My living room is pretty much at capacity right now. Every available seat is taken, and even then, some people have been relegated to the floor.

I love it.

Just about all of my friends and family came over for Thanksgiving this year, and now everyone's lounging about, digesting, rubbing their stomachs, and moaning about just how good everything was.

Thank you very much.

Of course, I didn't do it all alone. Chandler's become quite helpful in the kitchen, even if he's just doing the grunt work like chopping onions or mashing potatoes.

The twins think they're super helpful nowadays, and usually they're content to be handed a broom or a dust rag and just "help" me clean, but when Mommy and Daddy are in the kitchen, that's where they want to be.

The bang-on-pots-and-pans method was very popular this year. I guess they thought that sounding like a grunge band was exactly what prep for Thanksgiving dinner needed.

Naturally, they were right.

William didn't even freak out with all the commotion, which might have been the best part of all.

I'm really hoping we're finally over the hump with his fussiness. He's still more agitated with the world around him than I would prefer, but he's not nearly as grumpy as he used to be. It's a testament to just how much kids pick up on the atmosphere around them; once Mommy relaxed, it was easier for him to relax.

Not that he sleeps for much longer than three hours at a time. He slept for four hours once and I nearly had an anxiety attack.

And he still gets cranky—something about the week nineteen phase—but since that's been his personality for most of his life, the difference hasn't been huge.

But I wouldn't trade him for anything. Especially that goofy little smile of his.

That may be what makes him the biggest stinker in the world—he's grouchy and cranky and will cry for an hour straight, but then…he shifts and just smiles and I feel like I'm going to explode.

Jack and Erica are starting to take interest in him again, now that he's a bit more mobile and not so off-limits. I don't know what they thought when they first met him, but it must have been something along the lines of a new toy. When they weren't allowed to poke and prod at him, they went about their business, finding the toys they're allowed to beat up, and basically ignoring the fact that there was someone else in the house. Unless, of course, he was crying—more than once, that garnered a few temper tantrums from at least one of the twins.

There was a much bigger period of adjustment with a new baby than I ever anticipated, and I think, ultimately, it was hardest on Jack and Erica. They're just too little to understand what's going on in their world, other than Mommy and Daddy have to pay attention to someone else now, too. They found that considerably less than thrilling.

It's been gradually balancing out, though. William's a little more lucid and interested in his surroundings, and the twins can interact with him a little more. They "talk" to him a lot, and for the most part are surprisingly gentle with him. They love story time with him, especially when they try to turn the pages themselves and "tell" the story.

Oh, God, my kids are so cute. It's too much, sometimes.

I wrap my arms a little more tightly around Erica, who's sitting on my lap, giving her cheek a kiss, then blowing little raspberries on it for good measure. She smiles, but keeps singing to herself. It's the sweetest thing—every once in a while, I hear a couple of notes from "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," or "Three Blind Mice," or any of the other nursery rhymes Chandler and I sing to them, all of it in gibberish, but I find it to be magical.

"I love you, Erica," I whisper into her ear, and she tries to tuck the side of her face against her shoulder as my breath tickles her, a smile on her face. I look up to find Chandler already looking at me, smiling. His grin grows wider as our eyes meet, and he winks at me, bouncing William gently in his arms, before turning his attention back to my father and Ross. My dad's holding Jack, and I feel myself turn to mush just a little as I watch them, so happy that my parents have never considered the twins anything but equal to their biological grandchildren. My son and my father do seem to have a nice bond—I guess that happens when you name your child after a parent. It seems natural that they'd connect. Chandler makes sure to include Ben in the conversation, who's standing at Ross's side. Ben looks pretty excited to be treated like an adult, and I'm amazed once more at how good Chandler is with kids. I think it's because he never really treats them like they're idiots, the way a lot of adults tend to do with children. To Chandler, they're just another one of his buddies, all on equal footing, though the content of the conversations definitely varies by age.

"Oh, my God, Mon—I love this picture!"

I turn my head to Phoebe, who's sitting beside me on the couch, Amelia asleep in one arm, a picture frame in her other hand. I look over her shoulder for a second and grin. It's a picture of me asleep in the cuddle chair, William passed out against my chest, Jack and Erica curled up next to me, also sound asleep. A rare moment in the Bing family, to be sure. "Chandler just took that last week."

"Wow! It's really good. It looks professional."

"I know!" I lean forward, pulling a photo album out from under the coffee table, opening it between us. "Check these out." I flip through a few pages for her, showing off some of the most recent pictures of the kids, mainly from the last couple of months—playing in leaves, going through a corn maze, on a hayride, visiting an apple orchard…all the stupid, stereotypical things we don't want our kids to miss out on. Maybe I'm biased, but I swear that each of his pictures tells a complete story, all bright colors and happy little faces.

"These are incredible," Phoebe tells me, taking in the pictures. "Chandler took all of these?"

"Yeah." I can't help but feel incredibly proud of my husband. Life may have been tough when he quit his job a few years back, but our quality of life has improved exponentially since then. He's been so happy with his job in advertising that it's lead to him find so many other things that he's passionate about. It turns out that he's wildly creative, which isn't surprising when you consider that his mother is a novelist and his father is a performer. Creativity runs in his veins. Photography just happened to be one of those things he stumbled into, mostly by taking ridiculous amounts of pictures of the twins from the moment they came home. Of course, he gets to interact with other creative-types at work, and any time he gets the chance to help out with a commercial or ad, he comes home with the biggest smile on his face. Having a few lean months while he got his feet back on the ground was so worth the trade off.

"It's a pity he couldn't find cuter subjects," she says, nudging my arm with her elbow.

I shake my head, bouncing Erica on my lap a little. "I know. Speaking of, look at this one." I turn a few pages, flipping to the middle of the book, coming to the kids at the apple orchard. Miraculously, he managed to get the twins to sit still for a few minutes while also not completely crushing William; they're surrounded by leaves and apples and the most spectacular blue fall sky. They're so beautiful I want to weep just looking at the pictures. I point to the picture of the three of them. "We had this one blown up, and as soon as we get it framed, it's going over the fireplace."

"That's so great! Oh, I love it!"

I grin and flip the page again; same day, just close-ups of their faces—Phoebe gasps. There's Erica, looking almost sweet and innocent, but with a devilish glint in her eyes, her little nose all scrunched up, shiny little teeth peeking through her grin. Then there's Jack, who actually does look sweet and innocent, and so happy as he was caught mid-laugh, probably giggling at something his father was doing. And little William, his eyes so very wide and bright blue as the sun hit him at just the right moment, no trace of tears or grumpiness. "We had so much fun that day," I say, a little wistfully.

"You guys have become the ultimate suburban family—it's fantastic."

"Quite a change from just a couple of years ago, isn't it?" I ask, kissing my daughter's head.

Phoebe shrugs and Amelia rubs her face for a few moments, yawning before settling down again. "It's a good change. I think it works for you. It's the life you always dreamed about."

I smile at my friend before jostling my daughter, trying to get her attention. "Erica. Where's Jack?" I ask her, pointing to the photo album. She grins and points at her twin. "Good girl! And where's William?" She looks thoughtful for a moment before pointing to her little brother. "That's right! Where's Erica?" She looks at me, eyes wide, confused. I smile at her and point to her picture. "There she is. That's you, sweetie. That's my beautiful little girl." She claps her hands, though it's most likely the tone of my voice that's exciting her than knowing she got something right, or that I think she's beautiful. I hug her tight for a moment and she makes a little noise of protest—I can already hear her complaining about it as a teenager. "The most beautiful little girl in the whole world," I say against her hair.

Phoebe clears her throat and gestures to her own daughter. "Excuse me; Aunt Mon? I think you're forgetting about another good-looking little girl."

I lean over and gently kiss her soft, downy hair. "I would never. How about this? Erica's the most beautiful one-and-a-half-year-old, and Amelia is the most beautiful two-month-old."

She smiles down at her daughter. "I can live with that." Erica loses interest in the pictures and goes back to singing to herself, playing with my fingers at the same time. I'm amazed that she's been still for this long—she's very much into being nosy right now, so sitting on my lap for any stretch of time is unusual. She's very cuddly at the moment; hopefully, it doesn't mean she's getting sick. "Do you really think they'll be friends when they grow up?"

"I like to think so. I don't know that they'll have much choice. They're practically going to be sisters, you know?"

"Even with the age gap?"

I shrug, grabbing one of Erica's little feet. She jumps when I tickle her. "I'm sure they'll reach an age when it'll matter to at least one of them. At some point, Erica will think she's too old to hang out with Amelia and cause all kinds of hurt feelings, but, if we're lucky, they'll come out on the other side of it closer than ever."

"What if one of them says something horribly inappropriate on one of the most important days of her best friend's life?"

I look up from my daughter, confused. "What are you talking about, Pheebs?"

She makes a face, her mouth downturned. "I'm sorry about what I said the day William was born—about getting one named after me. It came out all wrong and it wasn't something I should have said ever, and definitely not when you'd just given birth. Now that I've had to actually name one myself, I know how hard it is, and sometimes a name just fits. Mike was so upset with me for even mentioning it, even more so when I explained to him about how you and Chandler hid your relationship for so long and how Joey helped you guys out…and I'm just really sorry."

"Pheebs…" I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Don't worry about it. You were very pregnant, I'd just been very pregnant, there were a lot of hormones and emotions…seriously, don't worry about it." I hear her sniffle a little and I just hug her, knowing what the post-pregnancy hormones can do to a woman.

"So," she says suddenly, shifting away from me, turning her attention back to the photo album. "Do you think Chandler would take pictures of Amelia?"

I feel myself bounce with excitement for my husband. "He'd love to! I know he'd love to. But—ooo. If you want to wait until after Christmas…" I look around for Chandler, seeing that he's still talking to his in-laws, but I lower my voice anyway. "I'm getting him a camera for Christmas. A nice one. He keeps saying that film is on its way out and that everything's going digital, but those cameras are like buying a new car so I'm getting him one that takes film; it's used, but by an actual photographer, so it's still in good condition. This way, if film cameras do go out of style, we won't have wasted too much money on something that's obsolete, and film sticks around, he'll have something nicer to use."

"That's so great! Maybe he can take pictures with the old camera and the new camera. Think he would?"

"I'm sure of it."

"You think he'll look into photography as a career?"

I shrug. "I honestly don't know. I know he likes to take pictures of the kids, but I don't know if he'd want to do it fulltime. I think he's pretty happy with his career right now." I look over at my husband again—he really does look happy. He smiles so easily and laughs so much, and has so much love to give me and our kids…I feel tears prickle the corners of my eyes, so I shift my attention back to Erica. "Twinkle, twinkle little star," I sing softly in her ear. "How I wonder what you…" I wait—sometimes, because they know these songs so well, they finish the lyrics for us. The first time it happened was because I yawned in the middle of singing and they just couldn't wait to hear the rest of it.

"Are," she finally says, sounding impatient.

"Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the…"

"Sky."

"Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you…"

She turns her head and looks at me this time, waiting for me to finish, as if she's so tired of having to do things for me.

I love this kid.

I grin at her and remain silent. I know she'll cave in eventually—she hates to leave things unfinished almost as much as I do.

"Are." I swear she sounds exasperated.

"Good girl, Erica," I tell her. "You're so smart."

Phoebe looks impressed. "I can't wait until Amelia can do that."

I wrap my arms around my daughter, pressing my cheek to the top of her head. "Yes, you can. They grow up so fast, Pheebs. I know you hear it all the time, but it's true. The last year has gone by in the blink of an eye. I wish I could keep them as babies forever."

Phoebe looks wistfully down at her daughter. "I guess that's true. She's already almost two months old. She looks like a different person than she did when she was born. But part of me can't wait to see all the amazing things she's going to do."

"I know. They are pretty incredible."

"Who's incredible?"

I look up and smile to see Chandler standing in front of me, William still tucked against him. "Children. More specifically, ours. Well, ours and Phoebe's, I should say."

"Ah. Well, speaking of incredible, his highness has decided it's time to eat again. When he starts rooting around on my chest for something, I know we're about to be in trouble."

I settle into the corner of the couch, one arm reaching for the baby, the other unbuttoning my blouse. "I'm sure he smelled all the wonderful Thanksgiving smells and wanted in on the action."

"You're just gonna do that here?" Phoebe asks as Chandler puts William in my arms.

"It's my house," I answer as he latches on, his forehead furrowing in concentration. "I should have to go to another room so my son can eat? Though, actually." I tug at the throw draped across the back of the couch, and Chandler pulls it out the rest of the way, covering the baby and me a little. Phoebe lifts an eyebrow at me. "So Ben doesn't get traumatized if he comes over here. Or so my father doesn't have to see this. I don't think he'd recover." Chandler sits on the arm of the couch, his hand playing with my hair, and Erica slides off my lap with a sigh. I look down at her, and it almost looks like she's pouting. "What's with you, Bugaboo?"

She just stares at me with her big, dark eyes—not that I was expecting an actual answer.

"Do you think Mommy doesn't have enough room for you, too?" I pat my leg then hold out my arm for her. "Come over here." She looks at me uncertainly. "Eri, you can sit on Mommy's lap." I keep my arm out for her, waiting to see what she'll do. I don't know if she's completely recovered yet from the first couple months of William's life; I wasn't the best mother to my twins at that point. It kills me that I let the two of them think they weren't as important to me as the baby, especially when that wasn't the case at all.

Slowly, though, she crawls onto my lap and I wrap my arm around her again. She leans her head against my chest, cuddling into me. Her hand reaches out, carefully tapping William's foot, smiling when it twitches and kicks, tapping it again to get the same response. I press my lips to her forehead—normal.

"Maybe all that turkey made her sleepy," Chandler suggests. "She went to town on it."

"Do you like Mommy's cooking, sweetie?" I stroke her hair back from her face; she looks up at me for a few moments before turning back to her brother. "You know, just two years ago we found out about you. It was one of the best days ever. You and Jack have made me and Daddy so happy. Speaking of, where is her other half?"

Chandler gestures over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off William. "Still with your dad. I think Grandpa's having a great time showing off little Jack."

"Man, can that kid eat," Phoebe exclaims suddenly, watching William in fascination. "Look at him go!"

"He gets it from his father," I tell her, earning a flick on the arm from Chandler.

"Really?" he asks.

I peek up at him for a second, readjusting my arm under the baby. "Sorry." I look over at Phoebe again, grinning. "But he definitely gets it from his father."

Chandler groans and I try to stifle a laugh, Erica giggling at her father. "Geez, Mon! Do you have to tell her that kind of stuff?"

"Honey, do you really think that after all these years, I've told my best friends nothing about our life together?" Phoebe waggles her eyebrows at him playfully, and I look back to my husband in time to see his face turn bright red.

"Amelia's not nearly as excited about eating as William is," Phoebe says suddenly, her mood shifting a bit. "Maybe I'm not producing enough milk. Did you have that problem?"

I shake my head, watching my son chug away. "Nope. I think I have enough in me to feed a small country. I've had to start pumping while nursing most of the time. I mean, he can't seem to get enough, but he still has his limits. But, you know what might help? I'm not an expert and if you're not sure, definitely talk to your doctor, but Mike can play with them a little."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"The stimulation can help you produce more milk. Plus, you know, it's fun."

"Is that what you two do?"

I look at Chandler again—his face is still a little pink from earlier, so I decide to spare him. "No; I don't need any assistance in production. I'm just saying that it's one of those things that could helpful. Plus, there's a lot of really healthy stuff in breast milk that's beneficial to people of all ages."

"That's true," Chandler adds. "It's good for the immune system. I haven't had so much as a sniffle in weeks."

Now it's my turn to be embarrassed. I bury my face in Erica's hair, hoping to hide my red cheeks.

"Wow," Phoebe says, looking somewhere between impressed and grossed out. "I never knew that. My doctor hasn't cleared me yet, so…"

"Well, you never know. She might just be one of those babies who prefers a bottle. Or William might be a bit of a pig. It's not as if he doesn't come by overeating honestly. But really, talk to your doctor. She'll know better than I do. I can only go by this one." I hear a gentle snore and look down; Erica's fast asleep.

"A belly full of turkey will do that to you," Chandler says, rubbing her cheek gently, leaning over to kiss me for a moment.

"It's nice to see that you actually enjoy Thanksgiving these days," Phoebe notes as Amelia opens her eyes, blinking at her mother.

He shrugs, his arm sliding around my shoulders. "It's hard not to when you have so much to be thankful for. I got to spend years with celebrating the day with my best friends; I found out on Thanksgiving that I was going to be a father. But, you know, I realized this could never be a truly horrible day."

"Why's that?"

"Because Thanksgiving is the day I met Monica."

My heart clenches as my breath catches in my throat; he's never said that before. "Really?"

"Yeah. How could I let this day make me miserable when it's the same holiday that brought you into my life? As far as I'm concerned, every other holiday has to try twice as hard to compare to this one."

I lean my head against his leg for a moment. "Thank you," I whisper.

"You two are really like this all the time, aren't you?"

I look over at Phoebe, who now has Amelia propped up on her shoulder. "Like what?"

"Disgustingly, happily, completely in love."

"All the time," Chandler confirms.

"Hey, uh, Pheebs…why don't you ask Chandler about Amelia?"

He looks over at Phoebe, curious. "What about her?"

"Well, Mon was showing me all these fantastic pictures you've taken of your kids, and I was hoping you'd take some pictures of mine."

The smile that spreads over his face is actually radiant. "Really? I'd love to! Just tell me when and I'll be happy to do it."

"Great! But, actually, this one needs to eat, so…I don't think I'm ready for feeding her in public…"

"That's fine. If you want, you can go upstairs and use the twins' room, or William's room. They both have rocking chairs and changing tables and all that stuff. And there are a couple of boxes of baby clothes up there that are too small for us now, so anything you want, you're welcome to it."

"Thanks, Mon." She stands carefully, kissing the side of her baby's face. "And Mike and I'll talk to you about pictures, Chandler."

He just grins at her as she makes her way across the living room, heading upstairs. He turns to say something to me when my mother sits down beside me suddenly, my father standing in front of us, Jack still in his arms; he grins at me, tiny teeth all shiny and new. "Hi, sweet boy," I say, grinning back at him. Chandler holds out his arms and Jack leans forward eagerly, standing on his father's leg, facing all of us. "You two aren't leaving yet, are you?"

"No," my mother answers, leaning over Erica, kissing the top of her head. "We just wanted to see everybody." She smiles at William, running a finger over his tiny hand. I see him shift his gaze to her, wondering who would dare disturb his meal time.

"What's he doing all covered up down there?" my father asks innocently, leaning over to peer down at him before I can stop him. A moment later, his face goes blank as he straightens up, looking over my head through the window. "Oh. Sorry."

I don't know that seeing me breastfeed my son is on the same level as catching me having sex with my husband, but it doesn't seem to do much for my father. "Sorry, Dad."

"Nope. My fault. Should've known better. So, Erica's asleep."

Chandler raises his eyebrows for half a second, both of us trying to hold back our amusement at my poor father's discomfort.

"Chandler, I'm sorry your parents aren't here today," my mother says, fairly oblivious to the rest of the world as she watches William, not at all concerned about watching me feed him.

"Yeah, well, Mom's touring through Europe right now with her new book; we told her as long as she brings back fancy presents for the kids, we'll let it slide. And my dad's really busy through the holidays, what with all the extra shows he has to put on this time of year. We won't get to see him until January at the earliest."

"Oh; that must be hard for you."

He shrugs, and I feel his hand in my hair once again. "It's not that bad. I get to spend the holidays with my wife and kids—I can't think of anything better than that."

My mother looks like she could melt; she slides her arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. "You're a lucky woman, Monica."

I smile up at my husband, who looks back at me adoringly. "I know."

The luckiest woman in the world.

*A/N…so, I like photography, and that's why pictures are frequently mentioned in my stories. Also, I think Chandler deserves to have some stuff at which he really excels.