In the kitchen, the baby had found a new prize: the oven. With a strength that defied biology, the toddler began to climb into the pre-heating rack.
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Dave collapsed on the rug, gasping for air. The baby slid down the banister like an Olympic gymnast and plopped onto Dave’s chest. The child patted his father’s cheek, leaned in, and whispered his first word. "Again." Dave closed his eyes. It was only 10:00 AM. In the kitchen, the baby had found a new prize: the oven
Inside the sprawling suburban house, two entities prepared for their daily ritual. One was a thirty-four-year-old man named Dave, whose eyes were bloodshot from a lack of sleep and whose heart rate was permanently spiked. The other was a chubby-cheeked infant with a singular, chaotic mission: to meet his maker before lunch. For legal advice, consult a professional
The living room was a minefield of colorful plastic and impending doom.
As Dave turned to clean the glass, he realized the playpen was empty. The latch was undone. He looked up just in time to see a tiny silhouette standing on the very edge of the second-floor balcony, holding a heavy bowling ball and looking down at his father with a toothless, terrifying grin.