Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Papa, I don’t feel so good,” VJ says.
“Told ya you can’t eat ice cream,” Annetta says, sticking her tongue out at him.
“Nettie, that’s enough,” Anya scolds. “Can you take him to the bathroom, just in case?” she murmurs to me.
This is my life now. By day, I rule Brooklyn with an iron fist. On nights and weekends, I wipe butts and rub my kids’ backs when they throw up. Thankfully, that part doesn’t happen so often, even though Irina does have bad reflux.
After VJ’s unfortunate experience, we decide to call it a night and take the kids home. I put the older two to bed while Anya nurses Irina and puts her down. It’s been a little overwhelming since we became outnumbered by our kids, but we’re making it work the best way we know how.
When we both make it back to our bedroom, we acknowledge each other with the same reverence as soldiers returning from war.
“Annetta insisted on three books tonight,” I say warily.
“Irina almost bit my nipple off,” Anya shoots back.
We look at each other and burst out laughing.
“Is it okay?” I ask. “Should I check it out?”
She rolls her eyes and sighs. “You may look, but don’t get any ideas,” she says. “I’m so not in the mood tonight.”
“You mean you don’t want to go for kid number four?” I tease.
“Don’t even joke!” she nearly screeches. “We’re barely surviving as it is.”
I chuckle as I gingerly pull up her shirt and examine her injured flesh. It isn’t too bad, but she does wince when I brush my finger over it.
“That bad, huh?” I ask.
“It’s fine.” She shrugs.
“You once got shot and barely reacted,” I remind her. “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”
“I think I went soft after the second pregnancy test was positive.” She smirks, getting into the bed. “It’s hard to keep up the constant fire when you’re trying to manage morning sickness again.”
“Oh, I disagree,” I say, sliding in next to her. “You’ve gotten way tougher. Just today, you told me to leave an innocent, screaming baby to cry herself out.”
“That baby hasn’t slept through the night in two months,” she reminds me. “If we don’t get a handle on this regression, we’re screwed.”
I chuckle and pull her against my chest.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, my love, but we’ve both gone soft.” I sigh. “We used to talk about territory and battle plans. Now we’re talking about sleep schedules.”
“I don’t mind it,” she says wistfully. “Our kids are lucky to have such loving parents.”
“Not nearly as lucky as I am,” I say, kissing the top of her head.
She snuggles into my chest and I hold her until her breathing changes.
Falling asleep with the love of my life in my arms makes me the luckiest man in Brooklyn.
The End