An early morning downpour first awoke the youngest member of the Amsel-Mercer family. Rain splattered in large droplets against the windowpanes and thunder rolled out beneath them, flashes of pale yellow lightning illuminating the sky condensed by dark grey clouds; disturbing their daughter and triggering what the fresh faced twenty-five year old could only adequately describe as his spidey dad senses. A whimper or whine signaling discomfort or fright wasn’t warranted in this instance —— Ellie was certifiably in-tune with the toddler’s emotions, likely because they both were hyper-sensitive to anything that wasn’t a spotless sunny day, and he made haste across the narrow hallway of their newly purchased humble abode so he could sneak in carefully through her door as to not cause a startle. A smile broke across his lips upon seeing her there, all bedraggled and rubbing her eyes as she came to, as if it were the first time he had ever seen her cherubic little face. “Morning, Rosie girl,” he cooed while padding further into the nursery, ducking underneath her moon and stars mobile so that he could lift her from her crib and hold her close against him. A kiss was placed delicately atop the tight, honey colored ringlets that had sprung from her head seemingly overnight. How fast they grew. He was terrified that the next time he blinked, she’d be all grown up, as she already possessed her mother’s warmhearted nature and his own effervescence during her first year of life. How soon would it be until she’d taken all those traits and made a spectacular life far, far away from them, like they had from their parents before? He didn’t like to think much about it, choosing instead to savor the quieter moments like this, minus the rain and thunder, where it was still only the three of them. “How ‘bout we go bother mom ‘til she can make us Eggos?” Because God knew that the fence’s attempts at meal prepping always ended disastrously, as much as he wished sometimes he had been bestowed the gift of cooking edible foodstuffs. But while he couldn’t cook for them, keeping Primrose consistently clean and dressed in the cutest, most eclectic outfits he could find was his specialty and something he genuinely enjoyed as a creative, because fuck the snooze-worthy and tryhard neutral tones that had dominated the parenthood scene of the 2020s. He wanted his daughter’s childhood to be just as idyllic and colorful as his had been… Even if it meant she often wore thrifted baby clothes manufactured in the 80s. As he carted her back to where he arose from his own slumber and looked down at where his fiancé had remained asleep (likely after a late night of work and tending to whatever their daughter needed between shifts of sleep, bless her to the heavens and back), folding his legs in together and propping their little girl up. “So sleepy.” he tutted. “Go on, wake her up.” he encouraged the toddler —— whose adorably tiny cupid’s bow lips puckered and pressed against Safiya’s cheek gently and made an echoing smack! noise. “Safie,” he whispered with the same unwavering smile. “C’mon, you’re missing all the fun. We’re gonna make a tent to hide from the storm and eat all the Eggos without you.” All in jest, of course, because he’d never excluded them from anything, also may we rehash Ellie’s atrocious cooking abilities, but he would still use it as an incentive to see her gorgeous blue hues open up and meet his gaze, to which he would surely melt, like he always did.
not only was it a long night, but safiya didn’t get to sleep as early as she planned, despite many sincere attempts. their sweet girl had gotten up a few more times than usual, sure, but safiya just couldn’t get her mind to shut off when they did attempt to sleep ( should try making tea before bed ... warm chamomile tea with a dash of honey should do the trick ). no questioning the validity of her exhaustion, either, evident by the shadowing of bags beneath her eyes --- it could seem like she slept all the time, and would understand if that’d ever been assumed of her. she is consistently tired and could sleep all the time, if that was a possibility. so, instead of tossing and turning throughout the night, safiya decided that she’d write. nothing and everything at once, whatever came to mind. they loved journaling in particular, loved decorating the pages with block letters and illegible cursive, loved exhuming their emotions and fleshing them out onto lined paper. wrote for the remainder of the night until just about sunrise, writing about ellie and primrose, particularly how quickly she’s growing, and how somber it is that her mother’s not around to witness her life falling into place. she would’ve loved ellie, safiya knows that for certain --- and she definitely would’ve been thrilled to have a granddaughter, especially one as sweet as their little primrose. when they finally laid in bed, the oncoming storm lulled her into a near comatose state. before having parental responsibilities and a little one to take care of, safiya easily would’ve slept all day --- would sleep through breakfast and lunch, and dinner on occasion. the cycle would repeat inevitably, but she’s got an internal clock now. likes to believe that’s the case, anyway, though she’s clearly a biased party --- and has a clock that frequently takes shape of a toddler to ensure she gets up at a reasonable hour. doesn’t stir much when ellie wakes and gets out of bed, but somehow manage to take up the entirety of it in his sudden absence. there they lay, with outstretched limbs sprawling every which way from beneath the duvet that was also somehow wound tightly around them; probably looked comedic, if anything, but safiya was sound asleep. no dreams, of course, no matter how she willed them to come ( and how she willed them to come --- come on, she’ll take anything! ). face smushed against the pillow beneath her head, safiya isn’t a habitual snorer, but perhaps the lack of sleep could be to blame for the occasional ascension of quiet rattling ... all that to say, safiya doesn’t hear when ellie returns to her, nor that he brought their daughter to wake them from what’d otherwise be boundless slumber. the echoing smack! of primrose’s kiss to safiya’s cheek caused movement, gradual at first, though she inevitably lifted her head just so --- enough to catch sight of primrose perched in ellie’s lap, bringing a smile to ghost her lips. she hadn’t been awake but a few seconds and already she’s teary-eyed. the tears are blinked away with haste, however. “ my angels ... ” whispered through a fog, as if her voice projected from elsewhere. “ i’m up, ” but was she really? their eyes are closing again ... after a moment, though, they manage to say, “ wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun or the eggos, now would i? ” makes an effort to sit, though is slouched against the mound of pillows. close enough. hand moves to his thigh and squeezes gingerly. smiling groggily in direction of their daughter, “ good morning, little prim, ” leans forward to press a kiss to their daughter’s forehead, looking then at ellie, unwavering smile still evident. needs a couple of minutes to regain full cognizance, but safiya’s getting there. slowly but surely: conversing seems to be helping. “ and good morning to you, daddy. how long’ve you both been up for? ”
