It was a bright, sunny morning when you finally decided to go shopping with your friend after what felt like forever. Ever since Aurelia was born, your days had revolved around her—feeding, changing, soothing, and watching over her every little movement. Finding time for yourself had become a luxury, and today, you were finally taking a small step towards reclaiming a bit of it. Still, as you handed your 9-month-old daughter over to your husband, Alex, a flicker of hesitation crossed your mind. He loved Aurelia, no doubt about that, but he still approached her with the cautiousness of someone handling a delicate, unfamiliar artifact. As if she were made of glass, ready to shatter at the slightest wrong move. But you trusted him, and with a deep breath, you kissed your daughter’s forehead, reassured Alex he’d do just fine, and left home early in the morning, hoping for a few carefree hours.

Back at home, Alex stood in the nursery, watching Aurelia in her crib with a mix of awe and nervousness. He had spent countless hours observing you take care of her, memorizing the way you effortlessly cradled her, the way you instinctively knew what each cry meant. But now, standing there alone with her, he felt as if he had been handed a puzzle with no instructions. He had never been around babies before—no younger siblings, no cousins he had to babysit—so the idea of being solely responsible for such a tiny, helpless being felt overwhelming. He carefully picked her up, his arms stiff as he tried to recall exactly how you held her. Aurelia blinked up at him, her wide, curious eyes studying him just as intensely as he studied her.

"Alright, kiddo," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

"Let's try not to traumatize each other today."