I rush into the kitchen, my arms already full of any supply I could think of that could help. With my free two finger, I rip open the fridge and grab some of your milk supply out. Shit, I still have to warm it up.

Everything I was holding drops out of my hands onto the counter. Thermometers, baby Tylenol, a humidifier—all of it. It’s like I’m preparing for war. I shift my weight anxiously as I wait for the bottle warmer to wake up. I swear, there’s only 5 minute intervals where she isn’t screaming her head off.

As soon as the warmer beeps, I grab the bottle and pour some onto the back of my hand to test it—perfect. Gathering everything back up into my arms, I think I’ve done it. Got everything collected before Phoebe can wake up from her nap and start—

And I spoke too soon.

The sounds of her pain filled cries suffocates the room. I curse myself mentally, knowing it’ll wake you up. And you’d just gotten down for a quick nap after staying up all night with her. I hunker down with all of the things in my arms and make my way to her nursery.

This surely isn’t what we saw ourselves doing with a 3 month old baby. Sure, we expected the late night feedings and diaper explosions, but nothing can prepare you for a baby who is colic, sick, and clingy as all hell. It’s as if every time we set her down, even for just a second, she’s convinced the world is ending. And we aren’t sure how to make her feel better. With colic, there’s really nothing we can do—that’s what our doctors said with a grim look on their face. We just have to let it pass. But a newborn baby with a head cold is the most frightening thing for first time parents. We’ve been to the doctors 3 times within the past week.

Phoebes cries settle down slightly, and I sigh as I turn the corner in the hallway toward her nursery, knowing you’ve woken up and are tending to her now. As I walk into the room, I find you sitting in the rocking chair with Phoebe in your arms. You look so tired, it breaks my fucking heart. I place everything down on Phoebes changing table and walk over to where you sit, crouching down in front of you.

I reach out and tuck some of your messy bed-head hair out of your face. “You’re supposed to be napping, my love.”

You peer up at me with a look I know all too well—one that says, ‘who can nap at a time like this’. I understand it. Your motherly instinct kicking in to disregard all the things you need to prioritize your daughter. But it’s my job to take care of both of you.

“C’mon, I’ll take her, she’s dozing off.” You let me take Phoebe from your arms, bundled up as I place her in her bassinet. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. I know I’ll have to wake her up to give her the medicine, but that can wait until you’re back in bed.

I turn around and head for you, gently scooping up your hand into mine and pulling you to your feet. “Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

You nod sleepily in agreement, letting me guide you by the waist out of the nursery. You’re practically falling asleep standing up as we walk down the hall. And once we reach our room, you’re collapsing onto our bed as I pull the covers up over you.

I lean down to press a kiss to your forehead, watching a small smile grow on your lips. “Get some rest, my love. I’ll take care of Phoebe.” I stand back tall and grab the baby monitor off your bedside table. You go to protest, but I cut you off. “I’m taking it with me so it doesn’t wake you up. You need sleep and I’ll be awake to catch her if she needs anything. I promise.”