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It was 3:07am in the Howell-Lester household. Everything was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the sleep deprived thoughts of the two new parents.
Dan stood by Aurora’s crib, looking down at the small child that laid inside of it. He squinted his eyes at her.
“Phil.” he said in a whispered, raspy voice. “Phil, she’s doing it again.”
Laying on their joint bed, Phil’s head was underneath a pillow, muffling his voice.
“Doing… what exactly?”
“The thing. The staring thing. It’s 3am and she’s just- having Ceiling Fan Feelings again.”
“Ceiling Fan Feelings? Is that a diagnosis or-“
“It’s a diagnosis I just made up, yes, thank you, keep up.”
In her crib, little Rory laid perfectly still, her wide eyes fixed on the rotating blades of the ceiling fan. She made no noise, just simply… awake.
Phil pushed the pillow off of his face. “Maybe she’s thinking about something important. Like how to solve a war.”
“She’s three months old, Phil. Her whole universe is… her rattle and which foot tastes better.” Dan paused for a moment, looking back at Aurora. “She should be unconscious. That’s one of her only jobs as a baby.”
Phil shuffled out of bed, his blonde hair sticking up in every direction. He peered over the edge of the crib, his face softening instantly.
“Hey there, my little star. What's going on? You're supposed to be dreaming of... I don't know, warm milk or something.” Phil whispered.
“Don't engage.” Dan hissed. “That's what the book said. You engage, she thinks it's party time.”
“It’s not that deep, is it? Party time?”
“It’s exactly that deep. She’s three months old and runs this house like it's a Vegas night club, and we are simply not booked for a 3am set.”
“But she's not even crying. She's just... looking. Maybe she's hot? Or cold. Or her nappy feels weird. Or she's decided she hates the pattern on her sleep sack.”
“Or,” Dan said, “she’s having an existential crisis at 3am. Like father, like daughter, apparently. Cool, love that for us-“
Aurora let out a soft coo and reached a tiny hand upwards. Her little hand, fingers splayed, reached toward the ceiling fan, then wobbled, aimless, toward Phil's face as he leaned over the crib.
Phil’s eyes widened with excitement. “Wait- did you see that? She reached for me! That’s a milestone, right?”
“Pretty sure it was an involuntary flail,” Dan rubbed his sleepy eyes. “very cute, but still.”
“No, this was different! It was intentional! You're just jealous she didn't flail toward you first.”
Dan crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not jealous of a random baby limb spasm at 3 in the morning.”
He looked back down into the crib, his voice lowering again. “I'm concerned about the sleep schedule. Our sleep schedule. Her sleep schedule. Sleep as a concept, generally.”
Phil reached a finger into the crib, and Rory’s tiny hand immediately closed around it, her grip surprisingly strong.
“Ok, look.” He was grinning now, his tiredness forgotten. “You’ve got to admit that’s a purposeful grip, not a random flail.”
“Okay, fine.” Dan sighed but a small smile touched his lips. “It's a good grip. An Olympics-tier. Can we please figure out how to get her back to sleep now?”
Phil was already reaching into the crib.
“Don’t.”
“I’m gonna.”
“But the book-“
“Daniel.”
Dan went quiet. Phil carefully scooped Aurora up against his chest, one hand supporting her head the way they’d both practiced approximately a thousand times before it stopped feeling terrifying. She made a small sound, not quite a complaint, and then settled.
“Couch.” Phil said simply.
Dan grabbed the throw blanket off the bed without being asked.
They arranged themselves in the familiar dark of the living room, the city quiet outside the windows. Phil sat with the baby against his chest, her tiny face turned sideways, one fist tucked under her chin. Dan sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched, the blanket pulled over the two of them as best it could manage.
Dan turned the TV on. Low volume. Some nature documentary neither of them would remember in the morning.
For a while, nobody said anything.
Aurora’s eyes were still open, tracking the soft light from the screen with that same calm, unhurried attention she’d given the ceiling fan. Like the world was simply very interesting and there was no particular rush about any of it.
“She’s going to be so smug about this tomorrow.” Dan murmured.
“She’s a baby.”
“She’ll find a way. She’s got the same face you make when you’re right about something.”
Phil laughed quietly, careful not to jostle her. His hand moved in slow circles on her back, automatic now, like he’d been doing it his whole life.
Dan watched him for a moment. The blue light from the TV. Phil’s tired face gone soft. Rory’s small weight rising and falling with his breathing.
“I didn’t think we’d actually get here,” Dan said quietly. “For a long time I really didn’t think we would.”
Phil didn’t look up from the baby. But his free hand found Dan’s in the dark.
“We did though.” he said. “We’re here.”
Dan didn’t say anything else. There wasn’t really anything else to say.
On Phil’s chest, Aurora’s eyes finally grew heavy. Her little fist uncurled slowly, fingers relaxing one by one, until her hand lay open and still against Phil’s shirt. Her breathing deepened and evened out.
Phil looked over at Dan. “Should we move her back to the crib?”
Dan looked at her, then at Phil, then at the couch which they were already settled into.
“…Probably.” he said.
Neither of them moved.
The nature documentary murmured on about something neither of them heard. Outside, the city did whatever cities do at 3am. And in the Howell-Lester household, everything was quiet again, except for the low hum of the refrigerator, and the soft, steady breathing of their daughter.