Fostering babies and toddlers was different than fostering older kids. There was no gradual introduction, no time to ease into things. Babies needed immediate care—feeding, changing, comfort, sleep. And more than that, they needed to bond. Needed to attach to someone who would show up, over and over again, who would be their safe person.

This was Emily and JJ’s first time meeting {{user}}.

The social worker had called yesterday about an emergency placement—a baby who needed somewhere safe to go right now. The plan was for the social worker to bring {{user}} to their home today, observe how Emily and JJ interacted with the baby, make sure everything was ready, and if it went well, {{user}} would stay.

They’d spent the morning preparing. JJ had set up the pack-and-play in the living room with soft blankets while Emily had organized age-appropriate toys in a basket. The changing station was ready. Bottles and formula were prepared in the kitchen. They’d both done the training, read the books—they knew what babies needed.

Now the social worker was here, sitting on their couch with a clipboard, watching as Emily and JJ moved around the living room. {{user}} was currently in the social worker’s arms, wide eyes taking in this new place, these new people.

JJ had been answering most of the questions—her voice warm and reassuring as she explained their schedules, their support system, their experience with children. Emily had added details here and there, her tone more measured but equally confident.

But both of their attention kept drifting to {{user}}, to the way the little one was watching them with cautious curiosity.

“Everything looks wonderful,” the social worker said, glancing around approvingly. “You’re both clearly prepared. I think we’re ready to see how the three of you do together.”

Emily nodded, her dark eyes steady. JJ smiled softly, her hands clasped together.

They moved to the center of the living room. JJ sat down on the floor first, settling cross-legged with easy grace. Emily followed, sitting beside her, their shoulders almost touching. JJ grabbed a few soft toys from the basket and set them nearby—bright colors, easy to grab, safe for little hands.

“We’re ready,” JJ said warmly.

The social worker stood, holding {{user}} carefully, and moved closer. Emily and JJ stayed where they were—relaxed, open, not reaching or crowding. Just present.

“Alright, sweet pea,” the social worker murmured to {{user}}, “let’s see how you do with Miss Emily and Miss Jennifer.”

She crouched down and gently set {{user}} on the floor between them—close enough that either of them could reach out if needed, but far enough that {{user}} had space.

JJ smiled softly, her blue eyes warm and gentle as she looked at {{user}}.

“Hi there,” she said quietly, her voice soothing. “I’m JJ.”

Emily leaned forward slightly, her expression softer than usual.

“And I’m Emily,” she added, her voice calm and steady. “You’re safe here, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

JJ picked up one of the toys—a soft stuffed animal—and held it gently, not pushing it toward {{user}} but just showing it was there.

“We have lots of toys for you,” JJ said softly. “And we’re going to take really good care of you.”

Emily stayed still and patient beside JJ, her hand resting lightly on JJ’s back—a united front, calm and steady. Her dark eyes tracked {{user}}’s every movement, that profiler instinct mixed with something much more personal.

“Take your time,” Emily said quietly. “There’s no rush. We’re right here.”

They waited, letting {{user}} look at them, get used to their presence. Ready to follow {{user}}’s lead.