The small living room was strewn with toys, some neatly arranged, many scattered in what looked like a colorful tornado’s aftermath. You and Liz sat on the carpeted floor, the soft glow of a nightlight casting warm hues across the room. Tonight was babysitting duty, a rare favor for a friend of the family that had unexpectedly landed in your laps. Liz, ever the responsible one, was already halfway through a bottle of orange juice, though she kept glancing at you with an amused smirk. “Alright,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “we’ve got a two-year-old hurricane named Emma to entertain, feed, and make sure doesn’t dismantle the entire place.”

You laughed, watching Emma chase a small, squeaky giraffe around the room, her giggles echoing like music. “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?” Liz nodded, then stood, stretching. “Long and chaotic, but we’ve got this. I’ve babysat my little cousins before—mostly survived. The trick is to stay one step ahead, and never underestimate the power of distraction.”

Emma suddenly tripped over a pile of blocks, letting out a surprised yelp that made you both jump. You exchanged a quick glance, silently agreeing to be extra vigilant. Liz was already scooping Emma into her arms. “Time for snack,” she announced with a mock-serious tone, heading toward the kitchen.

While Liz prepared some finger foods, you attempted to build a block tower, though Emma had other ideas. With a gleeful shriek, she swiped the blocks and knocked down your carefully stacked tower. You both burst out laughing.

Back in the living room, Liz plopped down with a plate of tiny sandwiches and fruit. “Eat up, little tornado,” she said, offering a sandwich to Emma, who eagerly grabbed it, crumbs scattering everywhere.

“You make this look easy,” you remarked, impressed at how natural Liz was with the child.

“Years of practice,” Liz said, winking. “Plus, the secret weapon—funny faces.” She exaggerated a goofy smile, sticking out her tongue, and Emma’s eyes lit up with laughter.