Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville or these characters.

Author's Note: It's very difficult for the Kents to raise a child who doesn't speak the language? Just a bunch of random fluff pieces about Jonathan, Martha, and their newly adopted son. The purpose of this is purely baby Clark fluff.


Jonathan wrestled his son out of the bathtub with a towel, and little Clark let out a squeal. He loved playing in the water, and hated it when Jonathan drained the tub.

"Come on, Clark, it's almost bedtime," Jonathan laughed. "We still have to brush your teeth and get you into your training pants!"

Clark had wrestled his way out of his adoptive father's arms and back into the tub. The brown-haired toddler began splashing and cooing, trying to soak up every last bit of fun before the water disappeared down the drain.

"You're pretty strong, Clark," Jonathan commented, watching the tub empty. He wrestled the child out of the bathtub a second time and wrapped Clark up in the towel. He towel-dried the little one's hair and slipped a white pajama top with little sailboats and planes on over the child's head. "Jammies," he informed his son. "This is your jammie top. And Clark, these are your training pants." He slipped a pair of Pull-Ups on Clark. Clark did use the toilet, but wasn't completely potty trained. He often wet the bed at night, so the problem was solved with training pants.

"Boys!" Martha called from downstairs. She had been washing the dishes while Jonathan was bathing their son. "Time for dessert! I've baked my homemade cookies!"

"Cookies! Here that, Clark? Mommy made cookies!" Jonathan helped his son into his matching pajama bottoms and gave him a pat on the back. "Go downstairs, Clark."

Clark just stood there in the bathroom, looking up at his father, blinking his eyes. His mouth was agape in a cute little show of curiosity. Jonathan was folding the towel and hanging it on the towel rack.

"Go on, son," Jonathan encouraged quietly, holding out his hand to Clark and making a motion to shoo him away. "Go downstairs to Mommy."

Clark took a few steps backward, but stopped and kept staring at his father. He either didn't understand or didn't want to move. His father suspected both.

Jonathan sighed. "Come on, Clark." He walked back over to Clark and offered his hand to the boy. Clark took his father's hand, and the pair walked downstairs.

Martha was at the kitchen counter. Upon seeing her son, she went over to help him into a kitchen chair, and presented him with two cookies and a sippy cup full of milk. "So," she said to her son, smiling. "Did you bond with your father in the bathtub?" She scratched her son's scalp through his wet hair.

"We sure did," Jonathan grinned, taking a seat beside his son with a plate full of his wife's cookies. "He's a strong kid, Martha. I grabbed a towel and pulled him out of the tub, holding onto him as much as I could, but he still managed to slip out of my grip."

"He does that with me, too." Martha picked one of the cookies off her husband's plate and showed it to her son. "See, Clark, honey? This is cookie. Cookie. You eat it, see? Eat." Martha took a small bite out of the cookie.

Clark picked up one of the cookies in his tiny hands and took the smallest bite out of it. He swallowed, took another small bite, and then reached for his sippy cup.

"Good boy, Clark," Jonathan smiled at his son. "You like Mommy's cookies!"

"This is what we do at the kitchen table, honey. We eat."

"Eeee," came a sound from Clark's mouth as he set down his sippy cup.

"Honey!" Martha said to Jonathan, reaching for her husband's hand. "I think he said his first word!"

"Close enough," Jonathan chuckled.