JAY JAY POV
The room was deathly quiet. I lunged for the crib, my hands shaking as I looked over the railing, expecting to see him sleeping—but the mattress was empty. The little blue blanket was bunched up in the corner, and his favorite plush elephant was lying face-down, but our son was gone.
"He's not here! Keifer, he's not in the crib!" I shrieked, spinning around, my breath coming in shallow gasps. "The windows are locked, the door was shut—how is he not here?!"
Keifer immediately went into "protection mode," his body tensed as he checked behind the armchair and under the changing table. "Stay calm, Jay. He couldn't have gone far, he's only crawling."
Then, we heard it again. A soft giggle followed by the sound of something scratching against wood. It wasn't coming from the crib. It was coming from the floor, near the heavy oak wardrobe in the corner of the room.
We both looked down. The bottom drawer of the wardrobe—the one where we kept his extra blankets—was pulled open about six inches.
A tiny, chubby hand reached out from the darkness of the drawer, waving a pair of Keifer's socks.
"Gah!" a small, happy voice chirped from inside the furniture.
Keifer let out a breath so loud it sounded like a whistle, his shoulders dropping in sheer relief. He dropped to his knees and pulled the drawer open the rest of the way.
There was Kevin, sitting amidst a pile of fleece blankets, looking up at us with those bright hazel eyes, looking incredibly proud of himself. He had somehow managed to climb out of his crib—which shouldn't have been possible—and crawled into the drawer for a game of hide-and-seek.
"You little heart-breaker," Keifer groaned, putting his head in his hands for a second before reaching in to scoop Kevin out. "You almost gave your mother a heart attack."
I sank to the floor, my legs feeling like jelly. "How did he get out, Keifer? He's only eight months old!"
Keifer looked at the crib, then back at our son, who was now happily chewing on the sock. "I think the 'Little Boss' just got his first promotion," he breathed, still trying to get his heart rate under control. "He's officially a climber."
But Kevin wasn't done showing off. He let out a determined little grunt and used Keifer's knee as a brace to pull himself upward.
"Wait, look," I whispered, clutching Keifer's arm as we both watched in stunned silence.
Kevin didn't just stand there wobbling. With a look of pure focus in his hazel eyes, he let go of Keifer's pants. He took one shaky, uncertain step forward, then another, balancing with his arms out wide like a tiny tightrope walker. He let out a triumphant "Dada!" and started to walk right out of the nursery door and into the hallway.
"He's walking!" I shrieked, the fear from moments ago instantly replaced by a surge of overwhelming pride. "Keifer, he's walking!"
Keifer was speechless. He moved on his hands and knees, following behind Kevin at a safe distance like a giant protective shadow. "He skipped the cruising phase! He just... he just stood up and went for it!"
Kevin marched—or rather, stumbled-marched—down the hallway, his diaper crinkling with every step. He was heading straight for the living room, giggling at his own newfound power. Every few steps he would wobble dangerously, and Keifer's hands would fly out, ready to catch him, but Kevin would find his balance at the last second and keep going.
"He's heading for your office," I laughed, wiping tears of joy from my face as I followed them.
"Of course he is," Keifer said, his voice thick with pride. "He probably heard the market was closing and wanted to check the stocks. Look at him go, Jay Jay!"
Kevin finally reached the rug in the living room and, after ten full steps, he decided his mission was complete. He plopped down on his bottom and looked back at us, clapping his chubby hands together.
Keifer lunged forward, picking him up and tossing him gently into the air. "Eight months old and you're already walking? You really are a Watson. You don't wait for anyone, do you, bud?"
"So much for the 'quiet afternoon,'" I said, leaning against the doorframe as I watched my two favorite men. "The climbing and the walking? Keifer, we are in so much trouble."
"We're going to need more baby gates," Keifer agreed, though he was smiling so wide his face probably ached. "And maybe a GPS tracker. But man... look at those legs. He's going to be faster than both of us by next week."
+++++++++++1 WEEK LATER++++++++++++++++
JAY JAY POV
I should have listened to Keifer. He warned me that we were in trouble, but I didn't realize "trouble" would mean losing every ounce of peace in this house.
A week later, and it's official: Kevin isn't just a walker; he's an escape artist.
It was 2:00 AM, and the house was deathly silent—or so I thought. I was curled up against Keifer's chest, finally drifting into a deep sleep, when a muffled clatter echoed from downstairs. It sounded like a plastic bowl hitting the hardwood.
Keifer bolted upright, his CEO "alert" mode hitting 100% instantly. "Did you hear that?"
"The monitor is quiet," I whispered, rubbing my eyes and glancing at the screen. The crib was empty. My heart sank. "Oh no. Not again."
We threw on our robes and practically sprinted to the kitchen. We rounded the corner and Keifer flipped the light switch. There, sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by a pile of Tupperware he had successfully liberated from a low cabinet, was Kevin.
He didn't look tired at all. His hazel eyes were bright and wide, and he was holding a plastic lid like a trophy. When he saw us, he didn't cry or look guilty—he just gave us a huge, gummy grin and let out a sharp, "Dada!"
"Kevin Watson, how did you even get past the gate?" I groaned, rubbing my temples. I looked over and saw that he had somehow shoved a sturdy picture book into the gap of the gate to create a makeshift step-stool.
Keifer leaned against the kitchen island, half-exasperated and half-impressed. "He's terraforming the environment to suit his needs, Jay. He used a board book as a mechanical advantage."
"He's eight months old, Keifer! He should be sleeping, not reorganizing the pantry," I said, leaning down to scoop up Kevin. He smelled like mischief and baby shampoo.
Keifer walked over and ruffled Kevin's hair, taking the plastic lid away from him. "I'll go check the nursery gate again. We might need to upgrade to the extra-tall industrial version."
"Or a vault door," I muttered as Kevin rested his head on my shoulder, finally starting to look a little sleepy now that his mission was accomplished.
"Well," Keifer whispered, wrapping an arm around my waist as we walked back toward the stairs. "Look on the bright side. At least he didn't find the snacks. If he figures out where the cookies are, we're really finished."
Just as we reached the top of the stairs, Kevin let out a soft, sleepy "Mama," and squeezed my neck. My heart melted, and all the frustration about the 2:00 AM kitchen raid vanished.
"He's lucky he's cute," I whispered.
"He knows it, too," Keifer replied, kissing the back of Kevin's head. "That's his most dangerous weapon."
After the kitchen incident, there was no way I was putting him back in that nursery tonight. My heart couldn't take another midnight scavenger hunt.
I gently laid Kevin down right in the center of our massive king-sized bed. He looked so tiny and innocent, sprawled out in his footie pajamas with his arms thrown over his head, a stark contrast to the little rebel who had just been raiding the Tupperware cabinet.
"I am not taking any more chances," I whispered to Keifer as I pulled the duvet up to Kevin's chest. "He stays right here. Between us. Where I can feel him if he even thinks about moving a muscle."
Keifer climbed in on the other side, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at our son. The lamplight caught the tired but soft expression on his face. "The family bed, huh? I guess the CEO of Watson Enterprises just got evicted from his prime real estate."
"You're lucky I'm letting you stay on the edge," I teased, sliding in and facing them both.
Keifer reached over Kevin, his large hand resting protectively on the mattress just above the baby's head, his fingers grazing mine. "He's fast, Jay. I saw the way he looked at the stairs. He wasn't just exploring; he was scouting."
"Don't say that," I groaned, closing my eyes. "He's eight months old, not a Navy SEAL."
"In this family? There's a thin line," Keifer chuckled softly. He leaned over Kevin—who let out a little sleep-sigh—and kissed my forehead. "Go to sleep, Jay Jay. I've got the night watch. If he tries to tunnel through the pillows, I'll intercept."
I reached out and hooked my pinky with Keifer's, the warmth of Kevin between us making the bed feel like the safest place in the world. For the first time in a week, I actually felt like I could relax.
"Mama..." Kevin mumbled in his sleep, his little hand flopping over to rest on my arm.
"See?" I whispered, looking at Keifer. "He knows exactly where he belongs."
"Yeah," Keifer murmured, his eyes fixed on me with that intense, steady gaze. "And so do I."
As I finally drifted off, I felt Keifer's hand move to hold mine firmly over our sleeping son. The house was quiet, the gates were checked, and for tonight at least, the Little Boss was exactly where we could keep an eye on him.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++