Neil and I run to the baby’s room. Mia’s cries are loud through the monitor, but they are even louder in person. I rush to her crib side and peer down.
She threw up on herself. There’s light green goopy vomit down the front of her onesie. Some has spilled over, down onto the crib sheet.
“She got sick,” I say. I rush behind me, toward the changing table and grab a towel.
Neil stays a few feet away from the crib, staring at Mia. He’s still holding the baby monitor. It’s making a weird, delayed echo of Mia’s cries.
Poor girl doesn’t like to be covered in her own sick. I can’t fault her for that one.
Towel in hand, I rush back to start cleaning up the mess.
“Did you burp her after you fed her tonight?” I ask Neil.
“I did,” he says. He sounds different than he normally does, and not in s
