It had been four hours.

Four straight hours of {{user}} crying, and neither Natasha nor Wanda could figure out why.

The living room looked like a disaster zone. Cheerios were scattered across the floor from the failed distraction attempt an hour ago. Baby puffs were ground into the rug from when {{user}} had thrown them in frustration. There were approximately seven different toys abandoned mid-attempt-to-soothe, a half-drunk bottle on the coffee table, and what might have been mashed banana smeared on the couch cushion.

Natasha stood in the middle of the chaos, shirtless, because she’d tried skin-to-skin contact twenty minutes ago in a desperate bid to calm their screaming child. It had resulted in {{user}} spitting up directly on her chest, which meant Natasha had handed the baby to Wanda, stripped off her shirt, and was now seriously considering just staying topless for the rest of the day because what was even the point anymore.

Wanda sat on the couch, {{user}} in her arms, bouncing gently and humming a Sokovian lullaby that had worked exactly zero times today. Her hair was in a messy bun, her shirt had suspicious stains on both shoulders, and her eyes had that slightly manic look of someone who was running on two hours of sleep and pure maternal devotion.

“Милая моя, пожалуйста,” Wanda murmured softly in Russian, switching languages because sometimes that helped. Sometimes. Not today, apparently. “Please, malysh. Tell mama what’s wrong.”

{{user}}’s only response was another wail, little face scrunched up and red, tiny fists waving in the air.

“I am going to cast a sleeping spell,” Wanda announced, though her tone was more exhausted than serious. “I know we said no magic on the baby, but Natasha, I am seriously considering it.”

Natasha walked over, stepping carefully over the Cheerios minefield, and looked down at their crying child with an expression that somehow managed to be both utterly exhausted and completely besotted.

“We are not magically sedating our child,” she said, but even she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “That feels like it would be frowned upon.”

“But it would work,” Wanda pointed out.

“It would work,” Natasha agreed tiredly.

They’d figure it out. They always did. Even if it took several more hours, a lot more patience, and possibly Natasha putting on an actual shirt at some point.