Chapter 46B

Except for Emiko and Grandma, the experienced mommies of the house, the rest of them were in for a very big surprise.

Never in his life did Kaito ever think a girl that tiny would be so high maintenance.

Emiko had C-cup breasts before she got pregnant. Now she was a Double D and huge. They bought a high-end Medela breast pump because, being so small, Kumiko’s appetite was not that great. She would only drink one breast empty per feeding. Emiko would pump the other one and refrigerate it.

As for engorgement, that was never an issue because Kaito and the girls were eager to help relieve her of the excess. It seemed Kaito and his harem had gained a lactation fetish.

Little did Kaito know that maneuver was definitely not in his best interest.

Kaito, usually able to see things three moves ahead, proved he was fallible. His daddy duty, he found out, was to arise at three in the morning, heat a bottle, change, and feed his precious screaming little jewel.

He did that part right.

Partly right.

He warmed the bottle. He tested it like Emiko had shown him. He settled into the nursery rocker and held Kumiko against his chest while she drank with the complete concentration of a person who had not yet learned the meaning of gratitude.

When she finished, he burped her.

She gave one good, healthy burp.

Kaito waited.

Then she screamed.

And did not stop screaming.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” he asked, rocking her gently. “Why the fuss?”

She never answered. She just kept wailing, screaming like a banshee.

Emiko staggered into the nursery and asked, “Did you change her?”

“Uh ... no. I just heated a bottle and fed her.”

“Boy!” Emiko replied. “She must really love you then. Usually, she will spit out the nipple with a wet nappy. So, change her.”

“Gotcha.”

After laying her on the changing table and getting her onesie unwrapped, Kumiko was suddenly in a much happier mood.

“Why is she now smiling and kicking like she’s swimming a hundred-meter freestyle?” Kaito asked.

“She knows she’s getting a dry diaper on.”

“How does she know that? She’s only three days old!”

“If your jockeys were pissed up and you had two broken arms, would you scream for help?”

“Yeah, but how’d you know?”

“I could tell by her cry.”

“Huh?”

“Her cry. She’s learning three languages, so she only speaks baby at the moment—she cries. She has a cry when she’s hungry, a cry when she needs a diaper changed, a cry when she has gas. They’re all different.”

“It’s simple common sense, Daddy. Would you like to eat in wet jockeys?”

“Point well taken.”

Kaito flipped up her onesie and undid her diaper.

What he saw was the smelliest, sickest-looking mess he had ever seen.

“Oh God! How did someone that tiny make such a big mess? Look at her! It’s all smushed into her tiny crease. It’s everywhere!”

“In case you didn’t know, girls can poop big loads also.”

“Emiko, get over here and take care of this filthy child. You’re her mother.”

“Hold on, Son. You had no issues at all about squirting this child into my belly, did you? Man up and do your duty.”

“But ... but ... what do I do?” Daddy whined like a two-year-old.

“You’d better watch her or—oops, too late. Now she’s got poop on her hand. If I were you, I’d take both of her hands in one of yours, scrape as much off of her into the diaper as you can. Wash her in the sink, then put a clean diaper on her, cuddle your little princess, then put her back to bed.”

Kaito looked down.

Kumiko had one fist in the mess.

Her other hand was reaching for it.

Both feet were bicycling in the air.

“This child has four weapons,” he said.

Grandma appeared in the doorway behind Emiko. She had clearly been awake for at least part of the exchange, because she was already smiling.

“Remember four,” she said.

Kaito looked up. “What?”

“Four moving, squirming appendages. Two hands. Two feet. Babies only lie still long enough to trick you into believing they will cooperate.”

“I am beginning to understand that.”

“When you dress her, you gently hold either both hands or both feet. Whatever you need to keep still at that moment. When you change her, hold both feet together with one hand. Keep the clean diaper ready under her before you open the dirty one.”

“And when she has—” Kaito looked down at the disaster. “—this?”

Grandma nodded toward Kumiko’s waving limbs.

“Sometimes, you hold all four in one hand until you get the worst of the mess cleaned. Gently. You do not hurt her. You only prevent her from redecorating herself.”

Emiko laughed.

Kaito did not.

Not at first.

Then Kumiko kicked both feet together, grabbed one of his fingers with her clean hand, and looked up at him with such perfect innocence that he started laughing too.

“This is not funny,” he said.

“It is very funny,” Emiko told him.

“Not for me.”

“Especially for you.”

By breakfast, the story had gone through the entire house.