You Stayed With Us

Sleep-Deprived Chef

Lisa's POV

There should be a rule about mornings after your baby pees in your mouth.

Like... the universe should at least offer a trophy. Or coffee that brews itself.

The sun was barely peeking through the curtains when I pried one eye open and glanced to my right. Jennie was still curled up beside the bassinet, her head tilted, her hair falling in soft waves across her shoulder. One hand dangled just near Nathan's swaddle. Her lips were slightly parted, her breaths soft and deep.

She was finally sleeping.

After spending half the night breastfeeding, burping, checking temps, re-swaddling, feeding again, pumping a little, panicking if they blinked weird—Jennie had crashed just before dawn. She didn't even make it back into bed. Just slumped against the pillows like a beautiful, exhausted mother statue.

I didn't dare move too fast.

Noah let out a soft squeak from my side of the bassinet, but then he tucked his face into the crook of his swaddle and sighed. Crisis averted.

I tiptoed out of the room like a thief, still in the same milk-stained shirt from last night, hair in a tragic bun, and socks that may or may not have baby spit-up on them.

In the hallway, I paused, leaned back slightly, and whispered: "Cooper... come."

A soft click of paws followed me down the stairs like we were in a secret mission. Except the mission was: Do Not Wake the Queen.

When I got to the kitchen, I found Ella already sitting at the counter in her Hello Kitty pajamas, sipping juice from a cup with a bendy straw, legs swinging.

She turned her head slowly, narrowed her eyes at me, and said:

"You look like a zombie."

"Good morning, sunshine," I mumbled, rubbing my face. "Thanks for the confidence boost."

She blinked at me. "Did the babies poop again?"

"Why do you assume that?"

"Because last night I woke up and I heard you go 'AAAHHHH' and then Mommy go 'LISA, STOP MOVING!'"

Oh. So she had heard what happened.

"And then you said, 'I'm gonna throw myself out the window!'"

"That was a figure of speech, baby."

Ella snorted and sipped her juice. "You were very loud."

"Not as loud as your brother's butt," I muttered, opening the fridge.

The plan was simple: eggs, toast, maybe even some chopped fruit. Ella deserved a real breakfast. Jennie deserved sleep. I deserved... I don't know, a nap, a haircut, and spiritual rebirth.

I turned on the stove. Cooper settled under the table. Ella hummed quietly, kicking her feet.

Everything was peaceful.

Until I cracked the first egg and it hit the side of the pan like splat! and I realized I forgot to add oil.

"Ugh!" I hissed, trying to scrape the egg off the non-stick pan with a wooden spoon. I flipped it, poked it, swirled it. It stuck like emotional trauma.

Ella squinted at me. "Is it supposed to look like that?"

"It's scrambled," I said defensively.

"It looks sad."

I tried the next egg. This time I added too much oil, and it popped. A little drop hit my arm.

"OW! Son of a—" I glanced at Ella and swallowed the rest. "—pancake."