It was supposed to be a quiet morning.
I was sipping my coffee in the kitchen, enjoying the rare moment of peace. Noah was in the living room, playing with Emily. The sun was shining through the windows, and for once, it felt like we might actually get through the day without something ridiculous happening.
Then the crying started.
"Rachel, Emily’s crying again!" Noah’s voice echoed from the living room.
I sighed and set down my coffee. “I can hear her.”
He ran into the kitchen, looking a little flustered. “She won’t stop crying. I think she’s hungry.”
I nodded. “Okay, I’ll get the bottle ready.”
Noah was standing there, looking helpless. “Uh, do we have any clean bottles?”
I blinked, then looked around the kitchen. “I think so. Just check the drying rack.”
He hurried over to the drying rack, but then he froze, staring at it. “Why are there so many baby spoons on this thing?”
I stifled a laugh. “Don’t ask. Emily’s been experimenting with them.”
Noah just groaned. "I think she's trying to collect them. They’re all over the place, in every possible drawer."
"Maybe she’s trying to build a spoon army," I teased.
"At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised," Noah muttered, shaking his head. "Anyway, I’m sure the bottle’s fine. Just... let’s get it done before she’s really mad."
I grabbed the bottle, filled it, and handed it to Noah. “Here, you deal with this one.”
Noah looked at the bottle and then back at me. "Do you remember how we got here? I swear, we just blinked and now we’re juggling everything. First it was diaper duty, then baby food, and now we’re on to bottles."
I grinned. "It’s all part of the adventure."
We both turned to the living room, where Emily’s cries had turned into loud wails. Noah, now holding the bottle with the most serious face ever, approached her like it was some sort of mission.
“No more crying, okay?” he said, his voice as soft as he could make it. He gently rocked her in his arms.
Emily stared at him for a few seconds, then—just as Noah thought he had a moment of peace—she smacked the bottle out of his hand.
The bottle flew across the room, landing with a soft thud. Emily grinned. It was a mischievous grin, the kind that only babies seem to master at this age.
I burst into laughter. “Well, that’s a new one.”
Noah stared at the bottle for a moment, his jaw hanging. "Did she just—did she really just do that?"
“She definitely did.” I chuckled.
Noah sighed. “Alright, Emily. You wanna play games? Fine. I’ll go get the backup bottle.” He walked to the kitchen, defeated but still holding onto his sense of humor.
I followed him in, trying to get another moment of peace. But of course, it didn’t last long.
I had just poured myself another cup of coffee when I heard a loud thump. Emily was crawling toward the living room with a spoon in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. In her tiny little hands, they looked like weapons of mass destruction.
Noah turned to see what had happened. “Is she trying to fight someone? Because I think she’s winning.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no. I’m pretty sure we’re the ones getting beaten by a baby armed with utensils.”
He nodded grimly. “I think we’re in trouble.”
As if on cue, Emily reached up and grabbed a nearby stack of napkins, scattering them everywhere. She looked proud of herself, like she had just completed the biggest mission of her tiny life.
“Great,” Noah said, looking at the mess. “Now we have napkins all over the place. What next?”
“Don’t jinx it,” I said, grinning. “We’ll be fine. Just, uh, pick up the napkins while I grab her food.”
“No, wait! I’ve got a better idea.” He crouched down and started singing an off-key version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."
I watched in disbelief as Emily froze, her eyes widening. Slowly, she crawled toward him, her tiny hands waving in time with his terrible singing.
“Why is she so fascinated with your voice?” I asked, laughing.
Noah gave me a sheepish grin. “It’s the power of Dad's magic touch.”
By the time Emily finished her food, it was already lunchtime. I looked around the living room, and for the first time all day, I felt like we’d finally caught a break.
Noah plopped down next to me on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. “Is it just me, or do we need a vacation from our vacation?”
I laughed. “I don’t know, Noah. I think we need a vacation from this morning.”
“Same.” He glanced at Emily, who was now peacefully napping in her playpen. “She’s too cute to stay mad at, though.”
I nodded. “She’s a little troublemaker, but she’s our troublemaker.”
And just like that, despite the chaos and mess, Noah and I sat back, knowing that this was exactly what we had signed up for. Parenthood was full of moments like this—ridiculous, exhausting, and completely worth it.
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