The Book Of Me & You

"I Ain't Lookin' Over Fences, Tryin' Find A Better View"

"John!" Amy shouted from inside the bathroom, trying to maneuver around her son - who had accidently dropped the toy car he was playing with, into the toilet, and was trying to retrieve it. "No! Don't touch it - just… leave it alone. I'll get it later."

"What's going on in - " His voice trailed from the living room, picking up their daughter from the blanket, "-here", and walking into the frame of the doorway to see his wife flustered, and his son - to no surprise - pouting. "Everything okay?"

"I want my cars!" John whined, pointing down at the toilet with his left hand, while his right picked at the towel hanging above his head on the shower rod. "Daddy, get it!"

Amy shot him a look that told him she wasn't in the mood, and shrugged, "Yeah, it's fine" before turning to her son and sternly wagging her forefinger at him, "Go get your backpack ready, we're already running late."

"But -" John tried to counter, but his dad stepped in instead.

"Listen to mommy - your shoes are by the bed." Scooting his feet a few centimeters to the left, Ricky gestured with his head for his son to go, clearing the pathway for him.

Reluctantly, the boy stomped out, huffing as he passed by. He tiredly chuckled at his son's antics before placing his eyes back on Amy; her robotic movements and her silence concerning. "You sure you're okay?"

She didn't respond, just shrugged, and continued brushing her hair. Emma squirmed as he readjusted her body against him, maintaining his right hand to cup gently against her neck - knowing what his wife was so agitated about without her actually having to tell him, "...Are you nervous?"

"Why would I be? It's not like I've been there the last few months anyway." She retorted, taking her hair into her hands to brush its entirety before laying the brush down on the counter and sighing, "The packets are piling up on the end table… I'm barely functioning at 3 hours of sleep, and -" her voice cracked, letting a tear roll down her cheek.

"Daddy!" Came a shout from the room adjacent

Ignoring it, he reached for her hand, "And if you're crying about that, then maybe we need to re-evaluate you going back…" brushing his thumb across her knuckles

The shout got louder, "Daddy, I need you!"

He rolled his eyes, turning his head slightly, away from his daughter's sensitive ear, "Just a second, John!" Emma jerked at the shout, releasing a mumbled, fussy cry. Closing his eyes, Ricky dropped his head, "You might need to feed her again. She spit up on the blanket."

"I just fed her less than an hour ago!" Expelling a long, frustrated, and annoyed breath, Amy gathered her hair in her hands again: moving it around until it was securely placed inside the hair-tie at the base of her head.

Sliding his left shoe a fraction into the space, he made the handoff, sliding Emma into her mother's arms, "maybe she's not eating enough the first time?" Averting his eyes when she closed hers and groaned loudly at the dark, wet circle gathering around the right nipple against her light gray top. He tore a paper towel from the roll by the sink, "maybe that's why you've been... leaking..." dabbing the spot gently, flinching when she pushed his hand away

"Not funny," Amy deadpanned, taking the paper towel from his hands roughly before shoving him with her shoulder and shutting the door in his face.