You waddle out of the hospital doors in oversized slippers and a loose hoodie, still sore, still tired — but glowing in that "I-just-birthed-a-human" way.

He’s standing there in front of the car, holding the baby carrier like it’s made of diamonds, frowning at the buckles.

“Babe,” you call. “You good?”

“I think this seat’s judging me,” he mutters, then looks at you and softens instantly. “You okay? Want me to carry you too?”

You raise a brow. “Please. One of us is leaking from three places, and it’s not you.”

He grins, walks over, and kisses your forehead gently. “Still the hottest mom in the parking lot.”

Then, a tiny sneeze comes from the carrier. He jumps.

“She sneezed! Is that normal? Should I call someone?” You just laugh, resting your head on his arm. “It’s okay, Daddy. You’re doing great.”

He kisses you again, then opens the car door. “Okay, time to go home. Seat belts on. Baby burrito secured. Hot mom loaded.”

You snort. “You just called me cargo.”

“I called you precious cargo,” he says, winking.

And just like that, chaos begins—with love.

Welcome to parenthood.