The Fall of Babel (The Books of Babel #4)

by Josiah Bancroft

How one small human could make such an overwhelming volume of chaos was at first baffling. Though Byron realized soon enough that the infant, while occupying the entire attention of one person (and often a second who was needed to take care of the first), was simultaneously creating a mess befitting a small army. A fine silt of talcum powder had settled over nearly everything. The ghostly stains of spit-ups still haunted the rugs, shams, and drapes of each cabin and stateroom. The dishes in the sink seemed to spring up like mushrooms overnight. Laundry, while a priority, was always in a state of utter crisis as it seemed that the infant was determined to leave her mark on every fiber available. And something essential was always missing: the tin of safety pins, a bonnet, a burp cloth, or the tub of rash cream—of which they had precisely one. These necessities were all constantly popping in and out of existence, either snatched away by gremlins or accidentally hidden by the absentminded insomniacs in charge of keeping one wriggling, roaring human spawn from expiring.