His skin is so soft, yet his hands are so strong.
She's really torn about having a brother. It was wonderful having both moms' attention for almost eleven years. And yet, sometimes, it's too much attention. Like they know when she does anything. And answering for everything she does is maybe a little too much responsibility.
He's so pretty, with his nearly translucent skin. She can see this blue vein that runs across the bridge of his nose so plainly that it makes her more aware of her own skin, her own veins. How fragile she is. How even more fragile he is.
Nobody, nobody, will ever hurt him.
Holding him, she senses both his strength and vulnerability. He bounces when she holds him, and she can feel both his ability to push hard with his legs and his inability to stand alone. She can feel his core-strength between her palms, yet she has to make sure, still, that his big head doesn't flop over and bang the floor when she lays him down.
She lays him gently on the play mat and tickles his belly. His goofy toothless smile gets bigger before it bubbles up into a squeal of mirth. She holds her hand over his chest, and he grabs it and pulls it to his mouth. Slowly she moves his arm across him and above his head. He pops onto his belly. For a moment he can't remember she's behind him now. Then she moves to where he can see her and the smile comes back.
Mama keeps calling her "The Baby Whisperer," but Mom keeps mumbling about how much fussier she was at this age. Next time she'll call Mom on it. After all, she's just keeping it real.
She doesn't know her Mom has them on the baby cam. From her study, Santana has been watching for twenty minutes. She looked up when the vocalizations changed, when she noticed their daughter's voice murmuring, then sounds of delight from the baby.
What caught Santana was the way the girl plays with him. Santana would never have thought of playing that way herself. The easy physical play that's also fun and delightful and educational. She's never thought of herself as a naturally mothering type—she still habitually tends to be sharp with others, but it looks like maybe she's done well enough, so far anyway.
Sometimes Santana thinks maybe she's been too severe with their eldest. She does try to correct herself, but it's so hard to let go of old habits. One moment of inattention and she falls back into her overly critical habit, and she knows, because that's how it was when she was a girl, that the critical moments are crucial. That's what they'll remember.
She goes silently to the nursery doorway. She watches her babies play. She is so proud of her sweet sweet girl.
The most familiar arm wraps around her waist. The Santana Whisperer. She turns to her, smiling. Brittany returns it, sighing into her ear, "Baby Whisperer."
Santana nods.
Just as, for the first time, baby Charlie rolls over on his own.