A/N: You see a lot of happy Will/Emma family stories, but I can see Emma struggling with the task of motherhood, so that is what I chose to explore in this story. The title comes for a Regina Spektor song titled Buildings, which inspired this piece-you should go check it out; it a great song.

I hope you enjoy, and as always, your feedback is much appreciated!

She didn't know where the years had gone, though she certainly hadn't imagined she'd end up here. On the outside, she appeared successful. Happily married for five years, flourishing working mother.

The word mother still sounded strange to her, like it didn't belong on her, and no matter how hard she tried to make it stick, it was always in vain.

Emma had never imagined she'd be a mother. For Will's sake, she promised they would try in the future, but the future had come too quickly. Two years into their blissful marriage, he had found her sobbing on the bathroom floor with a positive pregnancy test in her shaking hand. As he stomach grew and she lost control of her body in countless ways, Will had promised that everything would be okay. A baby only brought families together.

The hope had gleamed in his eyes as her husband received all he had ever dreamed of—a wife he adored and the baby he had always longed for. It was a life he had created over the flaws of their relationship. Specifically her flaws.

He failed to see Emma's increasing deteriorating mental state—he brushed it off as symptoms of pregnancy and was convinced that having a baby to love would somehow pull Emma out of her incurable insecurities.

And at first, Emma believed him, too. When she held her tiny son for the first time, all the aches, all the anguish, all the fear had melted away as her heart swelled with a love she hadn't even known she was capable of rendering.

They named him Joshua. Joshua Finn, Finn after his godfather. The boy who had grown into a successful young man remained a part of the Schuesters' lives long past high school; he flushed with pride when Will named him the godfather of their first born son.

His ever competitive fiancé bartered for their second child (providing it be a girl), insisting that her middle name must be Rachel.

Will had laughed and promised to comply to her wishes. Though the tone of the request was lighthearted, Emma's stomach had flipped uncomfortably. She looked down at the baby in her arms. Though she knew she could never stop loving her child, motherhood was beginning to take its toll on Emma. The thought of only one child frightened her greatly, and she wondered solemnly if she would ever be able to muster enough love for more than just this little one who slept soundly in her grasp.

XXXXXX

Emma's hands gripped the steering wheel of the car tightly as she turned into the driveway of their two bedroom house. It was a nice house—a starter house, Will called it—though it was beginning to feel more and more permanent.

It was her day to pick the baby up from daycare—though she could hardly call him a baby anymore at three-years-old. She was supposed to pick him up on her way home from work—Will had Glee practice today. Emma could still vaguely remember the days she had joined her husband at each practice and co-directed with him. But now someone needed to be home for the baby.

She knew it was terrible; it was bad enough to forget your child at daycare, but to deliberately leave him there must be considered some insufferable sin.

But Emma was tired. Her joints ached from the stress and anxiety inflicted upon her each day. Her blouse was un-ironed, her pants (pants had replaced her skirts during pregnancy and she had never gone back) were unwashed, and her hair rested lankly on her shoulders.

Emma hurt; it was an ugly sort of pain that had no remedy. And was it truly so terrible that she was desperate for a moment to escape from it all?

It was not the first time she had left the baby at daycare, and the guilt ate away at her as she unlocked the front door, the overwhelming mess of the house greeting her. Last night's dishes still remained in the sink, the living room was cluttered and dusty, and she didn't even want to think of the state of the baby's room, let alone the master bedroom she and Will shared.

Her vision of an immaculate house had died in the first month she had brought home her son, but she had never intended to live in the mess that only grew each day. She knew she should try to make do with a semi-neat house—the way she knew most mothers learned to live. But Emma strived for perfection and control, and when those slipped slowly from her fingers, she completely lost it instead of adapting to the current situation.

If the kitchen could not be pristine, then why bother to clean it at all? She could not stand a job half done, the only way she had time to do tasks now. So instead, she let the mess overwhelm her and suck her into a frenzy of depression and anxiety as she dreamed of the days she had been able to simulate control.

The only job she could complete without the need for absolute perfection was the care of her son—parenthood could not be done flawlessly, a reality that Emma had struggled with from the first night she brought her son home. There was no way that Emma could control every mess, every curve, every obstacle that came into play regarding the parenting of her child. But unlike the rest of the messes in her life that Emma could hide from when she could not complete them to her satisfaction, Emma could not fall short when it came to her son, and if often scared her when she realized how much this little life depended on her.

That was why she was eternally grateful she had Will by her side. On days when Emma did fall short, on days her fear of being a horrible mother seemed dangerously true, Will would always be there. He'd take the child from her shaking hands and miraculously make everything better. He'd sing to that child with a sort of love Emma had never seen Will express—even to her. He'd take care of those dirty diapers and get up out of bed on those nights the baby cried inconsolably, those nights that Emma cried as well from the overwhelming reality she found herself a part of. And for those fleeting moments, Emma would relish the glorious peace that washed over her tense body.

But the part that sent Emma into fits of anxiety and panic was the fact that they were only fleeting moments. Every time she'd simulate control or finally come to terms with a situation, something else would happen that would send Emma spiraling out of control once again, breaking all the poorly mended tears and forcing her to start over once again.

She placed her bag haphazardly by the door, a sudden wave of inadequacy engulfing her as she glanced at the messy living room. In the meager time she had so unjustly bought herself, she meant to catch up on the cleaning. But the faded couch looked so comforting, and Emma promised herself she'd only rest for a minute. But her building exhaustion and dread got the best of her; within seconds she was fast asleep.

XXXXXX

She woke up to the slamming of the front door. She buried her face in the throw pillow as Will approached her, holding their little boy securely in his arms. His face was tucked securely into Will's shoulder, and on the back of his new jeans, Emma could see a grape juice stain setting into the dark material.

"Forget something today?" he spat at her harshly.

The guilt ate away at Emma's core; she buried her face deeper into the pillow. "I-I'm sorry, Will…it must have slipped my mind," she muttered, hating herself even more for the lie.

Will sighed deeply, trying not to lose his patience. "Em, do you even realize what you're putting me through? What you're putting your son through? When Ms. Whitman called from the daycare center, I could hear Josh sobbing in the background" –here Emma winced—" This is the third time in the past month you've forgotten…I'm starting to get worried…and so is Ms. Whitman. It's understandable to forget once in a blue moon—we have busy schedules, but Emma, this is getting out of hand."

"Will, I'm really, really sorry. I feel awful—I promise it will never happen again." She watched as the child—her child—turned his face from his father's shoulder. His cheeks were streaked with dried tears, and his big brown eyes were still puffy from crying—crying for her, tears she had inflicted. The guilt and regret only tugged deeper in her gut.

"Em, that's what you say every time," Will finally answered, biting at his lower lip. "This has got to stop—or else we need to get you professional help." His usual threat, though Emma could tell he was getting closer and closer to actually carrying it through each time he said it.

Emma stiffened at the suggestion, her eyes growing wide with fear. She knew she needed help, god damn it, she knew it well. She was so beyond herself that she could barely take care of herself, let alone a child. But accepting help would only mean relinquishing every ounce of control, and she fought to hold onto the little control she still had.

And there was that frightening fact that they'd discover how terrible and twisted her mind truly was. Then they'd take her away from her beloved Will and that wonderful child she could not truly regret—and though her life was slipping slowly from her grasp, she could not bear the thought of it without these two being a part of it.

"Will, just give me another chance. I promise, Will. I promise I'll do better," she pleaded with him.

He caught her gaze—his own weary eyes meeting hers, and she knew that beneath the hideous creature she had become, he could still see the woman he had fallen in love with.

And as he always did, he gave her time—an umpteenth chance she knew she didn't deserve.

She reached out her arms, beckoning Will to place their child in her outstretched grasp. He hesitated at first, but the child wriggled in his grasp, reaching for the person he adored most. Will could not deny his child that.

"I'll get dinner started," he said flatly, kissing the baby softly on the head as he placed him in Emma's lap. He disappeared into the kitchen.

He was such a beautiful child—a perfect mix of the couple. He had Emma's hair color, but Will's curls. His hair now fell past his ears in little ringlets, and Emma could not bring herself to cut them.

"Mommy," he whispered as she tightened her grasp around him.

The simple word was too much for Emma to bear. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she buried her face into his curls.

She did not deserve this perfect child's unconditional love when she could hardly force herself to love him in the same way.

"Don't cry, Mommy," her little boy told her, tears edging his own small voice. He bent over to place a wet kiss on her cheek.

Emma managed a smile through her tears as she brushed the soft hair away from the boy's forehead to kiss him gently in return.

"I love you, Mommy," he told her. The simple phrase brought another onslaught of tears.

"I love you too, baby," she promised him fervently, pulling his tiny body tightly against hers. "You know that right? I love you so, so much."

And they were true—the truest words Emma had ever uttered to another human being. No matter how much dread and anxiety and lack of control filled her life, she could never stop loving this child—this piece of herself she had brought into the world.

And as she held her baby close to her, feeling his warm breath that smelled of graham crackers and love ricochet off her cheek, she only hoped that she could somehow make that love be enough.

A/N: I'm thinking about doing a companion piece from Will's POV-let me know if that would interest you. Thanks for reading!