"I can't believe Phoebe's pregnant!" Monica exclaims suddenly, and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye for just a moment—she's grinning from ear to ear. I smile as I turn my eyes back to the road in front of me. Amazingly, we've managed to make it most of the way home before she brought it up.

"It's pretty incredible. Our baby and her baby will practically be twins."

"Built-in best friends," she says, her hands resting on her stomach.

"Maybe," I answer. "Let's hope they all like each other."

"They won't have a choice. They're going to grow up together; they're going to see each other every day. It's going to be great."

"How are they going to see each other every day? Are they going to hitchhike? Take the bus?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha. What Imean is that Phoebe mentioned a while back that she liked the idea of living in a house in the suburbs. Maybe we could talk her into moving out here. We could be neighbors!"

I shake my head and chuckle a little. "Is it your plan to get all of our friends to move out here?"

She shrugs, tracing little designs on her belly. "Would that be the worst thing?"

I reach over for a moment and squeeze her hand. "No, it wouldn't be the worst thing. And if anyone can make it happen, it'd be you."

She squeezes my hand in return before I put it back on the wheel. "I just miss them a lot sometimes, and I wish I could see more of them, you know?"

"I know."

We're quiet for a few moments before I see her perk up out of the corner of my eye. "You got to feel the baby kick."

The grin that spreads across my face actually hurts. "That was amazing. When do you think it'll kick again?"

She snorts a little. "I don't know—the baby hasn't sent me today's schedule."

"You're funny."

"I really don't know, honey. So far, I've been finding he's most active when I've been still for a while. All the walking around at work seems to be soothing, but when I get a chance to relax…I'm a punching bag. Actually, it's not that bad, yet, but there's definite activity. The baby gets really excited when I see you, though."

I bite my lip, feeling my eyes tear up just a bit. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm excited, so the baby's excited. It's really that simple."

I don't know if that's true, but it's one of the sweetest, most amazing things I've ever heard. I clear my throat and glance in the rearview mirror at the car seats behind us, the mirrors attached to those reflecting the little faces of Jack and Erica. Erica's busy trying to grab at one of the toys dangling off her seat, an intense look of concentration on her face; Jack's blinking sleepily, the rumbling of the vehicle lulling him to sleep.

"Uh-oh; we've got a sleepy baby on our hands."

"Jack?"

"Yeah."

"So close to home, too." She reaches an arm back, tickling his side. "C'mon, sweetie. We're almost there. You can have dinner soon. Food! Isn't that exciting?"

"Uh-oh."

I feel my eyes grow wide, Monica staring at me in shock. "Was that Erica?" she asks, her voice hopeful.

I glance in the mirror again; she's still focused on her toys. "Erica, did you say 'uh-oh'?"

This time, I see her little lips move. "Uh-oh."

Monica's hands clasp over her mouth, and I can see her eyes glistening in the light from oncoming traffic. "I know she's just repeating sounds, but her little voice is one of the sweetest sounds I've ever heard."

"Erica, say 'uh-oh'."

"Uh-oh."

Monica squeals a little, startling Jack awake, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Jack," I say, making eye contact with him for a moment in the mirrors. "Say 'uh-oh'."

"Uh-oh."

"Was that Jack?" Monica asks excitedly.

"No, that was our little ham again."

"Oh, Erica, you're such a smart girl!" The baby just smiles happily, smacking her fists against the side of her car seat, her mother's voice exciting her. "Jack, say 'uh-oh'."

We're greeted by silence. I look at him again and see his lip poking out, his face crumpling. "Uh-oh—we're about to have a meltdown."

"Uh-oh," Erica answers just as Jack starts to wail.

If there are two things in this world that we know with absolute certainty that our son loves, it's food and sleep, and we've managed to deprive him of both in one fell swoop.

Monica reaches back, her hand rubbing his belly. "It's okay, honey. It's okay. We're almost home. You can make it." She looks at me and cringes; this sort of crying makes us feel completely helpless, and it's completely heartbreaking. It takes everything in me not to speed home, especially when I know we're so close.

I steal a glance at Erica, who doesn't look concerned in the slightest with her brother's plight. Jack's wails are starting to reach the level of ear-bleed. "I think this is his 'I need Mommy' cry. Thoughts, Mama?"

"I think you should try to handle this." She winces at Jack's cries, turning around further in her seat, trying to console our distraught son. "Jack, Jack, Jack. It's okay. We're almost home. Mama's sorry she scared you." I see her make a face at me. "This sounds like a job for Daddy, right?"

My eyebrows raise and I glance at Monica out of the corner of my eye. "Really?"

She reaches back to Jack once more, trying to calm him down. "Yeah, I know."

Mercifully, our street appears, our driveway just moments behind it. As quickly as possible, I park the car, and Monica hurries out, moving very quickly for a woman as pregnant as she is. She grabs Erica's car seat from the back of the car and I pull out Jack, who's still screaming bloody murder. We meet at the trunk; I lift Jack and immediately pass him to his mother, who hands Erica's carrier to me at the same time.

Jack's head immediately falls to Monica's shoulder, his tiny body curling around her stomach. "I know," she whispers, gently bouncing him back and forth. "I know. We'll go inside and eat and go to sleep and everything will be better." She kisses the back of his head as we try to gather our belongings, and gives me a look. "Does he feel a little warm to you?"

I drop the diaper bag to the ground and put my hand on his back, pressing my lips to his forehead. "Maybe a little. What do you think it is?"

"Teething?" she suggests, shrugging as I pick up the diaper bag once more and we head to our front door. "He was fine while we were at Central Perk, so I don't know what else it could be. It's okay, sweetie pie. Mommy's got you. We'll put you in your jammies and get something to eat and it'll be okay."

I unlock the door and usher Monica in, shaking my head. If poor Jack is teething again, that means another sleepless night for Monica. Me, too, to a degree, but not in the same way. Maybe, if we're lucky, he's just tired and cranky and all he needs is to go to bed soon. I mean, it's definitely later than they usually eat, and it's surprising that our drama queen hasn't raised hell yet, too.

"I'm gonna take his temperature," Monica tells me as she heads upstairs. "Just in case. We'll be down soon."

Fortunately, Jack's crying has subsided a bit, but it's still heartbreaking to hear. "I'm going to start Erica's dinner," I call after her, receiving a thumbs up in response.

"All right, little butt," I say to Erica, finally pulling her out of her car seat. "What do you say to some food?" She looks at me with wide eyes for a moment, her hand reaching out to grab my nose. "I'll take that a yes." I bring her into the kitchen and put her in her high chair, shaking out a few Cheerios onto her tray to keep her occupied.

"Buh?" she asks, hitting her hand on the tray.

"Cereal," I tell her, putting her formula in a sippy cup.

"Buh!"

"Cereal."

She picks up a piece and flings it to the floor. "BUH!"

Oh, good; I was hoping for a tantrum. "Erica…"

Her eyes go wide and she stares at me, looking innocent. "Uh-oh."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing; the last thing she needs is the encouragement. "That's right uh-oh. We don't throw food." It's incredibly fascinating that she's managed to pick up on the correct usage of "uh-oh" so quickly. That, or because it got such a huge reaction from me and her mother earlier, she's hoping it'll be just as charming now.

I reach down and pick up the Cheerio, wiping it on my jeans before holding it out to her. "We eat food. We don't throw it."

She angles her neck toward me, opening her mouth and I sigh. She knows perfectly well how to pick up food and mostly get it in her mouth, but she really doesn't like it when Daddy is strict with her. In a heartbeat, she becomes completely helpless, and without fail, I give in to her.

I'm such a sap.

I stick the cereal in her mouth and she chews happily, grinning at me. Manipulative little monster. If only she weren't so damn cute, I might have a chance.

"Just…take your cup." I put the cup in front of her and she grabs on, suddenly self-sufficient. With another sigh, I stand up and gather things for their dinner, sitting back down to cut up a banana for the two of them. For the moment, she's lost interest in me as she delicately stuffs Cheerios in her mouth. We have a couple of interesting little babies; their personalities are endlessly fascinating and so wildly different. And now, they're much more like tiny little people than they ever have been.

Erica aims a Cheerio at her mouth and it glances off her cheek, falling somewhere down her highchair.

Tiny drunk people, I mentally correct myself.

She picks up another Cheerio and holds her hand out to me. "Duh?"

"Is that for Dada? How sweet." I lean forward and gobble at her hand, her giggles filling the kitchen. I have no idea where the piece of cereal winds up. I kiss her forehead before going back to the banana. She may be manipulative, but in all honesty, I love it. I love it and I wouldn't trade a single second of it.

I hear Jack sniffling just a moment before Monica walks into the room with an armful of cranky baby. "What's the prognosis?" I ask, standing up for a moment to kiss first Jack's head, then Monica's lips.

"He's fine," she assures me, putting him into his high chair. "No fever. I think he just got himself too worked up. But you're okay, aren't you, Jack Attack?"

He looks at his tray glumly and my heart goes out to him. He's so rarely grouchy that it's hard not to feel bad for him when he's like this. "You hungry, buddy?" I drop some banana on his tray and his fingers immediately reach out, grabbing a piece and shoving it in his mouth. "I guess that an affirmative."

Monica runs her hand through my hair before getting his sippy cup ready. "We still have some of that spiral pasta in the fridge?"

"Should," I answer, trying to make sure Jack doesn't stuff too much in his mouth at one time. It turns out that kids this age will eat pretty much anything if it's something they can grab with their little fingers, plain pasta included. A moment later, she pulls out a chair next to me, opening the container and dropping a few pieces of pasta on each of their trays. "What should we do about dinner?"

She makes a face, contemplating our digestive future; I can tell just by the way she's slumped against the chair that she's in no mood to cook tonight. "Pizza?" she finally asks, her face lighting up.

"Works for me," I answer, and even if it didn't, if it makes my pregnant wife happy, I just roll with it. She's got the hard part in this whole child-bearing process; I can certainly deal with the foods she wants to eat. "I'll call after the royal couple has finished eating."

She shrugs, turning into a stretch, and slides her legs across my lap, wiggling her toes. I slide my hand gently up and down her calf for a few minutes, feeling her relax even under the gentlest of ministrations.

"So what'd I miss today?"

"Not a lot. Erica did say 'Mama,' which really freaked out Phoebe and Rachel."

My eyes grow wide as I smile. "She called you Mama?"

"I'm pretty sure if she'd actually called me that, I've be a bit more excited. No; she said it to me, then she said it to her bottle. It's nice to know the two of us are on the same level, you know?" She reaches out and smoothes down Erica's hair. "You're just a little tease, aren't you? Getting your aunts all excited like that, making them think you like to call your mommy by her name."

Erica bangs her cup on her tray, screeching. Jack makes a face, a couple of big tears squeezing out of his eyes. Poor little guy. I reach out and swipe a thumb across his cheeks, giving his quivering lower lip a tap in the process. "It's okay, little dude. It's okay." The look he gives me very clearly expresses his doubt, but he picks up a piece of banana anyway, stuffing it in his mouth.

Erica's sippy cup goes flying all of a sudden, hitting the floor with a crash as she starts to bang on her tray, yelling, "Dohdohdohdohbah!"

"Erica," Monica says, her voice somehow firm but gentle. "Don't yell."

"BeebeebeeBEEBEEBEE!"

"Erica," Monica says again, her voice a little less gentle this time, but calmly grabs the baby's hands to get her to stop banging. "No."

It's like a battle of wills with these two sometimes; I swear I can see Erica calculating the risks right now, trying to decide if fighting her mother is a good idea. A moment later, her mouth opens and she lets out an ear-piercing scream. Jack's eyes grow wide and in an instant, Monica's sitting upright, grabbing Erica's highchair and pulling it directly in front of her face. "Erica. Josephine. Bing. NO."

She got three-named. In the almost eleven months they've been alive, she's only had to "Jack Hemingway Bing" our son once. It's practically a weekly occurrence for Erica, though.

And Monica—I don't know how she does it. She doesn't yell; instead her voice gets almost deathly quiet, but it seems to be much more effective than losing her temper. Not that Monica's one to fly off the handle, in all honesty, but she certainly has that "Mom" look down pat.

Erica's chin quivers, her eyes filling with what are probably crocodile tears. "Uh-oh," she says softly, holding out her arms to be picked up. Monica sits back and bites her lip, fighting against the urge to comfort our daughter. Any time something like this happens, she tries to give it at least a minute before handing out hugs and kisses, mostly so they won't think that it was their idea.

"Don't you 'uh-oh' me, young lady. You know you're not supposed to do that."

"Boh?" Erica asks quietly, the tears in her eyes already drying, her little hand reaching for pasta; Jack has already lost interest in the fight between his mother and sister and is determinedly attacking his sippy cup. I stand quietly and retrieve Erica's cup, placing it on her tray.

"Erica and I have are going to have so much fun when she's a teenager," Monica says suddenly, her hands rubbing her stomach.

"I think it's going to be an early night for both of them," I answer, reaching out a hand to rub her shoulders.

"Erica," Monica says, our daughter turning her gaze to her mother. "I love you." She grins, banana falling off her lip. "And then she does that, and I feel like the world's biggest jerk for yelling at her."

"There was no yelling. Discipline, yes, but no yelling. They have to learn boundaries, Mon."

"I know, but—" She gasps suddenly, bending over as one hand grips her stomach. "Son of a bi…."

"Oh, my God, are you okay?" I jump up, trying to find my phone. "Want me to call the doctor? Or—or—or an ambulance—"

"No, I'm fine," she answers in a moan.

"That doesn't look fine!" My voice comes out in a higher octave than I've ever heard.

"That was a just…I don't know what that was. Either a kick or a punch or something inside of me was used a trampoline all of a sudden." She sits up slowly, rubbing the side of her stomach. "Wow that was painful."

"Are you sure everything's okay?" My heart feels like it's jackhammering out of my chest.

"Yeah. I think I was more surprised than anything else. Uncalled for," she adds, looking down at her belly.

Cautiously, I reach out and stroke her stomach. "Take it easy on your mom, all right? We kind of need her." I feel a tiny little thump against my hand and can't control the grin that breaks out across my face.

"Someone's happy to see Daddy," Monica informs me, putting her hand on mine.

"That's the weirdest thing in the world," I say softly, completely amazed. Being able to feel the baby kick has just made this whole thing that much more real.

"You're telling me? I have a tiny person beating me up from the inside. My internal organs are going to have bruises."

"Worth it?" I ask her, looking up for a moment to see her grinning at me.

"Completely."

I look over at our twins; Jack's head is slumped, his shoulders moving as he breathes deeply. Erica is quietly crushing what's left of her food, content in her destructive abilities. "All right—time for bed." I lift Jack out of his chair as he snoozes on, oblivious to the world around him. Erica's arms go up again and this time Monica picks her up, squeezing her close for a minute.

"I love you, little girl," she whispers against Erica's head, and Erica buries her face in Monica's neck, her tiny hand grabbing her mother's hair gently, a surefire sign that she's more tired than she's letting on.

Slowly, we bring them up to their nursery, the soft glow of the nightlight guiding us.

"Tell you what," I tell Monica, checking Jack's diaper before laying him in his crib. "I'll do this part—I'll make sure everyone is changed and wiped down and read to them a little, and you go get changed, get comfy, and order the pizza. I'll be downstairs soon."

She grabs my arm, pulling me to her. "I have the best husband in the world," she whispers, and I lean down to kiss her.

"Eh, I'm all right." I take Erica from her arms and gently wipe her face before bringing her to the changing table. Monica leans over Jack's crib, stroking his cheek.

"Night night, sweetie. I love you." She comes over and leans over Erica, who's blinking up at us sleepily, kissing her forehead. "'Night, sweet girl. I love you, too."

I save her the trouble and capture her lips in mine once more. "Yeah, I guess you're all right, too."

I nudge her with my knee, my hands occupied with changing my daughter's diaper. "Love you, too, honey."

"See you downstairs." She gives me an affectionate pat on my ass before shuffling away. I go about getting Erica ready for bed, pulling her pajamas carefully over her head before I pull her against my shoulder, bringing her with me over to the bookcase.

"How about Dr. Seuss? Can't go wrong with that guy, right?" She snuffles against my neck, so I assume she's good with it. I pull a rocking chair over next to Jack's crib so he can hear, too. I know they're both asleep, or at least most of the way there, but reading to them is good for them. It's good for me, too, because it turns out that I really like spending that time with them.

I cradle Erica in my arm and prop the book up on my knee. "Oh, The Places You'll Go," I say to them, reading the title. "Oh, the places indeed."

*A/N… In my little world, Joey never moved to LA (I never watched "Joey," either), so he's still part of their lives. Also, I've decided the twins' birthday is April 25 for several reasons. 1—every important event on this show happened in May, so this way, it's a little different. 2—it's a less than subtle nod to Chandler's favorite movie, "Miss Congeniality."