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He collapses on top of me, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. His cock is still inside me, softening slowly, and I can feel his cum leaking out of me.

“I’m betting I just knocked your gorgeous ass up again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. Happiness flows through me at the thought of having another child with him.

“We can hope,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him.

The dawn breaks with a shriek so high-pitched it could crack a wine glass at forty paces.

“Mommy! I up!”

This is how our typical day starts—with a full-throttle, toddler-powered missile launching herself at me. She’s two years old, already smarter than me, and currently wearing nothing but an inside-out Frozen pajama top, a single purple sock, and a diaper so full it’s slumped halfway to her knees. Her bunny dangles from one hand, ears gnawed down to uneven stubs.

“Uh,” I exhale, because words are hard at six-oh-three a.m., and Seth is dead to the world. He doesn’t even twitch when Molly lands square on his ribcage.

“Daddy!” Molly squeals, bouncing on his chest like a demented rodeo clown. “Wake up! It’s pancakes day!”

Seth groans and rolls over, dragging the kid with him in a single, practiced motion. She giggles, delighted, and immediately starts pulling his eyelids open with her tiny fingers.

I contemplate pretending to be asleep, but the moment I close my eyes, I hear the baby monitor crackle with a low, rhythmic snort that means Owen is seconds from reaching fever pitch. I sigh, throw my legs over the side of the bed, and stagger down the hall to his nursery, one hand on the wall for balance.

Owen greets me with a look of pure betrayal. How dare you let me cry for almost thirty seconds, you absolute monster. He’s got Seth’s eyes and my nose, and he’s only three months old but already looks like a chubby little tank. I scoop him up, bouncing him once before carrying him over to the changing table.

After changing his diaper, I bring Owen into the living room and park him in his swing before heading to make my first cup of coffee.

Meanwhile, Seth is in the kitchen, holding Molly upside-down by her ankles while she screeches with laughter. “What’s the password, small gremlin?” he rumbles, swinging her gently back and forth over the island.

Molly considers this. “Please, pancakes, Daddy, please-please-please!”

Seth rights her, sets her on the counter, and hands her a whisk. “Atta girl.” He kisses her forehead, which she returns by planting a sticky handprint on his jaw. He starts the pancake batter, cracking eggs with a single, one-handed flourish. It’s unfair how hot he is, even in stained sweatpants and a t-shirt that reads, YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO. YOU’RE NOT MY DAUGHTER.

While Seth heats up the griddle, Molly grabs her tablet and presses the screen a few times, bringing up her favorite cartoon. Then he helps her pour the batter into little dinosaur-shaped molds. What they end up making somewhat resembles a dinosaur if you squint your eyes really hard.

While they work in the kitchen, I head back to the living room with my coffee. I sit back on the sofa and feed Owen, letting the caffeine do its job. Once he’s finished, I burp him and walk into the kitchen to refill my coffee cup.

All is calm and quiet until Molly starts screaming “Gamma!” at the top of her lungs. Seth grabs the tablet off the counter, checks the screen, and frowns as he hits “accept.”

“Good morning, sweetpea!” My mother’s smiling face appears on the screen.

Molly climbs into Seth’s lap, clutching her bunny, and waves at the laptop screen. “Hi, Gamma! Hi, Gampa! I made a pancake dinosaur and he’s gonna eat the world!” She jams a syrup-soaked pancake chunk right up to the camera. “SEE?”

Dad lets out a real laugh, sharp and unfiltered. “Looks delicious, pumpkin. You did a wonderful job.”

I shoot a glance at Seth, who’s fighting a smile.

“We can’t wait to see you at the lake house next weekend,” Mom chimes in, which is her way of reminding me we promised to spend the whole weekend at their vacation place.

Things have changed so much in the last three years. At first, my parents were pissed when we did a quickie courthouse wedding instead of a big fancy thing. Then I got pregnant, and their attitudes started shifting.

The day Molly was born, I saw a whole new side of my parents. An actual human side. My mother cried, seriously cried, the first time she held Molly.

Now, things are a thousand times better with them. Don’t get me wrong—they’re still self-obsessed and impossible to take in large doses. But they’ve accepted my life choices.

Now that they’ve stopped trying to control me, they have the time and energy to torture my brother. My mother’s new pet project is finding my brother the perfect political wife. Poor Ben. I almost feel bad for him.

“Is Ben bringing his new girlfriend next weekend? I’m dying to meet her.” And watch my brother squirm for once.

“He is.” My mother practically vibrates with excitement. “I want everything to be perfect. Do you have time to go over the plans with me?” Leave it to my mother to plan a family vacation down to the nth degree.

“Sure,” I tell her, and watch as Seth cleans up Molly’s hands. While I get out my notebook to take notes, my husband settles Molly on the sofa with her favorite cartoon playing on the large screen television and places Owen in the swing so he can clean the kitchen.