Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
"Caleb!" Sutton shouts, her voice full of distress.
I drop the mobile, the moon colliding with a star.
"Fuck!" I groan, my heart slamming against my ribcage as I carefully place Georgia in her crib.
I sprint towards the sound of Sutton's voice, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. I find her perched on the counter in our ordinarily pristine bathroom, legs swinging wildly in the air to avoid the rising tide flooding our wooden floor. Her hazel doe eyes are wide with panic, her dimpled cheeks flushed.
Our four-year-old daughter, Daisy, and Koda are right smack in the middle of the rising tide. Water spurts out of the toilet and splashes onto her, yet she laughs happily, her little hands slapping against the water puddles forming around her feet. Confetti sprinkles of toilet paper litter the now glistening planks.
Daisy splashes around enthusiastically while Koda alternates between romping through the puddles and growling at his own reflection in the water.
"Look, Daddy! A swimmin' pool!" Daisy exclaims with gleaming hazel eyes too much like her mother's. Her dimpled smile is just as infectious as Sutton's, even when she's causing utter chaos.
I sigh heavily, my gaze automatically shifting up to Sutton. Her doe eyes twinkle with laughter despite her frustration. She looks beautiful even drenched.
"Daisy," I start, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice, "A swimming pool in the bathroom isn't a good idea, baby girl."
"But why?" she asks. It's her favorite question. She asks it fifteen thousand times a day.
"Toilet water isn't healthy, baby girl," Sutton says.
"Oh." Daisy's brows furrow. "But Koda wanted a swimmin' pool."
"Uh-huh." Sutton chuckles, shaking her head. She isn't buying what Daisy is selling. Neither am I, for that matter. Somehow, Koda always takes the fall for Daisy's bad ideas. "I swear that dog is more trouble than he's worth."
"He isn't the only one," I reply, shooting her a playful smirk. Despite the frustration, there's no hiding the love in my voice. "I think we should have named Daisy 'Trouble' instead."
Sutton's laugh is the soundtrack of my life. And even as Koda growls at his reflection and our daughter continues to splash through her swimming pool, I wouldn't trade this crazy, chaotic love for anything in the world.
"Alright, Daisy May Maverick," I say, turning to our mini whirlwind with an exaggerated stern look as I wade into the mess to turn off the water before it gets out of control. "Time to clean up your swimming pool."
"Ahh, man," she mumbles, her lower lip immediately poking out into an adorable pout. She looks so much like her mom in this moment, I feel the world tremble at my feet. God help us all in about twenty years.
I chuckle, ruffling her hair. Who knew a bathroom could become an indoor pool for a toddler and a stubborn chihuahua? Only in our household.
I just fucking hope the tabloids don't get ahold of the story. The last thing we need is the world thinking we're raising our baby girl in bathroom water.
Ah well, as long as my girls are happy, people can say whatever the hell they want. They will anyway. And just like always, we'll tune it out and live like we always have: Our way.