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Baby Talk
Let your baby side show.
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Chapter 137 When we pulled up to the dock, the sun was still blazing, and our moms were stretched out on their towels, working on their tans like nothing in the world could bother them. They’d ditched their swimsuits and were soaking in the warmth, eyes half‑closed, faces relaxed. But the real surprise was Terry. She was perched on a bench near the cooler, calmly tending to be pumping her boobs, two glass jars beside her already filled almost to the brim. She looked up with a grin that said she’d been busy. Our moms wandered over as we tied off the canoe, brushing sand from their legs. Well? one of them asked the twins. Did you two have fun out there? Both girls nodded enthusiastically, still buzzing from the adventure. I leaned toward Lena. You’re on cleanup duty with Jodi, I said, then turned to Betsy’s mom. And you might want to help Betsy too. They had a little… accident on the way back. They both sighed in that long‑suffering, affectionate way only moms can manage. While you get them sorted, I added, I’ll go rinse out the canoe. After rinsing out the canoe, I made my way back up the dock, the wet boards warming quickly under my feet as the sun beat down on them. The lake breeze carried the clean scent of water and pine, tugging lightly at my shirt as I walked. Terry had finished pumping her boobs and was packing up her equipment by the time I reached her. She was sitting on the edge of the dock, sunlight catching in her hair, two neatly capped jars of breast milk resting beside her like small trophies of the afternoon. She looked relaxed now, the quiet hum of her work gone, replaced by the soft lap of waves against the pilings. What surprised me was she was sitting there and she hadn’t pulled her one piece up and over her boobs. My surprise must have been noticed on my face. All what she said was the sun felt great on her boobs Alright then, I said quietly as I stepped beside her, we should probably get the girls back into their diapers before we end up dealing with another accident. Terry nodded and cupped her hands around her mouth to call her twins over. They came jogging across the dock, feet slapping against the warm boards, hair still dripping from earlier. Their faces were bright with that restless, post‑adventure energy kids always seem to have. Do you two want to wade in the lake again? she asked. Both girls lit up instantly, bouncing on their toes as they shouted yes. They were already halfway turned toward the shallows, the sunlight glinting off the tiny droplets on their legs. Terry let out a small, resigned laugh and turned back to me. Let’s wait until they’re done, she said, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. If we put diapers on them now, they’ll just end up with waterlogged diapers again, and we’ll have to redo everything. I really don’t want extra work. She watched the twins splash into the shallows, the water swirling around their ankles, and shook her head with a tired but affectionate smile. I called Betsy over, and she wandered toward me with her pacifier tucked back in her mouth, her steps slow and unhurried. The sun caught the damp ends of her hair, making them shine as she walked. When she reached me, she looked up with wide, trusting eyes. Go play with the twins for a while, I told her gently. Once you’re all done in the lake, I’ll get you into a fresh diaper. She gave me a bright smile around the pacifier — cheeks lifting, eyes squinting just a little — then turned and headed off toward the shoreline. The moment she reached the twins, all three of them plopped right down into the shallow water as if they’d planned it. The lake barely reached their knees, but they didn’t care; they were already splashing, scooping up handfuls of water, and laughing at nothing in particular. Sunlight shimmered across the ripples they made, turning the whole scene into a sparkling mess of giggles and motion. I shook my head with a half‑laugh and glanced over at Terry. You were right, I said. If we’d changed them already, we’d be dealing with waterlogged diapers all over again. Terry gave me a knowing smile — tired, amused, and completely unsurprised. Yep, she said, folding her arms as she watched the three of them splash around. This way saves us at least one round of cleanup. After a while, our moms walked over to us, brushing sand from their legs as they gathered their things. One of them stretched her back with a small groan. We’re heading up to the cabin to shower and start dinner, she said. It should be ready in about an hour. Terry and I both nodded. Sounds good to us, I said. They waved as they started up the path, towels slung over their shoulders, carrying their bikinis in their hands still chatting with each other as they went. Terry watched them for a moment, eyebrows raised. Do they walk up there like that every time? she asked quietly, a hint of disbelief in her voice. Yep, I said, unable to stop a small laugh. They told me it’s a waste of time to put their bikinis back on just to take a two‑minute walk and then take them right back off again. Plus, they like using the outdoor shower. It’s faster for them. Terry shook her head with an amused smile, still watching the moms disappear up the trail as the sunlight filtered through the trees. After a bit of time went by, Terry glanced at the sun and brushed her hands on her swimsuit. We should get the kids out of the water, she said. Dinner’s almost ready, and we need to get them cleaned up and back into diapers. That’s a great idea, I said. But you’re going to have to tell them. I don’t want them mad at me. Terry shot me a look — the kind that could cut through steel — and shook her head. Thanks a lot, she muttered, though there was a hint of a smile behind it. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called down toward the shoreline. Girls! Time to get out of the water! Dinner’s coming soon, and we need time to get you cleaned up and into fresh diapers! The three of them looked up from where they were splashing in the shallows, water dripping from their arms and hair. Their faces fell into identical little pouts, but they didn’t argue — they just exchanged glances, sighed dramatically, and began trudging back toward us through the ripples. The girls were tired in that happy, sun‑soaked way — cheeks flushed, hair damp and sticking to their foreheads, eyes bright but drooping at the edges. When we helped them out of the water, they leaned into us more than usual, their little hands gripping our arms for balance. Their steps were slower now, their voices softer, the excitement of the day finally catching up with them. The twins looked up at Terry with hopeful eyes. Mommy, can you carry us up to the cabin? one asked, already lifting her arms. Terry let out a breath and gave them a sympathetic smile. I’m sorry, girls, she said gently. You’re getting too heavy for me to carry both of you at the same time. Their faces fell immediately — not dramatic, just that quiet, disappointed sag kids get when they’re too tired to argue. I glanced at Betsy, who was standing beside me with her pacifier bobbing slightly as she sucked on it. Hey, Betsy, I said softly, would it be okay if I carried the twins and you walked up with us? She looked up at me, considered it for a moment, then nodded. Okay, she said around the pacifier, giving me a small, trusting smile. The twins brightened instantly, their earlier disappointment melting away as they reached for me. Terry gave me a grateful look — the kind that said you just saved me — while the girls wrapped their arms around my shoulders. Terry walked over to Betsy and held out her hand. Come on, sweetheart, she said gently. Let’s walk back together. Betsy hesitated — just a tiny pause, the kind she always had when someone new reached out to her. Her pacifier bobbed slightly as she looked from Terry’s hand to Terry’s face, weighing her options like it was a major life decision. Then, slowly, she slipped her small hand into Terry’s. I hadn’t expected it—Betsy was usually slow to trust, especially with new people—but something in her posture shifted the moment Terry knelt beside her. The guarded stiffness I knew so well eased, little by little, as if she were deciding it might be safe to exhale. Terry offered her a warm, patient smile. There we go. Betsy lifted her eyes, the pacifier muffling her whisper. Thank you. The softness that bloomed across Terry’s face wasn’t just kindness; it was recognition, the kind you give someone who’s letting you into a fragile place. You’re welcome, honey, she murmured, her voice gentler than before—almost protective. And watching them, I felt a quiet tug of surprise give way to something else: relief, maybe, or hope. Whatever it was, it settled warmly in my chest. When we arrived at changing the table outside, I grabbed three diapers and sat them on the table and pulled out a bottle of baby powder and a tube of diaper cream lotion. I looked for some diaper pins and plastic pants; there were none under the table. I turned to Terry and asked her if she had brought up the bag with the girl’s wet diapers in it. She shook her head. No, I left it down on the dock. I told her we did not have any plastic pants, or diaper pins out here and there is not enough diaper cream lotion for all three of the girls. I asked her to run in and grab what we needed from the other table and a get a top for each of them, and while she was doing that, I would get them clean up and ready while you’re gone. Copy that, she said with a quick grin before heading toward the cabin. By the time Terry came back with the supplies, I had all three girls cleaned up and waiting patiently, their legs kicking while they lay there ready for their diapers. Terry moved straight to her two, her hands steady and practiced, and I watched the way they relaxed under her touch—trust settling in quickly, almost naturally. When it was my turn to take care of Betsy, she reached for me without hesitation. Something about that simple gesture warmed me more than I expected. Once she was diapered, Terry handed me a soft T‑shirt for her, still warm from the dryer. I slipped it over Betsy’s head, and she leaned into me for a moment, quiet and content. They’ll be fine like this, Terry said, giving me a reassuring smile. It’s warm enough, and T‑shirts and diapers are perfectly okay. I nodded, feeling a small wave of relief. Alright then. Let’s go see what our moms made for dinner. Terry turned to the three girls. Are you ready for dinner? All three of them shouted Yes! in perfect, chaotic unison, their excitement echoing down the hallway. And just like that, we headed off together—the twins and Besty bouncing ahead of us, and a soft, unexpected sense of togetherness settled in behind them. When we all stepped into the kitchen, the smell hit us first—seasoned meat, warm tortillas, all the familiar things that meant tacos were on the menu. The girls spotted the bowls on the counter and lit up instantly, their excitement almost buzzing in the air. Their high chairs were already lined up, waiting for them like a little row of thrones. Lena stood beside them, smiling as she waved the girls over. Come on, sweethearts. Let’s get you settled. They hurried to her with that wobbly, eager energy only that they have, and she lifted each of them into their seats with practiced ease. My mom followed right behind, fastening bibs around their necks—quick, gentle motions that somehow always made the girls look even smaller. Betsy’s mom placed a baby bottle of juice on each tray, the plastic clinking softly as she set them down. The girls grabbed them immediately, hands wrapping around the bottles like they were treasures. Watching all of it—their joy, the easy teamwork between our moms, the warmth filling the kitchen—I felt something settle in me. A kind of quiet contentment. As Terry and I talked, she glanced over at me with a curious look. Do you think we could go into town first thing in the morning? Sure, I said. What do you need to get? She gave me a shy, almost playful smile. A new swimsuit. I couldn’t help laughing softly. Alright then. If we leave by eight, we should be back at the cabin by nine‑thirty. Her eyebrows lifted. Back for what? I hesitated just long enough to tease her, then said, there’s something Betsy and I set up for your two kids. You’re going to enjoy it too. That got her attention immediately. What is it? You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, I said, enjoying the way her curiosity sparked. All I’ll tell you is… it involves a lot of water. She groaned dramatically but smiled. Fine. I’ll wait. After we finished eating, my mom moved around the table with that calm efficiency she always had, wiping the girls’ faces and hands before unfastening their bibs. The girls giggled through the whole process, still buzzing from dinner and the excitement of the day. Once they were cleaned up, she helped each of them out of their high chairs. Terry crouched down to their level and said, Alright, sweethearts—head out to the table on the deck. We’ll be right behind you. They scampered off together, little feet pattering across the floor. Terry turned to me with a spark in her eyes. Let’s grab a board game for them. Something to keep them busy until bed time. That’s a great idea, I said, already picturing the three of them crowded around the table, chattering away. As we walked toward the living room, Terry let out a soft laugh. You know… I could get used to your mom cleaning up my twins after meals. I couldn’t help laughing with her. Careful, I said. She might hear you and put you to work next time. She just smiled and pulled a board game from the shelf, lifting it like a small triumph. With that settled, we headed outside to where the girls were already gathered around the table, their voices drifting through the warm evening air. Betsy had her pacifier back in her mouth, gently sucking on it as she waited. She looked completely content, her shoulders relaxed, her eyes bright in that soft way she got when she felt safe. We joined them and started playing—one of those simple, silly games where the rules barely mattered. What mattered was the laughter. The girls giggled at everything: the cards, each other, even the way the pieces fell over. Their joy was so big and unfiltered that Terry and I couldn’t help laughing with them until evening came. -
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By Marina Kits · Posted
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