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“Human babies have milestones they’re expected to meet by certain ages. It’s a tool we use to determine if they’re developing correctly.”
“Oh. And is she developing correctly?” His concern is palpable, and he turns to look at me properly now. “Should we be concerned? Is she on track?”
“She’s ahead of the curve by human standards. That’s why I was wondering about wolf ones. I want to know if she’s… on track in your world, too.”
She’s rolling a lot earlier than expected. She giggles, coos, even sometimes babbles. Her eyes are always so alert when she’s awake, taking every single thing in. She’s only eight weeks old, but it’s as if she’s been here before. Clearly, the wolf side is having some impact on these skills. I’m just concerned about whether she’s on track.
He shrugs, no longer bothered now, and turns back to watch Phoebe. “We’d be able to tell if anything was wrong with her. We don’t need milestones to check that. She’s strong, healthy, and has a curious wolf. That’s all we care about.”
“So her speed at walking, crawling, talking, etcetera, doesn’t matter to wolves?” I ask with a tilt of my head. That seems weirdly inaccurate.
“Not really. I mean it’s exciting when it happens, but it’s not a matter of speed or proficiency. Pups do those things in their own time. It would be stupid to judge a regular wolf against an alpha. Or even a girl against a boy. You humans have such weird things.”
I frown but nod. I’ll ask his sister, Talia, about it later tonight. She’s got twin boys, surely, she’d know a little more about this than Ben will. My health visitor is human and is so lovely and kind, but she doesn’t know anything really about werewolves. I wonder if they have their own doctors and health visitors and a system to monitor their own babies.
“I can hear your brain ticking away,” Ben says. “What’s wrong?”
I ask him my questions, and predictably, he shrugs and has no response for me. His suggestion of asking his sister, though, is helpful, since that was my plan.
Iris and Talia are coming over this evening with their mates and kids, for them to all catch up. We’ve not seen the girls in a couple of weeks, and I’ve still not met Iris’s mates. I’m pretty nervous about it, since last time was so uncomfortable.
But as far as family relations go, I’d much rather this one than the one with the quadruplet’s parents. They’re back on Monday, and I’m very nervous about the confrontation and how that’s going to go down. I don’t think their mum is going to take it very kindly when we accuse her of murder, and honestly, I doubt her mates will, either.
If they’re anything like mine… well…
I shiver, looking over at Phoebe, seeing how peaceful and content she is. She’s never going to know the horrors, and the secrets, and the drama that has plagued her early days. I won’t allow it.
We’re going to win the stupid custody battle. The one that never should’ve even been allowed. I’ve got faith.
Good job lying to yourself, Maia.
“You okay?” Ben asks. He rolls onto his back, looking up at me with a concerned look. “Are you worried about these stone things?”
I grin and shake my head. “No.”
And it’s true. I’m not concerned about Phoebe’s development. She’s following her growth chart, she has plenty of milk, sleeps very well, and is, of course, hitting so many motor and physical milestones. She’s doing amazing. I do want to make sure that she’s developing correctly for a wolf, but not because I’m concerned she’s not.
I’ve never wanted to miss anything when it came to Phoebe, and whilst, so far, I’ve been present for the big things, I’m already missing out on a whole lot as a human parent of a supernatural baby.
I want to make sure nothing slips through the cracks. She’s beautiful and clever, and I would hate to fail her just because I don’t function like she does. She’s magnificent, and I could never live with myself if I was the reason she didn’t reach her full potential.
“I love you,” I say, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Ben’s lips.
Rather than replying, he pushes me off him and darts to a sitting position. I tumble, my head hitting the side of the drawers, and I groan as it properly connects.
He bursts into laughter, and I roll from my back onto my knees and sit up properly to look at what he’s found so funny. Phoebe’s rolled—a few times by the look of it—and is playing with my sock on the floor. There’s a huge grin on her face as she plays.
Ben finds it hilarious. So hilarious that he ignored my declaration of love, shoved me, caused me to bang my head very hard on the wooden drawers, and hasn’t even realised I’m hurt.
Typical.
“I tell you I love you, and you give me a headache,” I mutter, getting up from the ground. I can feel the lump already forming, but there’s no broken skin.
“It’ll heal.” So dismissive.
“In a few days,” I snarl at him as I go through to the bathroom to get some painkillers. I down them with some water from the tap and try to get a better look at my bump through the mirror. I’ve got far too much hair, and I sigh in resignation.
I go back through to the bedroom when Ben calls for me, and I can’t help but laugh at the forlorn look on his face. He’s holding Phoebe in his arms, and she’s practically glaring up at him. His bright hazel eyes are trained on me, his full rosy lips stuck out in a pout.
