton of questions about Harper, looked her in the eye and made goofy faces at her, which sent Harper into the longest fit of giggles ever, before declaring the right theme for Harper's room was marine and fantastical creatures. She started from Harper's dolphin binkie, and things snowballed from that—she added whales, penguins, more dolphins, and mermaids. For a splash of color, she said. After a good look at her sketch, I gave her the go-ahead. Harper's room would look amazing, and it'd be pink-free. Win, win.
The guys from the band came over to help me move in. I welcomed the help and adult conversation. I loved my daughter deeply, with a fiery strength I'd not expected, but sometimes, there were only so many conversations one could have by dint of making silly noises to a seven-month-old.
"Dude, we totally missed your birthday," Jake said. He'd been hauling boxes as if they weighed nothing.
"As if I care, Jake. I'm another year older. So what," I replied with a shrug. I stood in the middle of my new open-plan kitchen, directing traffic.
Sam came in loaded with music-related stuff—two guitar cases, a mic stand, and a box of cables. "These cables are tangled as shit, man. Where do I go with this stuff?"
"There's a room downstairs next to the garage. That's going to be my home studio." It wouldn't be huge, but at least, I could soundproof it for home practice. I'd have a space to work if we weren't renting a studio. A space within my home where I could check on Harper with a baby monitor.
"Speaking of studio—how's the writing going?" Paul asked.
"I've kinda had other shit on my plate lately." My voice took on a harder edge than I intended.
"We don't have a lot of time before we're due in the studio again. This next album isn't even half written," Paul needled.
"And we'll get it done. Give it a fucking rest, Paul." Thankfully, Sam was back upstairs just in time to tell Paul where to shove it.
Because they'd been in my shoes before, Sam and Jake hadn't given me shit for slacking off on the job since Harper's arrival. I was trying to juggle everything, but something had to fucking give at some point. Right now, it was the job. After all, Jamie hadn't complained. We weren't on a tight deadline contract-wise. We had a few completed songs.
"You know, you could always start laying down tracks for the finished songs if you're in a big hurry," I said pointedly.
"But we've never done this without you," Paul replied.
"And we're big boys, and we can try. Right, Paul?" Sam, being the voice of reason again. "Hey, Edward. We did miss your birthday. Sure you don't want to do anything?"
"But I did. I got myself a daughter and a new house. I think I'm all set, brother."
Paul, still disgruntled, walked out to grab more boxes from the U-Haul truck.
"He doesn't deal well with change," Sam said after he left.
"I'm dealing with enough pressure without anyone else adding to it. Do you think I'm not agonizing over the unfinished material we have lying around? My routine is all out of whack, man. It messes with my flow."
He slapped my shoulder with an encouraging smile. "Don't sweat it, Edward. I'll talk to Paul. Being a new parent is hard enough when you have a significant other. I can't imagine doing it on my own."
Like every other time I thought of Harper, a goofy smile dawned on my face. "It's not easy, but I wouldn't change a thing."
"I'm glad the timing worked out. Imagine if we'd been touring."
"She was born while we were on tour. Tanya laid in wait until we returned."
"Did you hear anything else from her?"
I shook my head. "After she signed away her rights in court, she disappeared. Leah's keeping her ear to the ground. She thinks Tanya's father will stage a comeback when the next runway season hits."
"Out of sight, out of mind."
&&&DREAMS&&&
A week later, I was at my parents' with Harper for Sunday dinner. With my dad free of most of his academic commitments for the summer, he'd taken over a lot of Vic's babysitting slots during the week. It helped when I needed to run errands, meet with record label people, or with the band to try to put some sort of order in the material we had for our next record.
"I can't go on like this," I began.
Mum and Da turned to me with puzzled expressions on their faces.
"Whatever do you mean, Edward?" Of course, Da would use English worthy of Jane Austen at the dinner table.
Right on cue, Harper broke out in a loud yell just because I stopped feeding her. At Harper's very first pediatrician's visit, Dr. Kate had instructed me to introduce solid foods, and we'd been on that tack slowly and surely for the last couple of weeks. So far, she wasn't a picky eater and ate well. But woe betide you, if you took away her food.
"Baaaaaaa!" she yelled again, spraying pumpkin puree all over me.
"Thanks, Wildflower. I'll get right on that."
Dad had the good grace not to chuckle at my predicament when he silently passed me a baby wipe.
"Get cleaned up and let me feed the young miss."
I traded places with him and stepped into the half-bath by the kitchen to wash my face. Luckily, I'd stashed a clean T-shirt in Harper's bag. Raining food on people's faces had become her favorite game. She thought it was funny. Me, not so much. Now my laundry was piling up at the same rate as hers.
"What did you mean earlier?" Da asked.
Mum had been roped into a last-minute conference call for work, so she'd retreated to her office while I fed Harper. Jasper was due to arrive at any minute, but I appreciated a quiet moment with my father. We didn't get enough of those.
"I need to get to a place where I have a somewhat manageable, regular schedule. I can't keep relying on yours or Vic's good graces when I need a sitter. What the fuck am I gonna do when we go back to the recording booth? Or worse even, on tour? A tour bus is no place for an infant."
"A work-life balance is a challenge for every parent, but your situation is peculiar. The demands on your time are flexible, and you have more resources than the average single mother does, but it makes your situation no less difficult. Have you talked to your mother about it?"
While Harper continued to gobble up her pureed food with a happy face, I contemplated Dad's remarks. "Not yet. I hoped to brainstorm with her today."
With perfect timing, the lady of the manor emerged from her office with a stormy face.
"What's the matter, dear?" Da asked her, always in tune with his spouse.
They'd been married for forty years and counting, and there I was, skipping the significant other but landing the kid. Talk about doing shit out of order.
"I had to talk my senior associate off the ledge. I don't appreciate fits of nerves before a court appearance because, usually, they don't bode well. But, anyway, what did I miss?"
"You missed your granddaughter raining a mouthful of this disgusting pumpkin thing on my face."
Mum leaned to kiss Harper's blonde head, and baby girl happily gurgled something back at her. "I'm sure she didn't mean it."
And I was the tooth fairy. "Let's say she was making her displeasure known. But apart from that … you missed my daily fail."
"Oh, Edward. I wish you didn't put yourself down like that. What troubles you? Is it Harper?"
While Dad kept feeding Harper—they'd moved on to her apple and banana puree now—I paced into the kitchen, following Mum as she got our food ready. Real, solid food. Not pureed shit.
"I'm juggling too many plates in the air, Mum. At some point, it's all going to crash down on me, and I don't want Harper to pay the price."
"It's not a crime or failure to ask for help, darling. What do you need?" she asked, passing me a huge bowl with her famous potato salad. Yum.
"Ideally?"
"Yep. It's not like you have a limited budget for childcare, fortunately."
When we sat down at the table, we took a minute to portion out the food, all while keeping the serving dishes away from Harper. The girl could be sneaky when she wanted. And all the colors and shapes around her fascinated her. She was at the stage where she had to taste things and didn't much care whether they were edible or not. She babbled happily away while Da wiped her face clean, then dumped a few of her toys on her tray to keep her occupied.
"I'd love to have a regular schedule so I can plan work around it, and I'd love to have someone permanent to take care of Harper when I can't be there. Begging babysitting time from you guys and from Vic is not sustainable long-term, and I can't take her to work with me. Much less on tour."
"I can't imagine negotiating a tour schedule with an infant or toddler," Mum mused.
"I refuse to entertain the idea. The traveling alone would be devastating. What if she's one of those kids who doesn't travel well? I'd rather not find out on a twenty-hour flight to Sydney."
"One word, son. Nanny. You need to find yourself a nanny."
I groaned. Repeatedly. The images in my head all spelled doom and disaster. They ranged from power-hungry ditzy blondes out to nab the rich rock star to weird Mrs. Doubtfire-megachurch preacher types who'd lecture my loose morals all the time. I dreaded the selection process. And another more ancestral, more gut-wrenching fear gripped me.
"What if Harper ends up hating me? What if she ends up calling the nanny 'mommy' or something? What if she ends up in therapy in her teens because I fucking neglected her?"
At that precise moment, Harper slammed her tiny hand on her tray. We all turned to look at her. She knew she had a captive audience every time she made a noise.
The sweetest, most unexpected thing happened then.
"Da! Da! Da! Da! Da!" She kept repeating that syllable with fierce determination, a gummy smile on her face, staring at me the whole time.
There was no knowing if she was just trying out sounds or meant anything by it. But like an idiot, I shed a tear.
"Well, we know what Harper thinks of it now. No way she'll ever mistake her daddy for someone else. But we'll find someone trustworthy to help you, Edward."
And that was how Shelley Cope, a sixty-five-year-old child development expert, entered our lives.
The nanny.
"And so she became ... the nannyyyyyyyy ..." I had that song in my head when I wrote the last line and it gave me a chuckle.
All the onesies Vic bought for Harper - from the inter webs.
Pics of Edward's new house - up in an album in my FB group LaMomo's Lair if you want to take a peek.
For the people clamoring for Bella's appearance, I hear you-but this story ended up having a certain shape, and this is how the cookie crumbled. Without giving anything away, I can tell you that you get one more chapter from Edward next week, then it's time for Bella's story to start. Not long now!
I'll see you mid-week on FB for the teaser and next week for a new chapter. I'll be out of town, so there's a chance the chapter might post early (somehow I don't think there will be complaints about that ;-)
Have a great weekend!
Momo