Hi! Please excuse this work of mindless fluff. It took me literally all week to write- I started it Sunday night and just finished like five minutes ago- and it ran away from me, because I swear it wasn't supposed to be this long. But when I start writing, I never know when to shut up, so I hope you don't hate it. This basically stemmed from my obsessive desire to have Jeff and Britta as parents. Like they need to have a baby, guys, I don't think you understand. =P

Insomnia and the Developing Infant

Months 1-6

Thick, dark clouds are moving in on the sleepy Colorado town, the calm before the storm, as the night drags on, invisible to most who are sleeping soundly in their homes. It's three o'clock in the morning, a time that most people never see, a time that only calls to two kinds of people. The first are the studying (read: partying) college kids who stay awake through all hours, ride the thunder clouds and watch the rain fall outside their dorm room windows and greet the morning with drowsy expressions and the paid programming on TV (which was more economical- the magic bullet or the slap chop?). Ask a college kid what three a.m. looks like and they'll tell you it's quiet, it's lonely, it's a time they associate with being regretfully unused. But ask them if they'll remedy this by going to sleep earlier the next day and nine times out of ten, they will not.

But three a.m. also calls to another kind of people- new parents.

Take for example Jeff Winger and Britta Perry, lying half-asleep beneath the down comforter on the California king bed in their two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom apartment on the fourth floor of a family-friendly complex. Both had the appearances of two people who hadn't slept in weeks; Britta's hair was oily and unwashed, Jeff's face was gruff and unshaven. They had just finally collapsed onto their bed and had managed to slip into the cusps of sleep when, unsurprisingly, a sharp infant's cry pierced the brief silence of their apartment, begging for immediate action and attention. Ten minutes pass and neither parent moves.

Finally, Britta says roughly, "Please get the baby."

"I got the baby last time," Jeff responds. "You get the baby."

"No," Britta whines. "I'm so tired!"

"You say this as if I'm completely well rested," Jeff rolls his eyes, but they're so dry from lack of sleep they almost get stuck. "Newsflash- I haven't gotten more than six hours of sleep in the last two weeks either. Second newsflash- I still got him last time, so it's your turn."

Britta contemplates this. "If you get him this time, I'll-"

"No, we're not doing this," Jeff groans. "You're not going to make me do it. We're also completely uneven; I'm pretty sure I've gotten him the last three times he's cried. It's way beyond time for you to have the experience."

"I can't move. My body literally hurts."

"Well you better figure it out. He's just going to get louder."

Finally, Britta glares at him. "Fine. If you need… Next time you… I'm not going to."

She slides out of bed ungracefully and Jeff has to chuckle at her previous statement which made absolutely no sense, but then again, that's how tired she is. It was true, what he'd said earlier; in the two, almost two and a half, weeks since their son had been born, neither of them had gotten much sleep- around six hours, collectively. And, given the fact that they were still attending school, their insomnia plus the nonsensical Greendale courses only added pressure to their everyday lives. Luckily for Jeff and Britta, Dean Pelton was completely okay with them bringing their son to school. Unluckily for them, they didn't trust the Child and Family Studies department, so instead of placing their son in the provided daycare facility, they just brought him to their classes, trading halfway through the day.

Yeah. It isn't exactly practical, but they didn't have much to work with.

Needless to say, their son had been a bit of a surprise; when Britta had found out she was pregnant those short-lived nine months ago, their junior year of college had just come to a close mid-May and everyone had parted for the summer. She and Jeff hadn't even been sleeping together again- it had just been a one-time thing after getting insanely wasted at Abed/Troy/Annie's end of the year kegger. Ironically, she found out in early June, so to play up the situation, she wrapped her positive pregnancy test in tissue paper and gave it to Jeff on Father's Day.

Points for creativity, yes?

She had been a nightmare of a pregnant woman- from intense morning sickness to increased sexual drive, from crazy cravings (Jeff nearly vomited as he once watched her down a tomato, pickle, and nutella sandwich… ugh) to Braxton-Hicks contractions, and throughout the entire pregnancy, she worried about every little thing. Number one on her list was how completely calm Jeff was being about the entire situation- who was he and where did he stash the real Jeff Winger, the one who feared commitment, the one who was eternally emotionally closed off? She freaked out while Jeff stayed serene until finally, one cold wintry January morning, their son made his way into the world and suddenly, Britta stopped worrying.

And suddenly, Jeff started to.

Jeff and Britta watched three episodes of A Baby Story to prepare themselves for parenthood (which, by the way, is an awful idea; why does TLC stand for The Learning Channel if there's nothing to learn?), but nothing could have prepared them for their son's delivery, which was the shortest and fastest their obstetrician had ever seen. No sooner had her water broken in the shower (best place for that to happen, by the way- no clean up!) than she was suffering from debilitating contractions and, by the time they reached the hospital, the baby's head was so close, she almost gave birth in the lobby. Nurses rushed around trying to admit her and file paperwork while also trying to find an empty delivery room, for a proper birth.

They did find one, but it was irrelevant; Britta gave birth in the hallway.

It was something out of a movie and Jeff had wished Abed had been there so they could share the similarities. It had all happened so fast and it hadn't happened fast enough and when it was all over, there was a baby; a huge baby. The nurse kneeling beside Britta's wheelchair had scrambled to her feet to find the necessary post-birth materials as a squirming pink baby emerged in their doctor's arms, hair and skin slick with amniotic fluid, vernix, and blood, the purple umbilical cord spiraling from his belly button. Jeff, in complete shock and awe, absently took the scissors the nurse handed him and cut where she instructed, watching the spongy material break apart and the other nurse on hand tie off the cord's splintering end. And then, finally, the entire hospital wing was filled with the fresh shrill sound of a newborn's cry.

And then, that's when Jeff started to panic.

They wheeled Britta into recovery and the baby into the nursery to be bathed, examined, and weighed while the custodial staff was called to clean the mess left behind. Jeff began to follow Britta and the swarm of nurses around her, but then, on second thought, turned and followed the wheeling isolette into the nursery instead. He wasn't allowed in, but he stood outside and peered through the Plexiglas as his son- his son- was measured, weighed, fingerprinted, and swaddled like a tiny hot dog. He wonders if his own father stood in this spot and stared at him like this; he wonders if William Winger worried about all of the horrible things this world had in store for his son and wonders if he felt an undeniable urge to protect him just like Jeff was feeling right then.

He hoped not, because honestly, he wanted to have nothing in common with his father.

"Okay, he did need me," Britta gives in, entering the room with their son and snapping Jeff out of his thoughtful reverie. "Turns out the little guy's hungry. Not really something you can help with, I'm afraid."

Gesturing towards her chest, he says, "Unless you've figured out how to make them portable, this one's all on you."

She smirks and settles on the bed again gently, propped up by pillows, their son nestled in her arms. Britta watches him drink for a little while, his tiny blue eyes transfixed on her, before snuggling down into the bed, her eyes closing. "I'm so tired! Why didn't we take this into consideration all of those times we were talking about kids? This is crazy…"

"I don't know," Jeff answers gruffly. "On Monday I sat through twenty-five minutes of my criminal law class only to realize halfway through that it was cosmetology. I have no idea how that happened."

"Tell me about it," Britta sighs. "Yesterday I couldn't remember the difference between the ego and the superego on my psych exam, so I just drew a picture of an ego with a cape."

"This afternoon I tried to charm my way into getting chicken fingers at lunch with that one lady who always falls for it," Jeff admits. "And it turned out to be the ficus outside of the botany lab."

At this, Britta laughs so hard she begins to tear up. "Oh my God, Annie told me you were talking to a tree. She was worried about you."

"I'm worried about me- worried about us," He corrects. "What happened to us? And why did we have to get the one kid who never sleeps?"

"Because he's a combination of you and me," Britta tells him. "Did you expect anything less?"

Jeff contemplates this, and then yawns. "Oh Grant, you're going to be the death of me."

At this, they both turn to look at their little Grant Alexander Winger, who has already finished his midnight snack and has finally fallen asleep. His tiny, blonde eyelashes rest upon the milky white skin of his chubby cheeks, his mouth as tiny and pink as a raspberry, and his nose as fresh and as round as a button. His eyelids flutter, suggesting he's fast asleep and dreaming of something rich and beautiful and his tiny, long fingers are curling and uncurling softly. His breathing is even and low, his tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically as his parents watch proudly and still undoubtedly amazed that, after all of that mindless chatter about potential children, they had actually created one.

And it's with this blissful thought that the new parents finally fall asleep.

One unseasonably warm morning in March, the two are getting ready for their day- Britta's brushing her teeth in their adjoining bathroom with Jeff in the other room with Grant- when, out of nowhere, chaos ensues. One moment she's spitting toothpaste in the sink, the next she's racing to her son's bedroom, where Jeff is continuously shouting, "What did I do? What did I do?" She's panicking because he is, even though she doesn't know what's going on. Their son is lying in only a diaper on the changing table, but he looks completely unharmed, almost placid. And then she sees the dried up stub of the umbilical cord lying beside him, a few splotches of blood on his stomach, and sighs with relief.

Her heart still racing, she smacks Jeff on the arm. "Don't scare me like that again."

"I didn't do it!" He's still shrieking. "All I did was take off his pajamas! And then I unsnapped the onesie and that thing fell off and there was blood everywhere and I didn't do it!"

Britta chuckles, removing a baby wipe from the plastic receptacle beside her son's head and gently wiping the blood off of his tiny stomach. "Would you relax? It's about time this fell off. It's been almost a month, now."

"Wait," Jeff pauses. "That's what's supposed to happen?"

She rolls her eyes. "Well do you have an umbilical stem, still?"

He sends her a mock glare. "Well whatever. I saw blood and I had a heart attack. Put yourself in my shoes and tell me you wouldn't have reacted the same way."

"No, I definitely would have," Britta tells him honestly. "And I would have scared the living shit out of you, too, just like you did with me."

"Good to know," He yawns and then continues to dress their son once Britta's successfully changed his diaper. "It didn't hurt him, did it?"

"I don't think so," She answers, observing her son closely as Jeff slips the onesie back on and then covers it with a long-sleeved shirt and the tiniest pair of jeans she's ever seen. "He didn't cry over it, so…"

"Unbelievable. The kid cries about everything and then this draws blood and he's completely chill," Jeff shakes his head disbelievingly, glancing down at his son. "You make no sense, Grant, do you know that?"

He hiccups and yawns and Britta yawns in response. "Oh, you're tired too? It's not just us?"

"Maybe he'll learn and sleep more so we can sleep more," Jeff says, lifting Grant into his arms. "Or maybe I can bribe Pierce into watching him so I can actually get some work done today. Pierce doesn't pay attention in his classes anyway."

"Of all the people we know," Britta asks skeptically. "You're going to trust Pierce?"

"Yeah. Good point."

They finish readying themselves, buckle Grant into his infant seat, and leave the apartment for Greendale, pausing in the parking lot to wave hello, begrudgingly, to their neighbors, who've also just had a baby- a little girl who sleeps through the night. Lucky bitches. Anyway, Jeff keeps the window open so the cool air will keep him awake and Britta watches him like a hawk to make sure he doesn't fall asleep at the wheel and kill them all. They're already late to school, but with the demise of Hot & Brown, their stop at Starbucks was a necessity. No, really.

When they finally trudge into the study room, everyone is already there, talking animatedly about the day's events and completely well-rested unlike Jeff and Britta, who come in bearing two large coffees and a restless infant. Abed and Troy are bent over the former's laptop screen, editing scenes they shot in their apartment for Abed's web series as Pierce tries to see over Troy's shoulder, trying to get in on the action. Annie and Shirley are laughing about something Jeff and Britta can't figure out, and when they enter the room, both of them brighten even further.

Annie squeals excitedly, motioning for the infant carrier. "Ooh, my Grant's here! Hand him over!"

Jeff does so gladly as he and Britta slump into their seats and simultaneously down a pretty good portion of their coffees. Shirley grins a bit mischievously. "I told you this job was more work than you expected! You both thought you could handle it, no problem."

Jeff steals a glance at Britta, his face disbelieving. "Um, we can handle it, thank you very much."

"Yeah, we're going to be the best parents ever," Britta states adamantly. "I just need to finish this coffee, first."

"Guys," Annie starts, a warning. "Please don't make parenthood a competition, too."

They shrug in that way that tells Annie they already have.

"Look, this has gone on for way too long. You're doing this. Let's go."

"But it's your job!"

"It can't be my job! I can't be in charge of feeding and changing him! And since you can't possibly feed him, this one has to be on you."

"I don't know how. I'll probably break him."

"You won't break him and how do you not know how? He's almost three months old! You haven't learned by now?"

"How could I? I've never done it!"

Britta sighs exasperatedly, lifting Grant out of her lap and into his father's awaiting arms. "Then I'll show you. It's easy."

"It's gross," Jeff corrects. "I cannot wait until he's potty-trained."

"Well we've still got at least another two and half years until that happens," Britta smirks. "So you're learning to change him now, because I'm not doing this every time for the rest of the two years."

It's one of those weather-confused days in mid-April; one moment the clouds are dark and rain is pounding on the rooftop and the next, the sun is shining in the bright blue sky behind cumulous, cotton candy-looking white clouds. This is the day, in Grant's third month of life, that Britta decides enough is enough; she'd been understanding of Jeff's aversion to changing diapers at the beginning, because yeah, it is a daunting task to someone who's never done it before. But now, as their son continues to age, it's about time he learns how. He looks adorably apprehensive, she has to admit, and as he lays the baby on the changing table, Britta retrieves a clean diaper and the box of baby wipes from the shelving below.

"Okay, ready? It's super easy," Britta tells him and he rolls his eyes.

"Sure. Because you've been doing this forever."

"Hey, when you have nieces and nephews, you've got to learn fast," Britta defends. "Anyway, the first thing I do is I open up the new diaper. It's always good to have the new one open and ready at your disposal so that when he's all clean and ready you can just slip the new one on. Plus you have less of a chance of getting surprised that way, if you know what I mean."

"I catch your drift," He says, opening the new diaper as far as it could go and smoothing out the creases. "And then?"

"Well then I slide his pants off," Britta informs him and watches as he does so. "But I never take them all the way off; just leave them around his ankles. You'll see why later. Then you can unsnap the onesie and kind of push it up around his torso, around the ribcage, just so it's out of the way."

"And now the real stuff begins," Jeff retorts. "Do I just… go for it?"

"Go for it," She confirms. "Undo the diaper. I mean, this part's pretty self-explanatory. You just clean up whatever mess he's left behind. Remember how I told you to leave the pants around his ankles? That's so you can lift him up to reach the back and you don't have to grab his ankles. He hates that."

"Why are you so good at this?" Jeff asks, struggling, and Britta leaps forward to cover their son with an extra wipe.

"You will be, too," She assures him. "But don't forget to keep him covered. You really don't want to get peed on."

"Okay, got it," Jeff nods, placing the used wipes in the soiled diaper. "And now what?"

"Well his diaper rash cleared up a few days ago, so you don't have to put any ointment on," She says. "So basically, you're done. Slide the new diaper on and tape the sides. Just be careful- you want it to be tight enough that it won't fall off but not so tight that it'll cut off his circulation. After you've got it on, just make sure it's not stuck inside any crevices."

Jeff smirks. "He only has one crevice and it's clear. Do I dress him now?"

"Yup," She smiles. "Snap the onesie back on, pull up his pants, and you're done. Then you wrap up the diaper, dispose of it, and, please, wash your hands."

Jeff chuckles. "Well, that was obvious."

He finishes dressing Grant and grins down at the cooing baby. "Well that wasn't so hard, was it? Did I do a good job?"

The three-month-old glances up at his father and stares for just a bit before his face twists in a splitting, toothless grin. Both his parents grin back at him and this causes Grant to exert a bubbly giggle. Jeff glances over at Britta in shock. "Did he just laugh? He's never done that before!"

"Oh my God!" Britta shrieks. "His first laugh!"

His parents' excitement causes Grant to laugh again and Jeff scoops him up, kissing the side of his head. "Grant, I made you laugh! Britta, I made him laugh!"

"Yeah," Britta agrees, sentimental. "You did."

"This kid drools like a bulldog," Jeff comments as he's tying his son's tiny dress shoes. "I keep wiping his mouth like every two seconds."

Britta chuckles from the bathroom, where's she's still applying makeup. "I've heard the fourth month is when drool production speeds up. He might need to start wearing a bib full time."

Jeff gasps. "And cover his suit? I think not!"

He stands back and examines his handiwork while Grant, propped up on their bed by a few pillows, squeals and grins at him. Today, May 15th, was their college graduation believe it or not and where Jeff had found a mini-suit tailored for a four-month-old was beyond anyone's knowledge, but either way, Grant looked extremely dapper and ready for an afternoon of supporting his graduating parents. Britta enters, sliding a back on one of her earrings, and grins at the sight of her son. "Look at my little man! He's so grown up!"

Jeff straightens, bringing Grant with him. "Thank you, thank you very much."

Britta smirks. "I was talking about Grant."

"I know," He grins. "I was taking credit for his outfit."

She chuckles. "Do you realize this is the last time we'll be going to this school?"

"Yes. Do you realize that the first time we went to this school, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with me?" Jeff teases as the leave the apartment and head towards the car. "Times have changed, huh?"

"Oh please, I still want nothing to do with you," Britta taunts right back as they approach their car and Grant begins to fuss. "I just don't have a choice anymore."

"Whoa, what's up with you, squirmy wormy?" Jeff asks his son as he begins to wail. He attempts to put Grant in the car seat which only makes things worse. "What's his issue?"

"You just have to know how to do it," Britta says, taking the baby from his arms and beginning to bounce him a little, singing, "Alouette, gentille alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai la tête, je te plumerai la tête. Et la tête, et la tête. Alouette, alouette. Ahh, alouette, gentille alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai."

Grant immediately calms and it distracts him long enough so Britta can strap him in his car seat. When they're finally on the road, Jeff asks, in disbelief, "When did you learn to speak French?"

"I didn't," Britta shrugs. "That song is on the lullaby mix CD Annie gave me. It's his favorite."

Shaking his head, Jeff drives onward and soon, they've reached Greendale Community College's graduation ceremony. Andre, seated with the three boys, has agreed to sit with Grant as well and so they pass off their son and get in line to march across the stage. The entire ceremony lasts twenty-five minutes, because the Dean can't get through his speech without sobbing and the table of diplomas was sitting too close to the tiki torches by the side of the stage, so the Xs through Zs catch on fire. Luckily, this doesn't affect anyone in the group and once they're all across the stage, Annie makes them take the typical, nonsensical group photos- one of them in their caps and gowns, one where they're tossing their caps in the air, and another of the seven doing a High School Musical-esque jump.

When it's over, Jeff and Britta collect Grant and Shirley insists on taking a photo of the little family now, with their graduation garb. Jeff's cradling Grant with his right arm and uses his left to pluck off his cap and place in his son's head. Britta chuckles at this and places her rolled diploma in his lap so Grant appears to be the youngest matriculated student Greendale's ever seen. Once they're settled, Britta tickles her son's belly to make him laugh and Shirley positions the camera to get the shot. She says after that it's perfect but they need one more, a duplicate, just in case.

This time, instead of smiling, Jeff uses his free hand to pull Britta's mouth to his own.

June arrives and with Grant's fifth month comes a whole slew of new milestones- the first time he rolled over, his ability to hold his own head up, the ability to tell family from strangers…

And, oh yeah, the first signs of teething.

"Come on, baby," Britta pleads with the infant, who's sitting in his high chair and squirming to be freed, shrieking at the top of his lungs. "I know your mouth hurts, but I also know you're hungry…"

They had started him on solid food by their doctor's request a few days earlier even though she advised to continue breastfeeding as well. They'd started small, with just a simple rice cereal, and would elevate from there. He'd enjoyed it at first, but today, his entire face screamed displeasure; his eyes were squeezed shut, his face red and contorted, his eyes gushing a steady stream of crystalline tears. Britta decides to give up and tosses the uneaten cereal in the sink, extricating him from his high chair, and bouncing him up a down a bit in her own chair, cooing a few soft phrases to him to get him to calm down.

He doesn't, so she stands and enters the living room, which is a disastrous mess that she hasn't gotten time to clean up yet, and sits down comfortably on the sofa. Thinking maybe he'll want to breastfeed since he didn't want actual food, she attempts to feed him again, with some success, anyway. He sucks on and off and screams in the off time and she knows how painful this must be and wishes there was something she could do about it. It's killing her to watch her son scream in agony. Thankfully the front door twists and opens as Jeff enters the apartment, hopefully with a solution.

"All they had was Baby Motrin," Jeff apologizes. "I asked the pharmacist if that would be an okay substitute for Tylenol and she said if we gave him a teaspoon every six to eight hours it should keep the pain down."

"Okay," Britta nods. "That'll have to work. Did they have teething rings?"

"They did, but not one of them was cold," Jeff frowns, tearing at the packages as he crosses the room towards the kitchen and stuffing them immediately into the freezer. "So I bought Popsicles, too, for temporary relief."

Britta smiles softly, completely spent. "You're a lifesaver."

"I do what I can," He chuckles, unwrapping a Popsicle and sitting beside her. He gestures towards where Grant is still nursing on and off and asks, "Is that even working?"

"Kind of," She shrugs, transferring the baby into his arms and slipping her shirt back on. "I can tell he's hungry, but he doesn't want to eat."

"It probably hurts too much," Jeff says, taking the opportunity to dump a teaspoon of Motrin into his son's wide open mouth. "You know, if you froze your nipples, it would probably make him feel a lot better."

Britta rolls her eyes. "Again with the nipple freezing. Just how do you expect me to do that?"

"Just a suggestion," Jeff chuckles, settling Grant down a bit and sticking the cherry-flavored Popsicle on the sorest spot on his gum line. "Before you ask, yes I got the organic ones that are made of real fruit. I didn't buy the artificially flavored ones."

Britta grins. "You know me so well."

Grant, at first a little confused by the new food source, soon ceases crying and instead begins to thoroughly enjoy his first Popsicle. At this, both parents visibly relax and Jeff rotates the frozen treat so his son gets the coldest parts. "Alright buddy, there we go. Much better now, right? Hang in there; you only get teeth once."

"Well technically these are going to fall out," Britta yawns. "And then we have to go through this all over again."

"It'll be a lot easier, though, because he'll be much older." Jeff tells her and then holds out his hand. "Crisis averted for now?"

"Yeah," Britta gives him a high-five. "Good thinking, Super Dad."

Grant hits the six-month mark on a sticky Wednesday in July and with it, he learns a whole new set of skills. He's sitting without support now, grasping toys and chewing on them to feed that hungry energy his newly growing teeth are sending him, and he's even taken to saying a few word-like syllables- ma, da, mu, di, and the like. It's now become a competition between Jeff and Britta to see which one of them can get Grant to say their title first; it's a battle of his first words- ma-ma or da-da.

Currently, he's completely unfazed by either word, because most of the things that come squealing out of his mouth are mindless syllables and babbling sounds and it's up to Jeff and Britta to decide what it is he's saying. Today, they've taken him to the park just blocks away from their complex and are alternately pushing him in the infant swing, which he absolutely loves, kicking his feet and giggling excitedly. It's unbearably hot today, Jeff decides, and wishes he dressed in anything but the cargo shorts and plaid shirt he's currently sporting, which are only trapping heat in. Britta is in much cooler wear- a sundress, which, a) Britta in anything other than jeans is always a complete shock, and b) she looks absolutely radiant.

"Can you believe he's halfway to a year already?" Britta says introspectively, pushing the swing gently and watching her son take off into the wind. "I can't believe we've made it this far. I can't believe we haven't murdered each other yet."

Jeff scoffs. "You have no faith in us. We're more mature than you take us for."

Britta laughs. "No we're not! Our relationship, if you can even call it that, started based on sex-"

"Really good sex," He interjects, but she continues.

"- That we started having because we were mutually attracted to one another, not because we ever had any romantic feelings for one another-"

"You're smart and hot; that's not romantic enough for you?"

"- That ended up with me, pregnant, and you becoming a father even though I don't think you ever really wanted kids-"

"That's not true; kids are great. I love Grant."

"- That is now just you and I, never talking about what we are together, just what we are as parents," Britta finishes. "I don't even know where you and I stand because we've never talked about it and that's because we're still immature college kids."

"We've never talked about it?" Jeff asks, incredulous. "You've never wanted to talk about it! You were all, 'Oh, I hate relationships! Let's just have sex!'"

"Oh, because you disagreed?" Britta shoots back. "You were like, 'Great! Commitment is for suckers! No strings attached, Britta! That's okay with me!'"

"And it was okay with me, but clearly, that's not going to work anymore," Jeff argues. "You might hate relationships for some completely unknown reason and personally, I'm not a fan of them myself. I've never seen one work, but we are going to have to, because we have a kid now!"

"I completely agree!" She retorts. "I never wanted to be the doting housewife my mother was, Jeff. I never even planned on having kids. But now that I have one, I'm glad it's with you. You're a great father."

"And you're a fantastic mother," Jeff softens. "And I'm going to kiss you now."

"Well, you better."

Grant giggles and coos between them and when they break apart, Britta says, "I still don't think we solved anything."

"Really?" Jeff asks, skeptical. "I do."