Walsh Family Universe V2

Chapter 17
Practice

Claire came over on a Thursday afternoon, looking tired and uncomfortable in stretchy maternity pants and an oversized sweater. Five months pregnant now, showing prominently.

"God, I'm exhausted," she announced, sinking onto the couch with a groan. "My back is killing me, my feet are swollen, and I swear this baby is using my bladder as a trampoline."

Shannon emerged from the kitchen with tea. "I remember that feeling. It gets worse before it gets better, I'm afraid."

"Wonderful. Something to look forward to." Claire accepted the tea gratefully. "Marcus keeps saying I'm glowing. I told him I'm not glowing, I'm sweating because I'm carrying an extra twenty pounds and my internal temperature is through the roof."

Ash sat at his table near the window, coloring. Trying to ignore them. Trying to disappear into the mindless task of staying between the lines.

"How's the nursery coming?" Shannon asked.

"Good. We got the crib assembled. Still need to paint, but we have time." Claire sipped her tea. "I'm trying not to think too hard about the fact that in four months I'm going to be responsible for keeping a tiny human alive."

"You'll be fine. You're a nurse. You know what you're doing."

"Knowing medical procedures and actually parenting are completely different things." Claire shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. "I've been reading all these books about infant care and I just keep thinking, what if I'm terrible at it?"

"You won't be terrible." Shannon glanced at Ash, then back to Claire. "You've got good instincts. And you can always practice."

Claire followed her mother's gaze. "Practice?"

"Well, you're going to need to change a lot of diapers. Get comfortable with the basics of care." Shannon's voice was casual, but Ash's hands stilled on his crayon. "Noam needs a change soon. You could do it, if you want. Get some hands-on experience."

No.

Absolutely not.

"Oh, I don't know..." Claire said, but there was interest in her voice. "Would that be weird?"

"Not at all. It's good practice. Baby care is baby care." Shannon stood. "Come on, I'll show you. Noam, sweetie, time for a diaper change."

Ash's heart was pounding. "No."

"Honey, you need a change. You've been wet for a while."

He had been. He'd barely noticed anymore—the constant dampness was becoming background noise. But that didn't mean he wanted Claire, his older sister, changing him.

"I'll wait for you to do it."

"Claire needs to practice. This is a perfect opportunity." Shannon approached his table. "Come on, up we go."

"Mom, no. Please."

Shannon's expression shifted slightly—that look that meant she wasn't negotiating. "Noam. We're not arguing about this. Come here."

Ash stood on shaking legs. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to hide, to refuse.

But Shannon's hand was already on his shoulder, guiding him toward the stairs. Claire followed, looking uncertain but curious.

They went to the nursery. Shannon lifted Ash onto the changing table and secured the safety strap across his middle. He stared at the ceiling, face burning.

"Okay, so you'll want to have everything ready before you start," Shannon explained, pulling supplies from the caddy. "Wipes, clean diaper, cream if needed. Never leave them unattended on the changing table, not even for a second."

"Right, makes sense." Claire moved closer, watching.

"Let's get these overalls off first..." Shannon unsnapped the legs of his outfit, worked the overalls down and off. Ash lay there in just his t-shirt and diaper, exposed and humiliated.

"Now, you unfasten the diaper tabs—see, like this. Pull the front down." Shannon demonstrated, revealing Ash's wet diaper and his anatomy underneath.

His new anatomy. Male anatomy that he'd barely had time to process, that felt foreign and violating despite being technically what he'd always wanted.

Claire leaned in, professional nurse interest warring with obvious discomfort at the situation. "Okay, so you just—"

"Wipe front to back, even with boys—well, you wipe thoroughly, let's say. Make sure everything's clean." Shannon demonstrated with the wipes. Ash closed his eyes, trying to dissociate. "Then you apply cream if there's any redness, but he's been pretty good about that lately."

"This is so weird," Claire muttered.

"It's just baby care," Shannon said firmly. "Your turn. I'll get a clean diaper ready, you finish the wiping."

"Mom—" Ash started.

"Shh, baby. Claire needs to practice."

Claire took the wipes, her hands gentle but clinical. Nurse hands. She'd probably done this for actual infants in the hospital. But this wasn't an infant. This was her brother.

Ash's jaw clenched. His hands gripped the edges of the changing table.

And then something occurred to him.

He had one weapon they couldn't take away. One thing he could control.

His bladder had no control. That was true. But the timing—that he might manage. Just once.

Claire was focused on the wiping, thorough and methodical. Shannon was positioning the clean diaper.

Ash relaxed the muscles he'd been clenching. Let go.

The stream of pee shot straight up, catching Claire directly across the chest and face.

She shrieked, stumbling backward. "Oh my God! Oh my—"

Shannon grabbed more wipes, trying to contain the situation, but Ash kept going. Couldn't have stopped even if he'd wanted to now that he'd started.

The relief was physical. But the satisfaction was psychological.

He'd done something to them. Something they couldn't immediately punish. Something that was technically his body's fault.

Claire was dripping, her expression shocked and disgusted. "Jesus Christ!"

"Language," Shannon said automatically, covering Ash quickly with a wipe. "It's okay, it happens. That's why you keep them covered during changes."

"You could have warned me!"

"I thought you knew—you're a nurse."

"I work in adult cardiology, Mom, not pediatrics!" Claire wiped her face with her hands, looking like she might cry or throw up or both. "God, it's in my hair!"

Shannon was already fastening a clean diaper on Ash, working quickly. "Go shower. Use the guest bathroom. I'll get you some clean clothes."

Claire left, still dripping, making distressed noises.

Shannon finished dressing Ash in silence. Snapped his overalls back up. Released the safety strap.

Then she looked at him.

Really looked at him.

"Did you do that on purpose?"

Ash met her eyes. Said nothing.

"Noam. I asked you a question."

His heart was pounding, but he felt oddly calm. Satisfied, even. "Yes."

Shannon's jaw tightened. "Why?"

"Because I didn't want her changing me. Because she was using me for practice like I'm a doll. Because she's my sister, not my mother."

"She's trying to learn baby care before her own child is born. You were actively trying to humiliate her."

"She was humiliating me."

"She was changing your diaper. Which you need. Which someone has to do." Shannon's voice was controlled but Ash could hear the anger underneath. "You do not deliberately hurt people because you're upset."

"Why not? You hurt me. Dad hurt me. The judge hurt me. Why can't I hurt back?"

The words hung in the air between them.

Shannon's expression shifted—pain flickering across her features before the firm parental mask returned. "Corner. Now."

"No."

"Noam Francis Walsh, you get to that corner right now or we're going to have a much longer conversation about your behavior."

Ash slid off the changing table. His legs felt weak but he walked to the corner of the nursery, faced the wall.

Stood there while Shannon checked on Claire. He could hear them talking in the hallway—Claire upset, Shannon apologizing, the shower starting.

Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty.

Finally Shannon returned. "Come here."

Ash turned. Shannon was sitting in the rocking chair, the one she used for bedtime stories and comfort. But she didn't look comforting now.

"What you did was spiteful and mean," she said quietly. "I understand you're angry. I understand you hate your situation. But you do not take that out on your family members who are trying to be involved in your life."

"She wasn't trying to be involved in my life. She was practicing for her real baby."

"She was trying to learn and help and spend time with you."

"She was using me."

Shannon sighed. "Come here."

Ash didn't move.

"That wasn't a request."

He walked forward slowly. Shannon guided him to stand in front of her.

"You're getting twelve spanks," she said. "Six for deliberately peeing on Claire, six for the disrespect and arguing."

"She deserved it."

"That's another six. Eighteen total now."

Ash's stomach dropped. "That's not fair—"

"Do you want to keep going? Because we can make it twenty-four."

He shut his mouth.

Shannon positioned him across her lap. "You need to learn that actions have consequences. That you can't lash out at people just because you're unhappy."

The spanks came harder than usual—Shannon was genuinely angry. Ash tried to stay quiet but by the tenth he was gasping. By the fifteenth, crying.

"Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen."

Shannon helped him up, but didn't immediately offer a hug. "Go apologize to Claire."

"No."

"Noam—"

"I'm not apologizing. I'm not sorry."

Shannon's expression was somewhere between exhausted and furious. "Then you're going to spend the rest of the afternoon in your crib. No toys. No books. Just quiet time to think about your choices."

She carried him to the crib despite his squirming protests, laid him down, pulled up the rail. "When you're ready to apologize, you can come out. Until then, you stay here."

The door closed most of the way. Ash heard voices downstairs—Shannon probably giving Claire clean clothes, making more apologies.

Ash lay in the crib, his bottom stinging, his face wet with tears.

But underneath the pain and humiliation, there was something else.

Satisfaction.

He'd done something. Had exerted control, even if it was petty and gross. Had made Claire uncomfortable for once, instead of being the uncomfortable one.

Had used his new body—the body they'd forced on him—to strike back in the only way available.

It was childish. Literally. The kind of thing a toddler might do.

But he wasn't actually a toddler. And they couldn't make him act grateful for being used as practice.

He heard Claire leave eventually, her goodbyes to Shannon tense. Heard his mother moving around downstairs, probably cleaning up, preparing dinner.

The door to the nursery opened. Shannon came in, her expression tired.

"Are you ready to apologize?"

"No."

"Then you stay there."

She left again.

Dinner time came. Shannon brought him a bowl of cut-up food and a sippy cup. Set them in the crib with him. "You can eat in here since you're not ready to join the family yet."

Ash ate mechanically. The food tasted like nothing.

Patrick came home. Ash heard Shannon explaining the situation in low tones. Heard his father's heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Patrick appeared in the doorway. "Your mother tells me you deliberately peed on your sister and refuse to apologize."

"Yeah."

"That's incredibly disrespectful behavior."

"She was using me for practice."

"She was trying to learn baby care and you turned it into a weapon." Patrick crossed his arms. "You're going to apologize."

"No."

"This is not negotiable."

"Then I guess I'm staying in the crib."

Patrick and Shannon exchanged looks. Some silent parental communication passed between them.

"Fine," Patrick said. "You stay in the crib. No books, no toys, no interaction except for diaper changes and meals. If you want to be treated like you're in timeout, we can do that."

He left. The door closed.

Darkness fell. Shannon came in to change his diaper—he was soaked again, had barely noticed—then put him in pajamas. Still didn't take him out of the crib.

"Whenever you're ready to apologize, we can move forward," she said quietly. "But not before."

She left. The house settled into nighttime quiet.

Ash lay in the dark, staring at the shadowy outline of the mobile above him.

He should apologize. Should take the easy out. Say sorry and be done with it.

But he wasn't sorry.

Claire had treated him like a practice doll. Had discussed him clinically, touched him like he was a task to complete, learned baby care on his body like he wasn't a person.

And he'd fought back the only way he could.

Was it petty? Yes.

Was it gross? Absolutely.

Was it childish? Obviously.

But it was his choice. His action. His tiny rebellion in a life that offered no other options.

Tomorrow he'd probably apologize. Would give in because the alternative was worse. Because being isolated in the crib indefinitely wasn't sustainable.

But tonight, lying in the dark with his bottom still stinging and his dignity in tatters, Ash held onto that small satisfaction.

He'd done something.

It didn't change anything. Didn't fix anything. Didn't make his situation better.

But for one brief moment, he'd had power.

And they couldn't take that away from him.

Even if they punished him for it.

Even if he eventually apologized.

He'd know.

"My name is Ash," he whispered to the darkness. "I'm twenty-four years old. And I pissed on my sister because she fucking deserved it."

The mantra felt different tonight.

Less desperate.

More defiant.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, a small, bitter smile on his face.

Five thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine days to go.

But today—today he'd won something.

However small.

However petty.

It was his.