“Your turn,” Poppy mumbles, face buried in her pillow.
“How’s it my turn? I did three AM.” I’m already sitting up, rubbing my eyes.
“Exactly. I do mornings after you do nights.” She doesn’t even open her eyes.
“That’s not the system.” But I’m already swinging my legs out of bed.
“It’s exactly the system.” She pulls the blanket over her head.
“Since when?” I’m standing now, looking for my sweatpants.
“Since I’m tired and you’re whipped.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
Can’t argue with that logic. I crack a smile despite the hour.
I find Emma standing in her crib, goat in one hand, my reading glasses in the other. Her hair sticks up in a dozen wild directions, eyes bright as if she’s already plotted half the day.
“Where did you—never mind.” I lift her out, feeling her solid weight in my arms. “Morning, criminal.”
“Hi, Dada!” Like the sun coming out. Every damn time.
“Hungry?” I carry her toward the kitchen.
“Uh-huh.” She’s already bouncing in my arms.
“What do we want? Pancakes? Eggs? The souls of our enemies?” I’m heading down the hall now.
She giggles, delighted by the routine. “‘Nanas!”
“Bananas it is. But first, diaper.” I set her on the changing table.
“No.” Immediate. Decisive.
“Yes.” I reach for a fresh diaper.
“No no no.” She’s already wiggling away.
“Emma Jane—” I use my warning voice.
She takes off running—in a diaper that definitely needs changing. Clutching my glasses and cackling like a tiny villain. Her feet slap the hardwood, goat bouncing at her side, my heart already bursting at the seams.
This is my life now—chasing a half-naked toddler who’s apparently part track star, part goat, all Poppy.
I catch her by the kitchen. She shrieks with laughter as I swing her up.
“Gotcha.” I’m breathless, which is embarrassing.
“Again!” She’s beaming, hair even wilder now.
“After diaper.” I hold her at arm’s length, assessing the damage.
Her nose wrinkles in that way that’s pure Poppy. “No diaper!”
“Yes diaper.” I give her my best lawyer glare, which only makes her smirk wider.
“Negotiate!” She announces it proudly, like she’s discovered fire.
I stop, blink. “What?”
