A/N: This one's long and a little silly. But give me a break; after a pregnancy arc that was supposed to last 2 chapters and ended up being 4, I couldn't resist adding some silliness.

Ever since Ned's graduation from high school — and subsequent marriage and mayorhood — he'd often been asked about his life: how easy it was to balance his personal and professional lives, how he managed his children, how it felt trying to fill his father's shoes. And every single time he was asked this question, he would shrug his shoulders and lean back, sticking his hands in his pockets and saying with a casual air, "Oh, you get the hang of it. It's fine."

Ned McDodd wasn't much of a liar, but he'd mastered that one fast. Fine, he thought to himself, running a sweaty hand through his hair until it stood up in spikes as he tried to read a twenty-page document in the thirty seconds it took to walk from his office to the council room. "'The council proposes that the aforementioned shall be dealt with as according to Amendment 362, Paragraph 6' — what the heck is Amendment 362? And who's the aforementioned?" Like he had done every day since becoming mayor, Ned tripped over the rug outside his office, nearly falling and spilling his papers everywhere.

Suddenly a hand was at his elbow, catching him before he hit the ground. "Thanks, Miss Yelp," he said as soon as he was upright, flashing her a quick smile and taking the coffee she held out in her free hand.

"Mmm-hmm." This had become something of a ritual over the past few months, ever since he had hired her as his personal assistant (it was the least he could do, since her involvement in what newspapers were calling the Great Meatball Caper had gotten her fired from her old job), and they were both becoming comfortable with their routine. Ned would almost catastrophically screw something up, and then Miss Yelp would swoop in just in time to keep Ned's career from imploding; she'd then offer him a cup of coffee, answer his gratitude with a disinterested "Mmm-hmm," and return to her desk, where he was pretty sure she spent most of her time playing games on the computer.

"Do you have any idea what this is about?" he asked, holding up the sheaf of papers. She looked it over and shrugged, reaching over to straighten his tie. Ned rolled his eyes. "I have the nosiest secretary in the entire universe, and she didn't bother to look at the one thing I need to understand before this stupid meeting?"

Miss Yelp yanked on his tie, almost pulling him off balance again. "I'm not nosy," she said stiffly. But then a small smile quirked at her lips. "I did, however, happen to overhear the Chairman discussing it with one of his Greenies," she added, referring to the rest of the council, a group of middle-aged men who were inexplicably all various shades of green. "Something about a guy cutting his neighbor's Boozleberry tree down illegally, and a fistfight resulting." She gestured to the papers. "If I'd known it was going to be that interesting, I might have given it a closer read."

Oh, great. Two and a half years later and that problem still hadn't been resolved? He muttered a curse, and Miss Yelp slapped the back of his head, nearly spilling his coffee. "What was that for?" he demanded, rubbing the sore spot and wincing.

"You're a family man now, Mayor McDodd. You don't want to set a bad example for the kid."

Ned laughed. "Jojo's barely a year old," he said, "and I'm not even twenty. Cut me a little slack."

"That's not my job." The buzzer on Miss Yelp's desk went off, jolting them back to the situation at hand. "You're late." She took the papers from him and straightened them, then looked him up and down. Apparently deciding that he looked okay — or that there was nothing she could do to help him now — she handed him the documents again and shoved him towards the stairs.

"I'd kill for an elevator," he groaned, beginning to climb the insane number of stairs that led from his office to the meeting room; they'd been painted bright pink and green, as though that would make constantly going up or down them any easier. "Make a note of that, please."

"Mmm-hmm." With that, the door between them closed, leaving him to the mercy of the council.

"Goodnight, Jojo. Mommy loves you very much," Sally cooed, looking down at her son. Jojo stared up at her, his big brown eyes at half-mast. He yawned, and Sally held her breath. Please let him go to sleep, she thought, pressing her lips together and watching carefully.

"Night," he mumbled, before dropping off to sleep. Sally let out a silent sigh of relief and backed away from the crib. It had become an act of Herculean difficulty to get Jojo to take his afternoon nap, and the rare times he actually went to sleep without being dragged to his room screaming were to be cherished. Even after a year, she hadn't quite managed to figure out how to talk this incredibly stubborn, intelligent child into doing things he didn't want to. He was slow in learning to talk, but was picking everything else up with stunning rapidity, and Sally often found herself talking to him like he was her own age — and maybe she was crazy, but it sometimes seemed that he could understand her perfectly.

Or you haven't had enough sleep, she told herself. She really should take this opportunity to get a nap in herself — that was what all the baby books said to do — but she didn't have time. It hadn't occurred to her when she'd agreed to marry Ned that being the wife of the mayor meant that her family was constantly in the public eye, which in turn meant that both she and her house had to be spotless at all times, just in case some important official or a really gossipy housewife decided to stop by unannounced. She ducked into the bathroom, running a towel over the pristine counter absently and checking her hair in the mirror. Luckily for her, it was still in perfect condition, despite the hours she'd spent crawling around the floors of the house, searching for dust bunnies. "Sarah would be so proud," she muttered to herself, a habit that she had developed. It came mostly from the fact that she had no one but Jojo to talk to most of the day, since Ned was at work and both Sarah and Patrick were at Whoniversity. Still, that was preferable to the company she occasionally received during the day. . . .

DINGGGG! The doorbell was unbearably loud; when Ned and Sally had moved into the house, she'd asked if it could be replaced with something quieter. "Of course not, Sally dear," the Chairman, who had found the gigantic house for them about half a mile away from the McDodd-Birch mansion, said. "If your husband needs to be called on important business outside of office hours, we will have to be sure that you can hear the bell, wouldn't we?"

Of course, since nothing had ever gone wrong in Whoville, that hadn't happened yet. But the bell was still there, just as annoying as the day they'd moved in. "The things I do for you, McDodd," she muttered to herself, sprinting down the insanely long hallway to the front door. As she rushed past Jojo's room, she heard the sounds of him sniffling and whimpering through the open door: a precursor to screaming, she knew. "Crap!" she hissed, and scooped him out of his crib as the doorbell pealed again. "Crap, crap crap."

Jojo, comforted by her presence, stared up at her. "Cra?" he repeated. "Cra . . . puh. Puh puh puh."

Oh, great. He'd learned a new word. Ned would be so proud. "Don't say that, honey," she said, giving him her finger to hold onto and shifting him onto her hip. "It's a bad word."

He inspected her finger, seeming to ponder her statement. "Puh," he finally burbled, then closed his tiny lips around her finger and gently gnawed on it with his tooth. Sally threw the door open just as the bell began to ring again, coming face to face with Ned's mother, accompanied by Tom. Oh, great.

"Hi, Carol," she said, forcing a smile and shifting subtly so that she blocked the door. There was no reason to give them any opportunity to come in if it wasn't absolutely necessary. "What a pleasant surprise." Or it would have been, if Carol didn't find reasons to come over at least once every two or three days. Usually the pretenses were pretty flimsy, and Sally supposed she should feel bad; it seemed that taking care of all the children was beginning to take its toll on her, and her husband was somehow around even less often than Ned's father had been, leaving her alone most of the time.

Carol laughed lightly. "Oh, Sally, Tom and I were running errands and I realized that I can't find my orange scarf! Randall bought it for me for my last birthday, and it's made of the most beautiful stuff, I don't even know what. I thought I had it a few weeks ago . . . You haven't seen it, have you?"

Of course she hadn't, but she reluctantly let the door swing open. "Well, no, but you can always check." Hopefully this would be a quick in-and-out visit, and she could get Jojo bathed and dinner started before Ned came home for once. The last time Carol had showed up, she'd spent two hours going over the best way to get rid of mildew in their bathroom in agonizing detail. She's lonely, she's lonely, she repeated to herself, pressing her lips together as her mother-in-law began running her fingers over the banisters and tables in reach.

"You've kept these very clean," she said, sounding a little surprised. Tom was silent, looking around sullenly. He'd be graduating from whocademy in a few weeks and would be moving into whatever fantastic house his father found him to go with his fantastic job on the council, but until then, he was stuck living with all 84 of Ned's younger siblings and was not happy about it. (Neither, it turned out, was Cassandra, who'd dumped him after Mimi had "accidentally" spilled a project she was working on all over her. The project, of course, had been tie-dye.)

"Yeah, well, since you brought over that new duster, I've been having more luck." The duster had come in a bucket with rags — though they were of better quality than most of Sally's clothes — and rubber gloves, which had all been delivered on one of Carol's visits. She had smiled sympathetically and said, "I was just thinking of you." Which of course meant You're terrible at this, but I feel bad for you because you're so young and naturally unkempt. She'd even explained how to use them, as though Sally had no idea what cleaning was! Ned's mother seemed to be picking up some of the less pleasant Birch traits from her husband and stepson.

Still, it looked like she'd passed the test this time. Carol took a cursory glance over the living room, clearly not looking for a scarf or anything else, then settled down on the couch, putting her hands in her lap and crossing her legs. "This is a lovely home." She mentioned that every time she visited, as though it was the first time she'd been there. Normally, Sally smiled and thanked her, but she was far too tired and annoyed for that, so she just took a seat and pulled her finger out of Jojo's mouth, wiping it on her leg with a sigh. Mrs. McDodd finally added, "Though it does seem a little empty — not that you're thinking of more children yet, of course."

Tom snorted and Sally froze, turning her attention to him. "What exactly does that mean?" she demanded, more sharply than she'd intended.

Carol looked baffled, glancing from Tom to Sally. "I meant nothing, dear," she said. "I-I think I will look for my scarf upstairs." She escaped, leaving Tom and Sally to glare at each other in silence.

Sally hugged Jojo to her chest, turning away from Tom and willing herself not to get into an argument. She couldn't resist, however, when she heard another chuckle. "Is something funny?"

"My dad says you two are barely holding it together," Tom said, plopping down onto the couch. "And that's only with one kid." He rolled his eyes. "I have no idea what Carol was thinking, saying that."

"Carol clearly sees that we are doing just fine," Sally snarled, "and knows that we could handle another child no problem."

He raised his eyebrows, a move that would have been attractive if she hadn't hated everything about him, and gestured towards Jojo. "So you and Mayor McLoser are thinking of having more of those things?"

Okay, now she was furious. No one implied that she and Ned were bad parents, and no one referred to her son as a thing! She drew herself up and gave him her most scathing look. "That's Mister Mayor to you, Tom. If you're going to be taking over your father's job, you're going to have to learn to talk like an adult. And maybe we are — it's none of your business, is it?"

Tom sat up too, raising his chin defiantly. "I figured I could be informal since this is family," he sneered, "and of course it's my business. That kid's my nephew, since Mister Mayor's my brother, so I think I have a right to know if you two are stupid enough to be thinking about more kids."

"As a matter of fact, I'm already pregnant," she blurted out. If she could have clapped her hand over her mouth without revealing her lie, she would've done it. Still, the look of shock on Tom's face was almost worth it.

Carol, who'd been coming down the stairs, overheard this last bit. "Oh my goodness! This is so exciting! I'll have to tell Randall as soon as possible, and Mimi will be just thrilled, and — are you sure you're all right, dear?" she asked, taking Sally's free hand and looking up at her with a concerned expression. "You look awfully pale."

Tom was smirking, which gave her just enough courage to keep from admitting that she'd made the whole thing up. "Of course, Carol," she replied coolly. "I'm doing just fine."

"Crap!" Jojo cried, squirming out of her grip and plopping onto the floor, where he happily began crawling around. "Crap . . . puh. Puh puh."

She couldn't have said it better herself.

All of Sally's baby books had told her that after eight months, it was important to set a bedtime and not come in every time the baby cried. It was good for their development or something — not to mention her sanity.

Jojo, unfortunately, did not care about either his or his mother's well-being, and had spent the last four and a half months shrieking for about twenty minutes every time seven o'clock rolled around. Sally was currently sitting at the kitchen table, staring down a cooling bowl of taco soup and waiting for his wailing to taper off. It had gotten to the point where she didn't cry about leaving him alone anymore, but she still wished that Ned would just get home and suffer with her, at least; the guilt was so much worse when she was home alone. Especially when he should've been home by now, and with company.

Finally, when the house had been silent for almost ten minutes and Sally was sure Jojo had dropped off to sleep: DINGGGG!

That stupid doorbell. . . . Listening to Jojo wake up and demonstrate his amazing lung capacity, she climbed to her feet and went to the door, where her two friends were standing shamefaced.

"Sorry, Sal," Sarah said, glancing over the shoulder at the stairs. "This idiot lost our spare key."

"I'm pretty sure you still have it," Patrick snapped. "You have a boyfriend — start blaming him for everything, will you?"

"That's what I'm here for," Erik said, popping out from behind them with a paper bag in his arms. He held it out to Sally. "We thought you'd need this," he explained, handing it to her as they all entered. Though Sally suspected that Patrick still harbored a bit of a crush on Sarah, he and Erik seemed to be pretty good friends, and Pat had even managed a few dates in the year that he'd been a Whoniversity. Erik fit surprisingly well into their group, all things considered, though Sally couldn't quite consider him as close as Patrick or Sarah.

She set the bag on the counter and pulled out a six-pack of beer. "This is quite illegal, Erik," she said, pretending to look outraged; though Patrick and Erik were both of drinking age, the rest of them were still a few months too young (or, in Sarah's case, almost a year, a fact which made her livid). "I'm a mother, after all."

"And your husband's the mayor," he replied, scooping soup into three bowls. "I thought between the two of you, no one in Whoville deserved it more, laws be damned." He set the food in front of Patrick and Sarah, gesturing at the bottles with his spoon.

"Where is he, anyway?" Sarah asked, looking around as though she'd just noticed Ned wasn't there. "Shouldn't he be home by now?"

Sally shrugged. "I was hoping you'd tell me." They were supposed to pick him up at the office, like they did every Friday. It had become a tradition since she and Ned had gotten married and the others had gone off to Whoniversity, because otherwise they wouldn't ever see each other.

"We swung by, but that secretary girl said he wasn't there," Patrick explained, tossing a roll into the air and catching it. "She still doesn't like Sarah, in case you were wondering."

Sarah made a face. "I don't think she's forgiven me for that meatball thing. Every time I show up she looks like I'm going to get her in trouble again."

Miss Yelp and Sarah's relationship, while entertaining, was far from Sally's mind. "He hasn't called," she said, looking concerned. "I don't know where he could be." Not that he'd be too happy when he got home and heard what she'd done, but still.

"Oh, no," Sarah said, reading Sally's face. "Don't go all jealous and crazy again. I thought we'd left that behind in high school."

Erik rolled his eyes and laughed. "She's really supportive, isn't she?" he said, earning an elbow in his side from Sarah.

"Like getting a big hug," Patrick answered dryly. Sarah kicked him in the shin, but was smiling as the two boys high-fived each other.

"I'm fine," Sally said, glancing out the window. "I just hope everything's okay. I really have to talk to him."

Patrick was the only one who picked up on the worry in her expression. "What's up, Sal?"

Why did he have to be so perceptive? She sighed and turned to them, a grin spreading across her face despite herself at the ridiculousness of her situation. "You guys won't believe what I got myself into."

Sally was going to kill him.

Not that Ned could blame her. It was about an hour after Jojo was supposed to be in bed, and he was standing in the middle of a stranger's backyard arguing over a tree.

The only other government official there was Randall Birch; the rest had been spared this inanity. They were both mostly just watching as two men — Mr. Firgle and Mr. Smirgle — screamed at each other over the fence that separated their yards.

"That was MY tree!" Mr. Smirgle yelled.

"Well, the berries were in MY yard!" Mr. Firgle shot back. "And MY dog was getting sick for them!"

"That dog is stupid and you know it!"

"Not as stupid as your wife!"

"You know you just called your sister stupid, right?"

Ned leaned toward the councilman. "Can we outlaw Boozleberry trees and be done with it?" he whispered, watching as the fight become increasingly uglier and more personal.

Randall shook his head. "I know I'll never eat another one for as long as I live, though," he said, and for a moment all the strain and discomfort of their relationship disappeared, and they smiled at each other like normal colleagues.

"Why don't we just plant another tree?" Ned finally asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose, where a headache was forming. "Far away from Mr. Firgle's yard?"

Mr. Smirgle sniffed. "It'd take years to grow!"

Mr. Firgle snorted. "He's so stupid he'd probably mow it over as soon as it became a sprout."

"Well at least I didn't fail Whoniversity!"

"Or we could get one of those . . ." Ned waved his arms, fumbling for words. "Those ones that are already partially grown when you stick them in the ground?"

"Seedlings," Randall interjected helpfully, reading the panic on Ned's face.

The two men paused, the anger seeping out of them. "That'd be hard to plant," Mr. Smirgle finally muttered.

"I'll do it. And Mr. Firgle here will pay for the tree." Ned shot Mr. Firgle a glare, daring him to complain.

Mr. Firgle sized Ned up, then sighed. "As long as he pays my vet bills."

"Perfect! It's agreed," he said before either Firgle or Smirgle could argue. "Let's get this all on paper so I can go home."

"I'll take care of it," Randall offered. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mister Mayor."

Ned stared at him for a moment, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Thank you," he finally said, unable to believe his luck.

At the edge of the yard Randall caught up with him. "Does next Saturday work for you?" he asked. "For the planting, I mean." He nodded, and the councilman just stood there, staring at Ned's forehead (a maneuver Philip McDodd had taught his son years ago. It was a perfect way to look calm and commanding while feeling uncomfortable and awkward). He was just about to say something vague and slip away when Randall added, "Listen, Ned . . . are you okay? I hear from Carol a great deal about Sally and Jojo, but I know that we don't often have an occasion to talk."

That's probably because your son and I hate each other, and you love your son more than anyone else. "Yeah, I guess," he replied, mimicking the forehead-staring strategy.

For a moment they just gazed at one another's foreheads, both feeling stupid but unwilling to either meet each other's eyes or look away. "I know it's not easy," Randall finally said. "This job . . . honestly, I don't know why your father loved it so much. Add that to Sally, and your son . . ." He sighed, finally lowering his eyes to the ground. "I know I rarely act like it, but I'm quite surprised — well, proud, really — of how well you're doing."

Ned was speechless; not only did this make Randall Birch much harder to despise, but he was proud? His own father had implied that occasionally, but had never said that to him. For an embarrassing few seconds Ned was afraid that he was about to cry. Shaking it off, he shrugged and gave the councilman a small smile. "Thanks."

Randall stared at him for a moment, seeming concerned. "And you're sure you and Sally are handling everything acceptably? You're both so young —"

Ned's phone rang; technically, it was only supposed to be used for office-related problems, since cell phones were so new and expensive, but the only person who had ever called him on it was Sally, and not very often. He held up one finger to his step-father and answered the phone, "Sal, I'm so sorry I'm late, but —"

"TELL HIM ALREADY!" he heard Sarah shouting in the background. (And Erik's voice: "Sarah, you gave her half a second!")

"Honey . . . I kind of accidentally told your mom and Tom that I'm pregnant. So we're either going to need to have another baby or skip town."

"Ned?" Randall was looking at him with concern, probably because all the blood had drained out of his face. "Is everything okay?"

"I'll be right home, Sal," he said faintly, hanging up the phone without saying goodbye. Turning to Randall, he stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning back slightly. "Don't worry," he said with a shrug. "It's fine."

A/N: I feel like Tom is something of a cartoon villain. But it's just SO HARD to make him sympathetic! I'll try to be nicer to him, but he's a brat in the movie and so I feel somewhat justified making him a brat in this story. Also, taco soup is delicious and everyone should try it.

Anyway, hope you guys liked this chapter, and thanks for reading! (Reviews are always appreciated, but not demanded because that's no fun.)