"Baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby!"

I look over at Monica, who's smiling at William, bouncing him up and down every time she says, "baby." He smiles back at her rapturously, the last rays of light from the day bouncing off his bright blue eyes. She wraps her arms under his little butt even though he's bound tightly against her chest. She drops her mouth open at him, making her eyes wide, and his face mimics hers just a little.

"Baby baby baby baby baby baby," she says, making her voice lower each time, bringing her face down to his, making gobbling noises against his cheek. His eyes light up, and he does his little heavy-breathing noise that sounds almost like a laugh.

God, that kid is cute.

I just shake my head, fighting off my grin as I turn my attention back to the sidewalk in front of us, leaning over the stroller to peek down at the twins. "Mommy's gone off the deep end, guys."

Jack looks up at me, grinning; Erica bounces in her seat, probably much preferring to walk instead of be pushed. Monica carries on as if she didn't even hear me.

"Are you my baby?" she asks William, grabbing his little hand, pretending to gnaw at it. "Are you my little bitty baby boy?"

"Geez, Mon. What are you doing to the poor kid?"

"If it makes him smile, it doesn't matter," she tells me, keeping her eyes trained on our son. "Right, William? If Mommy being silly makes you happy, then Mommy will be silly all day long."

I pause for a moment, wrapping an arm around Monica's shoulders and leaning in to kiss his chubby cheek. "Good thing Mommy has a black belt in silly, isn't it?" Drool dribbles down his chin as he grins widely, tiny arms flailing jerkily.

Monica just straightens his little hat—fuzzy red with two little points coming out of it, so he looks somewhere between a court jester and a demon, which feels appropriate—and tightens her arms around him, sighing happily against his head.

We've really turned a corner with William recently; he's almost like an entirely different baby. He's rarely fussy now, which has been amazing. Now, we can enjoy him as this really cool little person who's rapidly developing his own personality and quirks instead of constantly trying to get him to just calm down enough to sleep.

Sleep…he's been so much better about that lately, too. We usually get about four hours out of him at a clip, which, compared to his previous average of two and a half hours, feels like heaven. Even better, though, is that when he wakes up hungry in the middle of the night, Monica just pulls him into bed with us, sticks him on her boob, and he'll settle down fairly quickly. An hour or so later I'll sneak him back into his crib, and when he cries a little while later, we start it all over again.

The kid can eat. It's pretty impressive, actually.

But on the whole, I think we're all doing much better. Today, we took them to the Winter Festival downtown. Jack and Erica were thrilled—there were a million things for them to touch and play with, and the people around us couldn't get enough of them. Someone was constantly trying to give them little treats and goodies, which Monica mostly confiscated right away. It's not that we mind them having those sorts of things, but the volume at which they were being offered to our kids was astonishing. They would have been puking all over the place. Still, though, it was a fun day; only a few minor meltdowns between the three of them, so it could have been much worse.

They held up very well with all the walking, too. Even though we've become yuppy, suburban stereotypes, we're still New Yorkers at heart, so we walked the mile from our house to the center of town. Of course, William's been strapped to his mother most of the day, so he's been pretty content, but Jack and Erica did a lot of the initial walk on their own. It took us a little longer, but watching them find joy in picking up tiny handfuls of snow, squishing it between their little fingers, pointing at animals and yelling out their names. Actually, though, all animals right now are, "cat!" From both of them. With an exclamation point. No matter how often we correct them, or that they can both point to the correct animal when prompted with the correct name, they call them all "cat." I swear they're just screwing with us.

William, not surprisingly, was quite popular today, too. He's a charming little sucker. I think it has a lot to do with his massive blue eyes—they're turning into this color I've never seen before and they reel you right in. Of course, his gummy little grin is hard to resist, too.

And watching this little goober smile…well, it makes all those sleepless night worth it.

Monica opens her mouth to William again, his hand reaching up to her clumsily. She grabs his fingers gently in her mouth. "Bah bah bah." His eyes go wide for a moment, then he grins again. I can see his little fingers wiggle, waiting for her to do it again. "Bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah." Still smiling, he pulls his hand out of her mouth, though it still waves about in the air.

"I thought we weren't going to do the whole baby-talk thing," I say, trying to sound stern, though I'm sure my lips tugging up at the corners gives me away.

"Awww, but Daddy," she whines, her head lolling back. "It's so hard when the baby is this cute." I glance over at her and snort; she's pouting. "Look how cute! Look! How could anyone resist that face?"

"I'm not doubting his irresistibility. I see him; his cute rays are pretty potent. I just didn't know it required baby-talk and gibberish."

She lifts her eyebrow then turns back to the baby. "We know better, right, William? We hear Daddy talking to you like that all the time. All. The. Time. Right, sweetie?"

I gasp, feigning shock. "What? I don't talk like that to my children." I lean over the stroller again, looking down at the twins, immediately switching into baby-talk mode. "I don't talk that, do I dooba doobo booboodo?" Erica tilts her head back at me, making a face; Jack ignores me. Monica buries her face in William's neck, trying to stifle her laughter. "Hahaha. Daddy's goofy. Surprise surprise."

Monica kisses the baby's cheek a few more times, and he gurgles happily. "What do you think, Willsy? You want to sing?"

"Mon, you're gonna get us kicked out of the neighborhood."

She sticks her tongue out at me, but starts to bounce William back and forth. "What a bright time, it's the right time to rock the night away." The twins join in with their own version of singing, both giggling madly in between. "Jingle bell time is a swell time…" Monica pauses, and William looks up her, almost in anticipation. "To go gliding in a one," she hops a little at that word. "Horse." Another hop. "Sleigh." And again.

"Since when are you the weird one in this relationship?" I ask her, though I'm not even the slightest bit embarrassed by her behavior. She's happier right now than she's ever been, and I can't fault that. It's fun to see her enjoying life so much, and if she needs to express herself by singing cheesy Christmas songs to our children while walking down the sidewalk of our quiet, suburban neighborhood, then so be it.

It's no secret that everyone has always thought Monica would be a great mother—hell, she mothered our little group of friends for years. What I just didn't realize was how she would absolutely come to life once she had kids. It's the most amazing thing to see. There's never been anyone more meant for motherhood than this woman, and even though I'm reluctant to say that something was missing in her life without children, there's no doubting that she just feels more…complete, whole, now that we have our little brood.

Of course, what I really never expected was how much better my life is with our kids, and how empty everything before it seems in comparison. I'm such a cliché.

I love it.

Monica starts bouncing William again, dancing along with him. "Giddy-up, jingle horse, pick up your feet. Jingle around the clock." She stoops down to the stroller, smiling at the twins. "Mix and a-mingle in the jingling feet." She stands up again, grabbing the baby's hands, waving them around. "That's the jingle bell!" She leans close to his face, and his open mouth tries to latch on to her cheek. "That's the jingle bell, that's the jingle bell rock!" She shimmies William a little, dipping him for a second before standing up straight, and I can't tell who's smiling bigger right now.

I stop in my tracks, staring at her. "You're insane."

"If singing to my babies makes me insane, then I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world." I grab her shoulder and turn her to me. "What?"

I just shake my head and cup her face in my hands, pulling her lips to mine. She squeaks a little in surprise, but angles her body so William's not completely squished between us. It's probably an after effect of spending all day at a winter festival, drinking cider and eating cookies, but she tastes like Christmas.

"What was that for?" she asks when I finally release her, and we go back to walking to our house.

"Because you're insane. And I love you for it."

"I love you, too," she tells me, one of her hands coming to rest on top of mine on the stroller. She puts her other hand on William's back, smiling at him again. "Bah bah bah."

We turn onto the little walk leading up to our house, and for a just a moment, I can't help but marvel that we actually own this place. Or, at least we will eventually. But still, it's ours. We have kids and a house. Granted, we have two more children at this point than we expected when decided we wanted this house, but neither of us would trade it for anything. Kids are full of surprises, especially when the first surprise is twins; it's part of what makes our life so unbearably amazing at times.

"Look, guys," Monica says, pointing to our front window. "The only Menorah on the block. Mommy might be the only Jew in the whole town."

I shake my head, pulling my keys out of my pocket and handing them to Monica. "Officially, Hanukkah doesn't start until the twenty-fifth this year, so it's possible no one else has theirs out yet." She gives me a look over her shoulder as she unlocks the door, pushing it open. "Also, the kids are technically Jewish since it goes by the mother. So, I think you're in good company."

"All right," she concedes, grabbing the front of the stroller to help me get it over the doorway. "The only four Jews in the whole town."

I just chuckle, closing the door behind us. "I'm sure there's a Synagogue in the area if you're in dire need all of a sudden."

"Maybe when they're older," she says, lifting Jack out of the stroller, somehow managing to not hit William in the process. "I don't think they'd quite get what the holiday is all about quite yet." She kisses Jack's cheek then smiles at him. "You're chilly, sweetie!" She blows a few raspberries on his cheeks and he giggles, trying to turn his face from her.

"Up!" I look down to the stroller; Erica has her arms in the air, waiting impatiently. "Up" would be one of the words she has in her arsenal. I suppose "do my bidding" would be too much for a twenty-month-old. The end result is the same.

"Yes, your majesty," I tell her, unzipping her little jacket and pulling it off her, snagging her little fleece hat next—the static cling makes her fine blonde hairs stand on end. She whines at me and I finally pluck her out of the stroller, pulling her against my side. "Let me check your butt," I tell her, lifting her part-way in the air, checking down the back of her diaper. "Whew!" I tuck her against my side once more, kissing her forehead. "Your tiny tush is safe for now."

Somehow, Monica already has Jack down to his inside clothes, and he's in the corner of the living room, methodically digging through a bucket of toys for whatever one it is that's struck his fancy at the moment. I give Erica another kiss and put her on the floor, patting her little butt. "Go play with your brother." Instantly, she scampers off to the corner with Jack, taking toys out of the bucket and carefully placing them on the floor. Those two are funny together; sometimes they manage to go at each other like Tom and Jerry, constantly antagonizing one another. And other times, they're perfectly in sync, handing each other the toys they need, sharing everything. It's pretty fun to watch.

I put the stroller in the front closet and go over to Monica, who has William on the floor, changing his diaper. "Whoa, buddy," I say, watching her clean up his mess. "I rue the day you start eating solids."

"Speaking of solids," Monica says, giving his belly a little tickle before putting on a new diaper. "Want to try a little bit of that tonight?" William just grins at her, kicking his feet.

"Yeah, I don't think he's into it yet," I tell her. "I can't blame him, either; if my options were either food or you…well, I think you know what I'd pick."

"Daddy's gross, isn't he?" Monica asks the baby, wrapping up the dirty diaper into a ball, tossing it to me.

I make a face, holding it away from me. "Yeah. I'm the gross one." I head to the diaper pail in the laundry room, and hear Monica's voice call out to me.

"Hey, hon—will you bring me William's jammies on your way back?"

I finish rinsing off my hands—I don't care that I have three kids and I've changed more diapers in the last year and a half than I ever anticipated changing in my lifetime. Dirty diapers are gross. "Sure, babe," I call back. "Where are they?"

"Just in the diaper bag."

I roll my eyes half-heartedly. The diaper bag's in the living room, probably not that far from her. "Your legs broken?" I ask, drying my hands on my jeans.

"Yes. I love you."

Low blow. Like I'd deny the mother of my children anything.

I walk back into the living room; Monica's just staring at Jack as he walks toward her. "What's wrong?" I ask, the look on her face freaking me out.

She just smiles at our oldest son as he stops next to her, squatting to put something on the floor. "Thank you, Jack," she tells him, leaning forward with her lips puckered, wrapping one arm around him as she gives him a kiss.

"What'd he do?"

"He brought me William's pajamas," she tells me, pointing at them with the hand she's keeping on the baby's belly. "I told you they were in the diaper bag and then he just wandered across the room and grabbed them for me. I didn't know he could do that." She gives Jack another hug. "Thank you so much, sweetie. Can you give your brother a kiss?" Wordlessly, he squats down next to William, plunking a kiss on his forehead.

Seriously—my kids are pretty much the most amazing little people ever.

"Ball," Erica exclaims suddenly, a squishy Nerf ball clenched in her tiny fist, and Jack stands up, pointing at it.

"Ball!" he answers, and promptly abandons cute-time. William makes a distressed noise, kicking his feet a little harder.

"I'm sorry, baby; you're getting cold. I know you only like to be naked if it includes Mommy."

"Who doesn't?" She gives me a look even as a smile tugs at her lips, then grabs William's pajamas, tugging them on his wiggly little body.

I plug in the Christmas tree and sit down on the floor against the couch—from this angle I can see what the twins are doing and watch Monica with the baby.

I can tell just by the general lack of noise coming from Jack and Erica that they're already tired. They did a lot more than usual today, and interacting with people on that scale tends to wear them both down. But if we can get them to bed early, I might be able to talk Monica into some canoodling.

She pulls William into a sitting position, one hand holding his back while the other moves his legs into a V. Carefully, she lets go of him, waiting to see if he'll sit on his own. He lasts for about two seconds before he slumps to one side and Monica rushes to catch him; she steadies him again before letting go. Maybe another two seconds pass before he tilts forward.

"He's like a tiny drunk person," I say, grabbing a disposable camera off the end table, watching my wife try to get our baby to sit up only to have him fall over repeatedly.

She snickers, pulling him upright again. "Yeah, kind of. Okay, William—one more time and I'll stop harassing you with it for now." She lets him go and I count the seconds in my head, too distracted to take his picture. He gets to almost four seconds before toppling over, and it feels like a victory for all of us. "Yay! You did it!" He looks up at her, his eyes wide, as she picks him up, pulling him against her chest. With a groan, she scoots over next to me, settling against my side. William starts patting at her chest and she shifts him away, propping him up on her bent knees. "No way, buddy. It's not time yet."

I wrap my arm around her shoulder, and she leans against me, her hands gently rubbing his belly. "You're no fun, Mom."

"I think he'd eat around the clock if I'd let him."

"It's probably comforting. Plus, he kind of gets to have you all to himself for a little while." I stroke his cheek gently and his eyes move over to me. "You like Mommy time, don't you?"

"I wish I'd been able to nurse Jack and Erica," Monica says suddenly and I give her a little squeeze. She never said anything, but I figured that was one of the few parts about adopting that would bother her. I'm sure that's one of the reasons she hasn't been terribly discouraged about William not being into solid food yet.

"I know, honey. I know. If it makes you feel any better, though, I think they've turned out all right so far." I look up at them playing in the corner; Jack carefully putting his toys in a different basket, Erica just as steadily pulling the same toys out, and my heart swells all over again with love for them. We couldn't have gotten two better kids.

Of course, the terrible twos are coming up, so I may have to retract that statement.

"Sometimes I have a hard time believing he's real," she says softly, sighing as she looks down at William. "He feels like a dream, and one day I'm going to wake up, and we'll still have the twins, but this beautiful little person will all have been a figment of my imagination."

"Even the labor part?"

She winces a little, then grins up at me for a moment. "You have a point. Just because it's worth it in the end doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like…heck while it's happening." She sighs, slumping against me a little bit. "Ugh. I have to make dinner."

I chuckle and kiss the side of her head. "Such enthusiasm from a professional chef. But don't we still have some of your frozen lasagnas in the freezer?"

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Yes, I mind. I insist you go slave over a hot stove after spending all day on your feet with our three kids. Are you crazy? It's not like it's some sort of garbage, knock-off food. You made it, and for just this sort of night, if I'm not mistaken."

Most women, when they give birth, have friends and neighbors that bring them casseroles and frozen dishes so the new parents have one less thing to worry about. When Monica was pregnant, however, she went on a food prep frenzy, especially after being put on maternity leave. She filled our deep freezer with all sorts of goodies, and it was a while before either of us had to think about actually making a meal. When I went back to work after William was born, I still took the twins into daycare, so most days it was just Monica and the baby. In her sleep-deprived state, she killed a lot of time by doing even more food prep—enough so that most of the people we know reaped the benefits. Even though it's marginally less hectic right now, when she has some spare moments, she'll put together meals for us ahead of time, which really come in handy the nights she has to work and I'm home with the munchkins.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, it's that or I cook something, and you know my repertoire doesn't go much beyond macaroni and cheese or spaghetti." Both of which have been hits with the twins, I might add. She curls her lip up at me and I take that as a "no." I stand up get dinner in the oven and she puts her hand on my knee.

"I've got it. You stay here and bond with your son." She picks up William, kissing his cheek before passing him to me. "And you, sir, have to try something solid. You don't have to like it, you don't have to eat all of it, but you have to try it." She kisses my forehead and goes over to the twins, holding out her hands. "Who wants to help Mommy in the kitchen?"

Erica perks up, holding out her arms. "Up!"

"Yes, ma'am." She pulls Erica up to her hip then holds her hand out for Jack again, who reaches up for his mother, grabbing her fingers, trailing after her into the kitchen.

I hear them rustling about and look down at our baby, who's studying me carefully. I bend my knees to he can be propped up and put my finger against his palm; his tiny fingers curl around me and I almost weep from the sweetness of it. His other hand bunches into a fist and goes to his mouth, taking a few tries before he can actually get his lips around it.

"You want your binky?" I look around me, seeing a lot of toys and blankies and stuffed animals, but no pacifiers. I reach behind me on the couch, feeling in between the cushions, finally producing something to stuff in my son's mouth. The house was clean when we went to bed last night. But now, it's like a room erupts the moment the twins walk into it. The upside is when Monica asks them if they want to help Mommy clean, they're very good about picking up toys and various other baby paraphernalia and putting it in whatever bucket or basket she's holding out for them. I know she'll have them doing that before they get their baths tonight. It's not Monica-clean, but she seems to find it acceptable nowadays.

Having three kids under two years old definitely changes a person.

William's still staring at me, waiting. I spend as much time as possible with him, but when it comes down to it, our one-on-one time has been fairly limited. It was easier with the twins because they were both bottle-fed, but this one is almost exclusively boob. He'll take a bottle from time to time but prefers it directly from the source, which means most of the time, if he needs a parent, it's Monica.

I think he likes me, though. I'm one of the few people that can make him better when he's upset, and it's certainly not uncommon for us to actually spend time together. We're just not usually alone for it.

It's interesting. For the moment it's like having only one child, which is something I can't even fathom anymore, nor do I want to. I love my small gaggle of babies.

I lean down and kiss his forehead, and a smile breaks out across his face. "You're a cutie," I tell him. "I know she thinks you look like me, but I swear you look just like your mommy." He has her nose, at least for the moment. Her mouth, too. I will agree that he has my eyes. Few things are more fascinating than staring at this kid, seeing this amazing blend of me and Monica, how we came together to create this teeny little person.

It floors me.

I sigh and pull him against my chest, turning him around a second later as he starts to pat at my shirt, looking for a snack. I cuddle him against me and he clumsily grabs at my fingers, which I wiggle for his benefit. "I love you, William." He makes a little baby noise, and my interpretation is, "I love you, too."

"That's the jingle bell," I whisper into his ear. "That's the jingle bell, that's the jingle—ugh! Remind me to thank your mommy for getting that stuck in my head. Maybe you could give her a little something special in your diaper." I feel his stomach twitch an instant before he spits up on my hand. I just shake my head. "Traitor."