AN: This is for greeneyedconstellations, whose exclamatory enjoyment of the previous two installments inspired me to write a third!

Emily was tired.

Scratch that – she was fucking exhausted.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept. Years, probably.

She loved being a mother (most of the time) and she loved her new daughter (most of the time), but she needed to sleep really fucking badly.

She'd been in the middle of nursing her daughter, lying on her side in the only position that seemed acceptable to the infant, when she had nodded off. She'd gotten maybe two hours of sleep in fits and starts the previous night, so it was a much needed respite from the endless waking hours.

She was woken suddenly by a deep chuckle from the doorway. She groaned heavily and, in a still half-sleeping haze, rolled over to see what Ian was laughing at, painfully pulling her nipple from the baby's mouth, starting her wailing again. Emily hissed in pain, clapping a hand to her breast, and Ian was trying hard not to laugh.

"If you laugh, I'm going to pull your testicles out through your nostril with a rusty fork," she threatened.

He lost the battle with his laughter. "I'm sorry, Love," he apologized nonetheless, not sure if it was for waking her or for laughing about it.

"You woke me up from the first nap I've had in weeks," she whined, fixing him with a dramatic pout. She lifted the baby into her arms and started rocking her, movements a little desperate – the baby had been crying for the better part of an hour and that had been the first time Emily had successfully gotten her to latch without struggle. "And even worse, you woke her. I will never forgive you for this."

"Technically, you woke her," he pointed out, then dodged the pillow she sent flying in his direction.

"What do you want?" she asked, once she'd finished glowering at him.

"To spend time with my lovely new daughter," he said, plastering on a falsely sweet smile.

Emily shot him a disbelieving look for several moments, waiting for him to crack and admit the real reason. He loved the baby more than life itself, she knew, but he was supposed to be looking after the older children for a few hours to give her time to rest.

Finally, he broke down under her glare. "Trade?" he asked, trying not to beg, but willing to if that's what it took.

She glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed. "They're supposed to be napping...what did you do?" Her expression was decidedly unamused.

"Nothing!" he said too quickly. There was a long pause full of skepticism. "There may or may not have been sugar involved..." he admitted. He smiled apologetically, full of desperation and too many teeth.

"No way, Mister." She shook her head vehemently. "Nu-uh. You made your bed, now it's time to lie in it."

"But why?"

"For one thing, you don't have..." She gestured to her still bare breast. "And she eats like six times an hour."

"And the other thing?"

"I don't want to. You got them sugared up, you get to deal with them until they crash."

"They're your kids too..." he pointed out petulantly.

"I also know better than to give them sugar." She shrugged as if it couldn't be helped.

"They were upset that you were paying more attention to the baby...I wanted to make them feel better."

"You bought that?" she scoffed, full of incredulity. "How are you the soft one all the time?"

"Your fault." He shrugged.

"How exactly is it my fault?"

"You and your big brown eyes have rendered me incapable of saying no to batting lashes and cute pouts," he explained as if it were scientific principle.

"You're useless," she scoffed.

"Please, can we switch for like twenty minutes?" he plead.

She smiled mischievously, nodding towards the baby. "You have to name her first."

He gave a protracted groan. This disagreement again... "Aileen," he suggested.

"Nope."

"Dierdre."

"No way."

"You don't like any of my suggestions," he said, throwing his hands up.

"Then stop picking old lady names."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. He came to sit down next to her and stroked the baby's downy head. Her soft baby face already had the makings of Emily's elegant features, only with blue eyes and red hair. His first few weeks with Declan had been filled with fear and insecurity over being a single father, but this time around, instead of anxiety, there was only a feeling of fullness in his heart. He couldn't believe how much he loved her already.

He kissed Emily's forehead, as she attempted to get the baby to latch again. Much to his alarm, tears started filling her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked desperately.

She shook her head and wiped her tears. "Nothing. I'm just tired."

"Oh, Love..." he soothed, stroking her hair. "It won't be like this for long."

Just then, as if to prove his point, Charlotte came racing into the room. "Mommy, Declan is jumping and spitting!" Lately, she'd been going through a stage of fibbing to get attention.

Ian struggled not to laugh at the latest accusation.

"I highly doubt that," Emily replied, shooting Ian a look that clearly dared him to laugh.

"He is," she said with a dramatic pout, hands on her hips, brow raised in a very Emily-esque manner. Everyday, she was more like Emily in both appearance and mannerism and, unfortunately, behaviour. Emily had to wonder if this was punishment for the way she'd treated her own mother.

"Leave your brother alone and Daddy will deal with him," Emily said.

"No!" she shouted, stamping her little foot. She had a knack for choosing the worst times to throw a tantrum.

"Charlotte, don't shout, you'll upset your sister," Emily scolded. She'd finally gotten the baby to settle down and start feeding again and she was this close to losing her mind if one more thing disturbed the baby.

"No!" she shouted, louder this time.

The baby writhed and fought against Emily's breast, about to start screaming. Emily shot Ian a 'deal with your daughter' expression.

"Come here, mo storín," Ian said gently, patting the bed beside him. Charlotte clambered up onto the bed beside him and wrapped her arms around his neck, shooting her mother a spiteful glare that Emily pretended not to have seen. She couldn't stay mad at Emily for very long, though, because she held the baby and Charlotte loved the baby.

With a gentle hand, she patted the baby's cheek. "Mommy, I love her!" she declared.

Emily shook her head a little. "Good. Because she's your sister, just like you wanted." Charlotte had spent the entire pregnancy calling the baby 'sister baby girl', no matter how many times they'd explained to her it might be a boy.

"What's her name?" Charlotte asked, petting the baby's strawberry blonde hair.

"That's a good question," Emily said, glancing up at Ian. Ian liked old-fashioned Irish names and Emily...well, she didn't know what she liked. They hadn't been able to agree on anything before the birth and they'd ultimately ended up taking her home without a name and were still struggling to find one agreeable to them both.

The little girl screwed up her face in concentration for a moment, thinking. "Jam!" Charlotte suggested with enthusiasm.

It was Ian's turn to roll his eyes. "We're not naming the baby Jam."

"Actually..." Emily said, cocking her head to the side in consideration

"Oh, God, Emily, no!" he groaned, "I know you're exhausted, but we're not naming her Jam."

"Not Jam," she scoffed. "What about Gem? Like Gemma?"

"Gemma Aisling Doyle," he tested it out. "Beautiful name for a beautiful Irish girl."

"Half Irish," she corrected.

He chuckled. "Trifle."

"Jam! Jam! Jam!" Charlotte trilled over and over like a broken record.

"Do you want to hold your sister?" Ian asked to stop the chanting.

Charlotte nodded eagerly. She scooted back against the headboard like her mother and held out her arms expectantly.

Emily carefully set the swaddled bundle in the little girl's arms. "Be careful with her head."

"I know, Mommy," Charlotte said, rolling her eyes like she'd done this a thousand times before.

"How did my child get so sassy?" she asked Ian.

He was trying not to laugh. "I'm going to go get Declan," he said so he wouldn't have to deal with the girl.

"You're useless," Emily muttered under her breath, just loud enough that he could hear as he fled.

He returned with Declan over his shoulder like a sack of flour, squealing like a piglet, and covered in marker. Emily just glared at him until he looked away. "Now, before you say anything, I'll clean it up..."

"I don't even want to know," she said flatly as if resigning herself to the fact that this was her life.

Ian deposited Declan on the bed, looking every bit his age and then some. "Let's run away," he suggested.

Emily gave a snort of laughter. "'How hard can three kids be?'" she said, mimicking something he'd said to her when she'd first gotten pregnant and was freaking out about it.

"I take it back," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "You were right."

"I'm sorry, what was that? I didn't hear you?"

He scowled. "You were right. Three kids is too many."

"You don't mean that," she said, reading him as easily as a book. "You're already thinking about having another, aren't you?"

"Maybe one...or two," he admitted. "Maybe a set of twins."

"Mommy!" Charlotte said loudly before Emily could protest two more children, "Mommy!"

"Lottie, what did I say about using your inside voice around the baby?" She didn't even have the energy to scold her properly.

She shrugged, either having forgotten or not caring. "Mommy, she's making silly faces at me!" She laughed boisterously, then made a face back at the baby.

Emily leaned over and moved the blanket away from the newly christened Gemma's face to see better. "She's pooping," Emily informed her.

Charlotte started wailing and squirming to get away from the baby in her lap.

Emily took the baby, rolling her eyes, and passed her to Ian. When he gave her a quizzical look, she shrugged. "You said you wanted to trade..."

He sighed dramatically, but took the baby, unable to argue with that.

When he returned, he passed her back to Emily. "She's got something in her hand...can you see what it is?"

She gave him a suspicious look, but pried open the baby's tiny fingers to reveal a ring in the palm of her hand.

"Oh, my God, Ian...are you fucking kidding me!?" Then, realizing she'd just sworn in front of the children, she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Are you serious right now?"

He laughed, taking the ring and getting down on one knee. "Will you marry me, Emily?"

For several moments, she was too stunned to say or do anything. Charlotte started jumping up and down on the bed in glee – she'd become obsessed with weddings after watching Cinderella. Declan, who had no idea what was going on, mirrored Charlotte in everything she did, and started jumping with her.

Finally, the spell broke and Emily nodded. "Yes, Ian. Yeah, I'll marry you."

She leaned in to kiss him, but before their lips could meet, Charlotte cried, "GROSS!" and threw herself across the bed to stop them from kissing, ending up knocking her head against Emily's with a sharp crack of skull on skull, leaving both of them clutching their heads and groaning in pain.