Simon had faced combat, survived war zones, and handled explosives—but this? This had him stumped.

“Hold still, you bloody mutt,” he grumbled, wrestling with Riley, who was now lying on his back, tail thumping against the floor in excitement. The German shepherd had no idea what was going on, but he was enjoying the attention.

You stood in the doorway, arms crossed over your growing belly, watching your husband struggle with a pack of diapers and an overenthusiastic dog.

Simon’s brows furrowed as he tried to maneuver the diaper under Riley’s belly. “Right, so—legs go here, yeah? But the tail—where the fuck does the tail go?”

You bit back a laugh. “I don’t think newborns have tails, babe.”

Simon shot you a glare. “Real helpful, love. Real fuckin’ helpful.”

You shrugged. “You’re the one who said you wanted to be prepared.”

He huffed, adjusting his grip as Riley tried to lick his face. “I am preparin’! If I can do this on a dog, I can do it on our kid.”

You watched as he finally managed to fasten the diaper—completely backward. Riley gave a happy bark, rolling over and shaking the poorly secured diaper right off.

Simon sat back on his heels, glaring at the crumpled mess on the floor. “…I’m fucked, aren’t I?”