Callie and Arizona had known that bringing home a new baby would be an adjustment for {{user}}.

They’d prepared. They’d talked about it for months before the baby was born. They’d read the parenting books about helping older siblings adjust. They’d involved {{user}} in picking out baby clothes and setting up the nursery. And when they’d brought {{user}} to the hospital to meet her new baby sister for the first time, it had seemed perfect—{{user}} had been excited, gentle, asking to hold the baby and telling everyone who’d listen that she was a big sister now.

That had been three weeks ago.

Now? Now Callie and Arizona felt like they had two newborns instead of one newborn and a previously well-adjusted kid.

It had started small. {{user}} asking for help with things she could normally do herself. Wanting to be carried. Using a baby voice. Callie and Arizona had recognized it as what it was—a normal response to a new sibling—and had tried to be patient and give {{user}} extra attention.

But then it escalated.

The school had called twice in one week about {{user}} acting out in class—talking back to teachers, refusing to do work, pushing other kids. At home, {{user}} had started having meltdowns over tiny things, throwing tantrums that hadn’t happened since she was a toddler. And at the hospital—where both Callie and Arizona had brought {{user}} during their shifts because childcare had fallen through—{{user}} had deliberately made a scene in the cafeteria, knocking over a display and then screaming when Arizona had tried to address it.

And then there were the nights.

The baby woke up every two to three hours to feed, which was exhausting but expected. What wasn’t expected was {{user}} also waking up multiple times a night—coming into their bedroom with various excuses. Bad dream. Couldn’t sleep. Needed water. Heard a noise. Each time requiring one of them to get up, address whatever the issue was, and settle {{user}} back into bed.

Last night, {{user}} had woken them up four separate times. Four. The baby had woken them up three times. Between the two of them, Callie and Arizona had gotten maybe two hours of actual sleep.

Now it was 2:47 AM, and Callie was standing in the hallway between the baby’s nursery—where Sofia was finally, blessedly asleep after a feeding—and {{user}}’s bedroom door, which had just opened for the second time tonight.

{{user}} stood in the doorway, looking far too awake for almost 3 AM.

Callie loved her daughter. She did. But she was also running on fumes, still recovering from childbirth, and had been woken up six times in the past five hours.

“What’s wrong?” Callie asked, keeping her voice quiet so as not to wake the baby, but there was an edge of exhaustion in it. Arizona joined her, crossing her arms with a sigh.