Page 54 of Better Than Baby

Example: Caterpillars make cocoons and become butterflies.

Mia: What kind of butterflies? How many butterflies are in the universe? How many legs does a caterpillar have? Why are they fuzzy? Where do they live? Do they have brothers and sisters? Can I have a sister?

Not gonna lie, it could be exhausting, but we wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“I like Murph cooties,” Mia pronounced. “When will Papa be home? Are we going to hide and say ‘Surprise’?”

“We can if you want. We have twenty minutes to finish with the cupcakes and clean up. If you’re done decorating, you can fix the balloons.”

“Yes!” Mia hopped off the stool and raced to the living room, a flurry of mint-green tulle and pink ribbons.

“Hey, princess. Wash those hands first,” I reminded her.

Mia skipped back to the kitchen and moved the stepstool to the sink. I stood behind her to turn on the faucet and make sure she didn’t empty the soap dispenser and spray the countertops with water. I was all for teaching our kids to be more self-reliant within reason, but Aaron was going to be home soon, and I didn’t feel like mopping the floors.

As soon as her hands were dry, Mia was off in a flash, fussing with the dozen or so mylar balloons near the fireplace all in the shape of the number four.

“I’m done too.” Xander motioned for me to come close and whispered, “Can I do my sprinkles first? Mia makes a mess.”

“Go for it.”

I arranged Mia’s cupcakes on a plate and wiped down the island, chuckling at the little girl lining up the balloons as she explained to Murphy that she was going to be four soon too, and that everyone in our whole family would have a four in their years. Even Murphy.

Xander asked about the football games on later today as he finished his creations. He didn’t have the patience to watch a full game, but I suspected that he liked the rhythm of our new autumn weekend routine. A month ago, he’d started soccer. His team had practice once a week, and every Saturday morning he wore his uniform and kid cleats and ran around the field while parents screamed their lungs out whenever their prodigal athlete-in-training touched the ball.

Aaron claimed it was the best people-watching ever. “Who knew parents were this cutthroat? It’s like the preschool sport version ofDrag Race, minus the bling. These mamas have claws.”

Honestly, I didn’t pay attention to the other parents. I was too in awe of our son, who loved to run and seemingly never got tired. In that way, he was just like Aaron. As a toddler, Xander would slip his little feet into Aaron’s trainers and clomp from room to room. Aaron had thought it was hysterical, considering the many years he’d slipped into his mom’s closet to try on her high heels.

When Xander had first shown an interest in sports, Aaron had worried that he wouldn’t be able to connect with him, but kids have a way of making space for you, inviting you to meet them at a middle ground and share pieces of yourself. It had always been that way for us.

It was Aaron who’d sat on the floor with Xander, building block towers and telling stories of architects who designed bridges while I’d paced the floors with our teething daughter. It was Aaron who put aprons on the kids and let them stir cookie dough. It was Aaron who insisted on dance-offs, face-painting, and quiet coloring time.

As a result, Xander was equally happy baking with Aaron or throwing a Nerf football with me in the yard. And Mia loved dress-up parties with Papa as much as she loved looking for ladybugs with me at the park.

We had two incredible, beautiful children and damn, it had been a pretty cool journey so far.

I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. I’d known there’d be tough times and there had been. Xander had been prone to ear infections as a toddler, and Mia’d had a rough colicky phase. We’d spent many sleepless nights comforting crying babies. There’d been skinned knees, a bee sting, a scary tumble from the deck, and a few colds and stomach bugs. You know you’re a parent when potty training, wiping drippy noses, and constantly checking to be sure you knew where they were became second nature.

“I threw the ball from the barbecue to the trees and I think that’s as big as a football field. Is it, Daddy?” Xander scrunched his nose, his tongue tucked at the corner of his mouth.

“Daddy, look at the fours!” Mia called, pointing at each balloon like the Count’s assistant onSesame Street. “Four, four, four, four…”

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

Papa, Papa, Papa.

Nope, it never got old.

I gave Mia a thumbs-up and set my hand atop Xander’s thick head of blond hair. In case you’re curious, yes…he was told he looked a lot like me. I loved it. I followed my father’s example and never corrected anyone or explained that he was adopted. He was mine, he was Aaron’s, and genetics didn’t make this family.

Mia, on the other hand, looked just like Aaron. But she was a thousand percent mine too.

“We can throw the ball around as soon as Papa is home and?—”

“He’s here, he’s here! I heard his car!” Mia squealed. “Hide. Xander, hurry.”

Xander raced into the living room to hide under the coffee table with his sister, leaving me with a barking dog and an island full of partially decorated cupcakes. The telltale creaky hinge on the mudroom door announced Aaron’s arrival.