Invisible String

54

The house smelled like birthday pancakes—chocolate chip, of course, with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles because Lily had declared it was “a princess birthday, not a regular birthday.”

Travis had her perched on the counter in her glittery “I’m FOUR!” shirt, a tiara tilted slightly sideways on her curls while she snuck extra chocolate chips into her mouth every time he looked away.

“You better be saving some for the batter, Lil,” he said with mock sternness, nudging her with his elbow.

“I am,” she giggled, mouth full. “But I’m four, so I’m allowed to have extras today.”

I walked into the kitchen slowly, Baylor snug against my chest in the wrap, and Mira crawling fast across the floor like a tiny tank on a mission. She was babbling to herself, drool on her chin and a crinkled birthday hat—Lily’s second one—tied loosely around her neck like a scarf.

It had been one month since Baylor arrived. One month of learning how to do everything all over again with a surprise baby while also keeping up with an almost-toddler and a newly minted four-year-old.

I was tired in ways I didn’t know existed.

But today, somehow, I also felt good.

Stable.

Maybe it was because I’d started talking to someone, like my doctor had suggested. Or maybe it was just the comfort of time doing what time always does—letting me settle into this version of motherhood.

“Look who’s up and looking birthday-ready,” Travis grinned as he looked up at me. “You want coffee, babe?”

“God, yes. And maybe a cookie for breakfast.”

“It’s a celebration,” Lily said, as if granting me permission. “You can have cake for breakfast today.”

Mira had made it to the table leg and was now trying to pull herself to stand. Baylor stirred a little but stayed asleep, his little nose squished against my chest.

I rubbed his back gently and watched Lily beam as Travis lifted her down from the counter and spun her once in the air before setting her in her booster seat.

“I can’t believe she’s four,” I said quietly, kissing the top of Baylor’s head.

“I can,” Travis said. “I’ve aged fifteen years since last week.”

I laughed, then caught sight of Mira trying to climb into Lily’s chair, and I quickly scooped her up. “Not today, lovebug. That seat’s for the birthday girl.”

Mira squealed and buried her face in my shoulder, clearly more interested in chewing my shirt anyway.

As Travis poured my coffee, I sat down with Mira in my lap, and Lily held out her arms for her baby brother. “Is Baylor awake? I want him to sing happy birthday.”

I smiled, already lifting him out of the wrap. “He doesn’t sing yet, baby. But he can be part of the song. He’ll wiggle along.”

“He’s a really good wiggler,” she agreed proudly.

I handed her her tiny brother, helping her support him like we practiced. She stared down at him like he was a gift made just for her.

“You can be my best friend, Baylor,” she whispered.

And right then, I didn’t care about the dishes in the sink, or the laundry that had somehow multiplied overnight, or the two hours of sleep I’d scraped together.

Because Lily was four.

Mira was crawling.

And Baylor was five weeks old, blinking up at his sister with those wide, curious eyes.