Slings and Arrows


"What the hell?"

House had wandered into the living room to find Wilson with his chest wrapped in a swath of red fabric. Two-week-old Anna regarded them both from her spot on the center couch cushion.

Wilson looked up and smiled. "Hey. Need your help here."

"Help with what?" House rounded the coffee table to look down at Anna, who was industriously kicking at her blankets, and back at Wilson. He pointed at the fabric. "You want me to clean up some Guatemalan vomit?"

Wilson fidgeted with a pair of metal rings near his shoulder. "I need you to help me with Anna. We need to get her in this."

"What the hell is this thing?"

"It's a sling," Wilson replied. "We need to figure out how to use it."

"And why would 'we' want to do that?" House sat down on the couch, on 'his' cushion, and absentmindedly rested his hand over Anna's chest.

Wilson paced toward the kitchen and back to the couch. "Babywearing is beneficial—"

"—Babywearing?" House scoffed. "What kind of hippie crap have you been reading?"

Wilson ignored him and continued, "It promotes bonding between parent and child. It can—"

"Anna and I are bonded. See?" House pointed with his free hand to where Anna was happily sucking on his pinky finger. "She's chewing my knuckle off."

"It can help a newborn regulate her sleeping cycles." Wilson pointedly rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

House tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "I'm listening." Sleep deprivation did not look good on Wilson; he woke up whenever Anna did, despite the fact that House had taken over the nighttime feedings. And exhausted-Wilson was not a willing-to-have-sex-Wilson.

"I also thought—" Wilson huffed out an agitated breath, "—it would be easier for you to carry her."

House's face grew stony. "I'm fine. Your own mother commented about how well I carried her."

"Ah, but if you use this, you could carry Anna and your beer at the same time," Wilson pointed out.

House pulled his pinky out of Anna's mouth and stood up. He motioned Wilson over to the couch. "You should have mentioned that first." He lifted the sling from Wilson's shoulder and tossed it over his own. "C'mon, strap her in."

---

Tricksy Baby


"Wilson! Little help here!"

At House's bellow, Wilson headed quickly for Anna's room. When he reached the hallway he heard House's exasperated voice over a rather distinctive squirty noise.

"Oh, for the love of—Anna. WHY?"

Wilson rounded the corner to her room to see House standing as far from the changing table as he could while still keeping a hand on Anna, which—given his reach—was a considerable distance. Covering his T-shirt and running down the length of one leg was a remarkable amount of baby poo. Anna's arms and legs waved enthusiastically in the air, and she let out one last, little squirt.

"Are you about finished?" he asked her. "How can you have that much poo?" He apparently hadn't spotted Wilson yet. Anna snorfled in reply and continued her kicking. She loved being naked.

Wilson tried, but he couldn't help a snort of laughter escaping him.

House immediately glared at him. He waved his free hand to indicate the mess. "Look at this! You didn't warn me about projectile poo!" Since they had brought her home, House had found it easier to change her diaper and clothes while standing at the end of the table rather than along one side as one would traditionally do. Unfortunately, this also put him directly in the line of fire.

"Congratulations, you saved the carpet," Wilson replied as he went to gather supplies to clean up both Anna and House.

"This is my favorite shirt!"

"Relax," Wilson said. "I can get that out."

"Damn well better," House muttered and stepped back to the table. "She waited. She waited until I had the diaper off." He picked Anna up and held her airborne as Wilson wiped her off and put down a new changing pad. House put her down to finish the clean-up process and had just reached for a new diaper when a new, drippy sound filled the room.

Anna lay quietly, a contented look on her face as she soaked the new changing pad with a fountain of pee.

Wilson looked at House, House looked back at Wilson, consternation mirrored on their faces.

"You have got to be kidding me."

---

Bath Day


"Are you sure this is your daughter?" Wilson asked.

"What? Yes," House answered. "She's got my eyes."

"She must have her mother's temperament, then," Wilson said as he soaped up Anna's head. "She doesn't seem to mind this at all."

Anna looked up at both of them, her chubby cheeks giving her a hangdog expression.

House grumbled, "I'll have you know I'm very laid-back."

"House, you're fifty years old and you still complain about bath day."

"Well, yeah, when you require I have bath day every day." House adjusted his grip around Anna's slippery midsection, attempting to use his index fingers to support her head.

Wilson soaped Anna's shoulders and arms, moving around House's arms as best he could. "Watch her hands," he muttered at House. Anna immediately shoved one soapy fist into her mouth and made a sour face.

"House!"

"Maybe you should watch her hands," House growled. "I'm a little busy trying not to fall over or wrench her neck or bash her head against the side of the sink."

"Okay, sorry," Wilson huffed as he quickly scrubbed at Anna's lower half.

While Wilson reached for the diverter to rinse her off, Anna tossed her head sideways, surprising House, who yelped and tried to adjust his grip. His shoulder bumped Wilson, which ended up turning the diverter spray on both of them.

"Shit!" Wilson sputtered.

"Dammit!" House yelled.

Anna gurgled happily.

Wilson took a deep breath and turned the diverter to rinse Anna off.

"I don't get it," House muttered as he held Anna up for the rest of her rinsing. "We are doctors. We perform surgery on fetuses still in the womb. We intubate preemies in the NICU. We can administer infant CPR without batting an eye. So why is it so difficult for two of us to bathe this baby?"

Wilson wrapped Anna in a towel and took her from House. House straightened up from the sink, leaned on the counter, and shook out his left leg before grabbing for his cane.

Wilson cuddled the Anna-bundle in close to his chest. He stuck his nose just below Anna's ear and breathed in a long sniff. "Maybe it's different when it's your own," he mused at her.

House stepped in close behind Wilson and laid a kiss along the back of his neck. "That makes...absolutely no sense," he said.

---

...and the living's easy


Wilson awoke with a start. The clock read 3 AM, the baby monitor was off, House's side of the bed was empty. He fell back against the pillows with a sigh. He'd always before awakened whenever Anna fussed; he felt incredibly guilty that he hadn't this time.

House had been harping at Wilson to get more sleep, to let him take care of the early-morning wakings. Wilson rolled over and tried to follow House's advice, but after a few minutes he sighed again. He wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep without knowing that House and the baby were okay.

The sound of the piano met him as soon as he opened the bedroom door. As silently as he could, Wilson padded down the hall and peeked into the music room.

House was quietly playing, improvising a bluesy version of Brahms' Lullaby. Anna was in her sling, snuggled upright against his chest. Her plump little feet stuck out the bottom of the sling, her head just visible under House's chin. Her eyes were at half-mast; she was fast approaching sleep.

Lullaby segued into Summertime, and House started humming along.

A big, warm feeling rose in Wilson's chest, then he smiled and crept back down the hall. Everything he'd told his mother was true; he was deep-down-to-the-core-of-his-soul happy. He drifted to sleep on the rolling notes floating through the open bedroom door.




Note: The sling in question is the MayaWrap.