Author's Note: I finished writing this back in March, put it away to finish editing it later, and completely forgot about it until today. Enjoy!
Donald hummed to himself in front of the computer. What do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning… Drunken, drunken...that wasn't a word that was appropriate for kids, right? Maybe? Donald rubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear the cobwebs out of his head so he could think. He hadn't been able to snatch more than an hour's sleep so far tonight, and last night hadn't been much better.
Crying sounded from the triplets' room.
Donald dragged his eyes to the tiny clock at the bottom of the screen, blinking a few times to bring it into focus. An hour and a half since he'd gotten Huey down the last time; not bad.
...Except he probably should have spent that time sleeping instead of figuring out clean versions of all of the songs he knew.
Donald stood up and retrieved Huey from the boys' room. He checked the basics-Huey had no interest in eating, absolutely no signs of being sick, and his diaper was clean and dry.
The doctor had said it was colic, which was the diagnosis Donald had both expected and dreaded. Colic was just another name for "we can't figure out what's wrong and there's nothing you can do to make it better." The doctor had insisted that it was normal, that it wasn't Donald's fault, that Huey was fine, that eventually the colic would go away...but ultimately, it made Donald feel like a failure as a parent.
Donald held Huey on his shoulder and began pacing the boat, making the most soothing shushing noises that he could manage while rubbing his nephew's back. Through the cloud of exhaustion, Donald could feel his heart break as Huey's cries grew louder.
Donald sank back into the computer chair. Might as well keep on researching if walking around wasn't going to help Huey feel any better. Soon, Donald's shushes turned back into hums, and before he knew it, he was singing.
"What do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor early in the morning…"
Ah, shoot. Donald was still pretty sure that "drunken" wasn't a kid-appropriate word. Once wasn't going to hurt the kid, though, right? Huey wasn't even a year old yet; it's not like he would remember.
Donald froze as he suddenly realized that Huey's cries had quieted. He slowly and carefully moved his head to look at the duckling's face and found that he was fast asleep. Donald let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, said a silent thank you to any and all deities who may have lent a hand to soothe his boy, and once again turned his attention back to the computer.
Drunken...drunken...the replacement word had to rhyme with drunken, right? Or...it had to rhyme with the word in the song that rhymed with drunken, which was...um…
Maybe it was time for bed.
Donald stood, and his vision became cloudy and full of static. He grabbed onto the back of the chair with his free hand until it cleared. It was definitely time for bed.
Putting Huey back in his own crib was out of the question-there was too much of a risk of waking him up, especially in the state Donald was in-so, afraid he wouldn't even be able to make it to his own room, Donald staggered over to the couch and dropped down onto it. He carefully settled Huey onto his chest and, without another thought, fell fast asleep.
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