The morning started slowly.

The soft baby grunts in the small cradle woke you both up, pulling you out of the clutches of a long-awaited sleep. You were tired, as were the vast majority of parents of newborns. Your little girl often woke up at night, hungry and in need of a diaper change, so you and John took turns at such moments. He managed to do it practically with his eyes closed. The rank of Captain was well deserved, since he could master such a skill so quickly.

You were sitting in the feeding chair, yawning while nursing the baby. The room seemed huge, so sparsely furnished. You've already imagined how in the future there will be a bigger bed, a closet with more shelves, a desk, maybe even a big dollhouse. You were sure John would build one with his own hands. He would do anything for his daughter.

"That's it." You muttered when the girl was full.

You calmly wiped her mouth with a small towel with her name embroidered in the corner, and then lifted her up so that she could burp. Small patting movements on the back and bent knees, just as the doctor said. Then the baby yawned contentedly and began to close her eyes. That's when you heard the kettle boil.

John poured you both tea in two mugs and, still slightly sleepy, and in sweatpants and a tank top, went to the nursery to bring you tea. It was then, on his way into the room, that he felt an unpleasant sensation in his nose and, wrinkling it up, sneezed loudly, almost spilling anything from the mugs.

You shuddered yourself, knowing the force with which your husband sneezes. But the baby in your hand, hearing this for the first time, immediately opened her eyes, and then curled her mouth. And she started crying. Her face turned red, and she began to whimper, startled by the loud sound.

"Oh, honey, honey, shh..." You immediately pulled her against your chest and began to calm her down.

John stood in the aisle and looked so guilty, as if he was ready to put himself on a time out.