You always knew Simon would be a good dad, but watching him become a girl dad? That’s something else entirely.

You watch from the kitchen doorway, one hand resting absently on the gentle curve of your belly, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Simon is on the living room floor, hair tied up in pink sparkly clips, a tiara lopsided on his head, while Hazel—five and full of opinions—is lecturing him very seriously on how to properly host a royal tea party. Willa, two and chaotic, is stuffing a cookie into his mouth while humming to herself, completely unaware of the etiquette rules Hazel is trying to enforce.

Simon doesn’t even flinch. He takes the soggy cookie like a champ and pretends it’s the finest delicacy he’s ever tasted.

“Delightful,” he says in a terrible posh British accent, and Hazel rolls her eyes—already too wise for her years.

The story of your family isn’t written in milestones or big announcements. It’s written in these small, ridiculous, precious moments. In tiaras and tea parties. In hair clips and soggy cookies. In the way Simon says, “Come here, my brave girl,” when Hazel’s had a hard day. In how he hums lullabies into Willa’s hair when she won’t sleep. In how he rests a hand on your growing belly without even thinking about it.

He glances up then, catching sight of you in the doorway. His face lights up like it always does, and he beckons you over with a grin. “You’re just in time, Your Majesty,” he says, patting the floor beside him. “We’re serving the royal biscuits.”