Glenn was fairly sure that nothing in the world could have prepared him for the moment Maggie left him to go on a supply run with Rosita and Tara, leaving him with their son who was already on his way to perfecting the ability to pull himself up on delicate objects. Just the other night, he wandered into the dining room to find Hershel Jr. well on his way to making a flimsy TV stand his own personal assistant. Now that he was in charge of making sure he was fed, taken care of, and kept safe from sustaining injury, Glenn was beginning to appreciate the relative ease of fighting walkers.
Mixing some oatmeal in a clear blue bowl that was decorated with gold fish, he smiled when he thought about proving to Maggie that he could juggle doing chores around the house, and making sure their son was taken care of. Setting the bowl on the table with hands that burned from the unexpected heat of such a thing, he carefully blew on the food until it had cooled down to his liking. Looking around for anything he might have missed, he nearly smacked himself in the face when he realized he was indeed forgetting the most important part of the lunch.
Jogging out to the living room with a speed that had been mastered from his perfect stealth record of going into different stores and shops for supplies, he skidded to a halt in the living room, and nearly lost the breakfast he had slurped down when he saw his son reaching for some decorative leaves that was swinging above him. His son, already having inherited his father's knack for finding trouble, had a wide grin on his face as he inched himself up higher on the chest that was already quivering.
"Hershel, come on," Glenn said, repressing a sigh. "Do you want to make Daddy puke?"
Hershel turned to look at him, contemplating the question his Daddy gave him, before he nodded. "Yes!" A typical response from a baby who was slowly learning all the words that he could say. As a result, Maggie had forbidden Abraham and Daryl from using any foul language in their presence.
"Come on," Glenn encouraged, scooping up his trouble-making son. "Mommy will kill me if you get a boo-boo." Walking back to the kitchen with his wriggling son in his tight grasp, he gasped when Hershel unsheathed his secret weapon, a marker, and promptly drew squiggly lines all over his face. "Thanks for that, kiddo."
"Yow welcome."