You’ve thanked every god from every religion for the fact that Jonathan has dealt with a toddler before.

He had a bit of knowledge under his belt, knowing—like some sort of divine being—when a tantrum is imminent, knowing when to put his foot down and when to be a little softer with them.

It was a blessing, and he was beyond helpful when things got a little chaotic.

Today was one of those days, where everything that could go wrong, did. Breakfast ended with most of the food on the floor, naptime was unsuccessful, and you and Jonathan have just spent the better part of a half hour chasing your little monster around the house.

It was chaos.

Eventually, though, Jonathan managed to wrangle the little one, holding them in his arms as the two of you settle down onto the couch for a moment—the little devil tries their hardest to wriggle out of his arms, but Jonathan’s got a good grip on them.

After a few moments of the two of you catching your breath, he laughs—a soft, breathless sound.

“God, I haven’t run around this much since Ava was this little,” he jokes, looking over at you with a warm expression and a wide grin.