A reminder pops up on my Outlook. “Juliet Meadow knows me,” it says. I had set it when Juliet was going through a phase where she cried every time I got home from work. Melissa said it was her bad time of day. Her “witch hour.” But I didn’t come home at the same time every day, and no matter when I came home, Juliet cried.
I had asked a buddy at work when Juliet would know me. He had said it took his daughter three months. Its Juliet Meadow’s three-month-old birthday. She still didn’t know me.
She knows her mother. She smiles at her, laughs sometimes. I hear Juliet giggling from the other room and run in to catch her. She sees me and stops. Melissa pity kisses my cheek. Juliet cries.
She doesn’t cry all the time when I’m around anymore. She smiles when I’m using the meat scissors to cut off a onesie after she shits through her diaper. You can’t pull it over her head, or she’ll get shit all over her face. So, you cut. And she smiles. Her room smells like shit. She doesn’t mind.
Juliet also doesn’t cry that much anymore when I’m trying to rock her to sleep at night. I swaddle her and pick her up. Her head on my shoulder. She fusses and turns her head violently from side to side. She finds the right position and lets her face smush into the top of my chest or the meat of my shoulder.
It used to take hours, but now it only takes a few minutes. I can’t even write about how long she sleeps. It would be unfair to say. And unlucky.
When I get home from work now, Juliet furrows her brow as if to say “who the fuck are you?” I don’t even know how to begin to tell her. Something else catches her attention. A light. A fan. Melissa. Juliet’s eyes follow her mother around the room. When she loses sight of Melissa, Juliet follows her sound. Without sound, she follows her scent. Juliet is a puppy, only not as smart. And Melissa is her mommy. The only thing she needs.
I put down my briefcase and stand over Juliet at the changing table while Melissa wipes up a Geiko lizard green liquid splatter poop. We replaced the organic diapers with Huggies. We have a hunch the environmentally unfriendly diapers work better. So far, it looks that way. Melissa leans close to Juliet’s face and squeals and quacks. She rubs Juliet’s belly. Juliet giggles. I lean in and imitate Melissa’s moves. Juliet doesn’t smile. She pees. Perfect. “Daddy’s home.”
