Chapter 7
“Doctor, are you prepared for the procedure?”
Stephen lifted his hands, fingers closed and palms facing inward. He nodded sternly.
“Ready.”
“This is…a tricky one.”
“I can handle it.”
Stephen slowly turned his head to see Tony, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle his laughter.
“Nurse Stark; is there something funny about this?”
“Stee-ben!” Peter gurgled with delight as he reached up to pull at Stephen’s hands. “Stee-ben ah-na-nah!”
“I told you to sedate the patient,” Stephen sighed.
“Oh, sorry,” Tony pulled out a box from beneath the changing table, “I probably have one…here we go!” He popped a pale blue pacifier into Peter’s mouth. “Ready!”
“Rebby!” Peter laughed.
“Okay, so,” Stephen took in a deep breath, “step one: diaper off.”
“That’s the easy step. Well,” Tony shrugged, “Easiest one to remember, I mean.”
When Stephen had suggested he learn how to change Peter’s diapers, he was fairly concerned about Tony’s reaction. It had only been three weeks since he first met Peter and despite how close the trio had grown through boat rides in Central Park and adventuring in the Little’s Museum of Manhattan, it still felt like an unusual ask.
But it was also through these day trips that Stephen learned how tiring diaper changes could be, even with a Little as small as Peter.
Sometimes just trying to find a place with a Little changing station would sour Tony’s mood…
Two days earlier...
It was an unseasonably warm October morning and Stephen had invited Tony and Peter to a farmer’s market in the famously hip SoHo neighborhood. It was like something out of a movie; trees aflame with autumnal leaves, booths of local honey and goat milk soap. Scarves and Starbucks. Peter babbling in his stroller with a little scrunch beanie on his head. Stephen felt like he had hit peak domestication.
But half-way through the market, somewhere around the lady that sold alpaca wool socks, Peter began to whimper and squirm in his stroller.
“Dah-Dee…”
“Oh no,” Tony sighed, “baby, are you wet?”
As Peter nodded, big tears began rolling down his cheeks.
“I’m sure we can find…” Stephen felt his hope sink at long stretch of art galleries and coffee shop, “Oh…um…”
“This is literally why I hate SoHo,” Tony shook his head, “there’re no public restrooms and I guarantee the Mylk Vegan Café is not big enough to have a Little sized changing table.”
“Shit…,” Stephen felt like such an idiot. “What do we do?”
“I’ll just take him back to the car and change him there.”
“Dah-Dee!” Peter’s shrieks were now drawing attention.
“Are you sure?” Stephen asked as Tony began to power-push the stroller. They were still another two blocks away from where they parked.
“Yeah, it’s usually what I have to do anyway!”
Even once they were at the Porsche, Tony did not bother to even look around for any accommodating businesses. He simply opened up the back hatch and laid out a changing pad.
“I know, baby,” he said as he laid the fussing Peter down, “I know, it’s not fun, but we need to get you changed.”
Stephen felt an overwhelming sense of guilt; he should have researched what possible Little friendly businesses might be nearby. At the very least…
He could have offered to change Peter’s diaper.
Later that evening, over a romantic meal at the Panera Bread off 79th, Stephen made the ask.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Tony said…as Peter smashed another handful of mac-n-cheese into his mouth. “Baby, I know you know how to use a fork; can we try to use the fork?”
“You say that now, but…,” Stephen let his words trail off.
“Yes; I was slightly miffed.”
“Miffed is an understatement.”
“I hate Soho,” Tony shrugged, “shoot me.”
“Soh-bo,” Peter sing-songed as he took in another handful of cheesy noddles. “Soh-bo…”
“Peter…”
“I know it’s been a few years,” Stephen began, “and I by a few I mean a decade, but I did do a rotation in a Little’s wing. And, yes, I had to change diapers.”
Tony arched a suspicious eyebow.
“How many did you change there?”
“Um…,” Stephen hummed as he tried to guesstimate a number, “it was definitely in the single digits, I know that.”
“Nice…”
“Bow-nee!” Peter pointed to the moist brownie waiting on the tray.
“No brownie until after dinner,” Tony said.
“His healthy dinner of mac-n-cheese and whole milk?”
“Hey! Don’t caregiver shame me!”
“I’m not!” Stephen laughed, “You’re just lucky Peter isn’t lactose intol – oh no!”
“Bye-bye!” Peter dumped his bowl of mac-n-cheese onto the ground. “Bow-nee!”
A helpful, albeit mildly annoyed, Panera employee came to help. Tony made sure to tuck a twenty under the sugar caddy for him before they left.
The next day over text, Tony conceded that a little extra help in the caregiving department was warranted, and he was ready to help Stephen learn how to change a diaper.
Tony made sure that he kept the changes on easy mode; meaning he completely undressed Peter before putting him of the changing table.
“Nekked!” Peter laughed and pedaled his legs as Stephen tried to get the tapes down. “Dah-Dee nekked!”
“Easy on the wiggles, little man,” Tony said ae he reached up to turn on the mobile above the changing table. “Gotta let Stephen concentrate!”
Stephen desperately wanted to make a quip about him being, you know, a world-famous neurosurgeon. But doing so would draw attention to how truly pitiful his diaper-changing skills were.
The mobile did seem to help though. Peter was utterly entranced with puffy clouds slowly turning above his head.
“And how do I get it out from under him?” He asked, once the front was pulled down.
“Just hook your arm under his knees,” Tony said, “and do a quick lift and pull.”
“Lift and pull,” Stephen said. Though he managed the pull, it was anything but quick.
“Now you can roll it up and stick it in the diaper pail!”
“Diaper pail,” Stephen nodded, “got it.”
Stephen found himself frustrated that he could not get the diaper rolled up into the perfect little ball that he saw Tony do a hundred times. He had such an effortless way around everything relating to Peter’s care. Tony could actually change Peter’s diaper under a pair of short-alls, shoes on, the kid amped up on grape juice, all in the back of his Porche without breaking a sweat.
And Stephen? Well…
“Wipe, oil, talc? Right? That’s the order?”
“Every time,” Tony smiled at him.
“With the powder; front and back?”
“Front and back.”
“And then lift his legs, slide it under…”
“It’s like you don’t even need my help!”
Stephen was uncertain if Tony was teasing him or not. His diaper changing skills had improved; but, then again, he had started at helpless and afraid. Weeks of practice had only brought Stephen up to competent but needing constant encouragement.
“Is this too snug?”
“No,” Tony ran a finger along the diaper’s waistline, “no, that’s perfect.”
“Dah-Dee,” Peter was now arching his back and attempting to roll off the changing table. He was not a fan of the new ten-minute diaper changes. “Go!”
“Okay, little duck,” Tony laughed as he helped Peter sit up, “Can we tell Stephen thank you for changing your diaper?”
“Tank-oo!” Peter giggled and put his arms out for a hug.
“You’re very welcome,” Stephen pulled Peter in his arms. “And thank you for putting up with me.”
“Kay!”
Peter slid off the table and toddled off ‘naked’ to his nursery play rug. There, he had an assortment of bright yellow construction trucks…as well as a few block towers that had been scheduled for demolition.
Stephen and Tony watched as the Little leveled every single one with high quality sound effects with his mouth.
“You’re doing great, you know.”
Stephen turned toward the voice whispering to him.
“Am I?”
“Honestly, I just love that you want to help!” Tony laughed.
“Well, if we’re going to be a cabin for a whole week, you’re going to need me to pitch in,” Stephen shrugged. “Uh, by the way; have you told him yet?”
“No, I’m going to wait closer to Thanksgiving,” said Tony. “Peter isn’t super great a gauging time. If I tell him now, he’ll think we’re going tomorrow.”
“Makes sense.”
Tony pressed his body against Stephen’s and pecked a kiss on his cheek.
“But I’m excited.”
“Mmm,” Stephen smiled at him, “me too…”
“Dah-Dee! Tick-n-teet!” Peter suddenly screeched.
“Peter,” Tony laughed, “Halloween isn’t until tomorrow!”
“Tick-n-teet ‘es cand-ee!”
Peter pointed to the television, which had been playing on mute. Sure enough, there was a spooky commercial playing for fun-sized candy bars.
“You just have to wait one more night,” Tony said as he went to sit beside his boy, “and then Pepper’s going to come over for pizza and you can put on your costume and-”
“Spy-der!” Peter clapped his hands and looked to Stephen, “Stee-ben; ‘en spy-der an-bah tick-teet!”
“You’re going to be a spider?” Stephen asked, doing little to hide his surprise.
“Yeah, it’s his same one from last year,” said Tony, “he really loves his spider costume.” He then looked to Peter, “You’re going to wear it to school, right?”
“Yeah! Spy-der ‘n Ned!”
Stephen’s phone suddenly chimed with the dreaded ‘Circles’ alert, letting him know work was contacting him.
“Oh no…,” Tony had learned what the alert meant.
“Oh no…,” as had Peter.
“Big oh no,” Stephen felt his heart race at the message, “eight car pile-up on the Holland tunnel; semi-truck turned over,” he shoved his phone into his pocket, “they need me on deck.”
“Geeze,” Tony released single word as a sigh. “Okay then, super surgeon, go do your thing.”
“Thanks,” Stephen smiled. He really needed that ‘super surgeon’ comment.
“Sup’pah-gen!” Peter cheered, “Stee-ben sup’pah-gen!”
“Thank you, Peter,” Stephen waves, “I’ll talk to you guys later.”
“I’ll text you about tomorrow night!” Tony said quickly.
“Yeah, yeah; do that…”
The afternoon was grey and chilly; the pavement freckled with dark rain droplets.
Stephen hated leaving so brusquely, but such was the life of a surgeon. He was actually impressed that his job had not interfered more with his blossoming relationship.
“Taxi!” He raised his hand to the street.
How much longer could he go on like this? On call emergency room; late nights and early mornings. Living on leftovers and relying on taxis. It was too chaotic, especially for a man of…barely forty-ish.
And it certainly was not the life conducive to Little care. Peter needed a routine and caregivers he could rely on.
Why are you thinking like this?
You’re not a caregiver!
…Not yet, anyway…