Tiny little whines from the baby monitor hit my ears and I blink sleepily. I lift my head a little and look at the clock—just after six. I sigh and put my head back down, waiting. Sometimes, William whines and snuffles for a minute or two and then goes back to sleep.

He protests a little louder; he's hungry. Sure. I guess it's not terribly early. The twins will probably be up within the hour anyway.

I turn over a little, finding Chandler's face directly behind me, still sleeping peacefully. I kiss him gently then sit up, pausing when I feel my husband's fingers grab at me just a little.

"Where're you going?" he mumbles, his eyes never opening.

"Baby," I answer, my voice deep and scratchy from sleep.

"Want me to…"

I just shake my head; asleep again before he could even finish the question. I pull on my robe, switching William's monitor off on the way out. Sometimes we have very important early morning conversations and we prefer not to broadcast them to the world.

I peek over the edge of the crib to find William staring up at me and I don't fight the grin that spreads over my face. "Good morning, my beautiful little boy." I reach and pick him up, his little legs kicking gently; he's still partway asleep, too, it looks like. I pull him close to me, kissing his little face as I walk over to the rocking chair, unbuttoning my pajama top as I sit down. He wastes no time latching onto me, his eyes suddenly bright, his tiny hand resting on breast, almost as if to make sure it doesn't go anywhere.

I pull one of his little blankets off the back of the chair, draping it over him, tucking it around his body. I'm too paranoid to let him sleep with anything in the crib yet—the twins didn't have anything in their cribs with them until they were more than a year old. Even though their rooms are plenty toasty and they're all dressed in the cutest little footie pajamas most nights, I still feel bad about the lack of blanket for the baby. So in the mornings, during his first feeding, we snuggle with a blankie and I feel a little better about life.

"Merry Christmas, William," I say softly, running a hand over his soft, almost non-existent hair. "I bet you don't even know what that is. That's okay—your brother and sister don't really know yet, either. It's a happy day, though. You get to be around the people who love you more than anything in the world. Mommy and Daddy love you, Jack and Erica love you, and I'm pretty sure you love us all back." I sigh, taking him all in. My heart really does ache with love for him.

"Did you know that it was just a year ago that we found out about you? Yeah; Santa came early and told us that you were going to come into our lives. You were the best present we could have received. I don't want you to ever grow up, but I can't wait to see the kind of person you're going to be. You amaze me every day, William. You just keep changing and growing. You and your brother and sister have made my life so happy, so perfect. I wanted you guys my entire life—did you know that? My whole life I waited for you, and I thought you would never get here. But it was like waiting for Daddy; so worth it. The best things in life take time, and I would wait for all of this all over again if I had to."

I would. I would wait impatiently for it, especially if I had any sort of idea of what was coming for me, but I would wait for it. It seems so arrogant to say it, but I have all the things in life that I've always wanted. I have the world's best husband, I have the most amazing children, I have the job of my dreams, my own house…it's incredible. I worked really hard for it, and a lot of the time I thought it would never happen for me, but it's mine. I know everything can change in the blink of an eye, so all I can do is be grateful every single morning when I wake up and try to appreciate it all as much as I can.

"I love you so much," I whisper, my voice choked with unshed tears. "I don't know if you'll ever understand how much I love you, how much Daddy loves you, but you have to know that it's a whole lot. It's more than words can say." I watch his little mouth move as he nurses, and he stares at me intently. I wonder what it is he's looking for when he does that. Jack and Erica used to do it, too, when they were brand new. I'm sure initially they do it to learn the faces of those taking care of them, even if it's all a bunch of blobby shapes for a while. Eventually, though…I don't know. Maybe it's still to learn people. Maybe it's to make sure we're not going anywhere.

"I know; you probably want Mommy to just shut up so you can enjoy your breakfast in peace. Well, too bad. You haven't let Mommy have a peaceful meal in almost a year. Yeah, that's right. Even before you were born you liked to interrupt meals. You have a real knack for it, actually." He grins at me for a moment before resuming suckling and my heart turns into a pile of goo. I know he's just smiling at me because he likes to smile and not because he understands a word that comes out of my mouth, but it still makes me happy to think he gets what's going on.

I shift him in my arms a little, and his hand gently slaps against me as he resettles himself. I stroke the back of his tiny little hand and his fingers twitch. I can't help but marvel at just how small he is, how miniature all of his parts are. The itty bitty fingers with the delicate, razor-sharp nails kill me every time. And when he wraps those fingers around mine…wow.

"You were made with so much love," I tell him softly, my voice barely audible. "No one has ever loved each other as much as Mommy and Daddy do, and I don't think anyone ever will. That's the only explanation for you. You're a miracle, William, and it doesn't matter how cranky you are, how fussy…you are a miracle. You were so wanted." I blink back tears; he really was. Then again, so were Jack and Erica. I wanted them enough that I was willing to lie through my teeth to get them. If Chandler hadn't made me come clean and we'd gotten them with their biological mother believing we were a doctor and a reverend, I don't know that I'd feel any remorse. I knew then that no one could ever love that baby more than us; I knew it was supposed to be ours. That's why I believe that even after all that, Erica picked us anyway. I don't care how cheesy or stupid it sounds. The twins were meant to be ours the same way William was conceived against all the odds; some things are just meant to be.

I hear a rustling in the doorway and look up, trying to hold back a laugh as Chandler blinks at me sleepily, his hair standing up in all directions. "Morning."

He mumbles incoherently as he walks over to us, leaning down to first kiss me then William before flopping down on the floor at my feet.

I give him a little nudge. "You don't have to be up right now, you know. The twins aren't up yet and this part's kind of a solo act."

He yawns, leaning forward until he can rest his head on my lap. "Bed's no fun without you."

"Aw. Poor baby," I say in mock-sympathy, running a hand through his hair. "It's so hard being Chandler."

"It really is," he insists, wrapping his arms around my legs. "Merry Christmas, honey. And happy first day of Hanukkah."

I look down at the baby, who looks like he might be just about done with his first meal of the day. "Two holidays in one, William. Can you believe it?" I pick him up, turning him to face his father. "Merry Christmas, Daddy. Will you hold me so Mommy can brush her teeth?"

Chandler grabs a burp rag out of the basket and drapes it over his shoulder before taking William from me. "Kid's milk drunk," he mumbles, rubbing his back gently.

"Best kind of drunk," I tell him, closing up my shirt as I stand. I bend down to kiss Chandler's forehead and head across the hall to our bathroom.

"Thanks for leaving me with diaper duty," I hear him call and I laugh around my toothbrush.

"Who said I never give you anything?"

He mumbles something I don't quite catch and probably don't want to. I finish up in the bathroom and go to check on the twins. I look in on Erica first, who's still mostly passed out, though I can tell by the way her eyes are open just a tiny bit that she'll be waking up soon. I look over to Jack's crib and freeze, my heart stopping for a moment.

It's empty.

Blind panic fills my chest for a few seconds as I stare at his empty bed, my heart jackhammering, a million horrible thoughts running through my mind before logic tries to take over and I start breathing again.

"Jack?" I say softly, looking around the room. The baby gate was in place when I came in so I know he's in here somewhere. I've read about babies his age sometimes escaping their cribs, I just have never seen it. The irrational, insane-Mommy part of mind keeps freaking out, insisting that my baby's been snatched, and the rational side keeps trying to remind me that Erica's still here and that babies sometimes really do climb out of their cribs.

I drop down to my knees to get to his height. "Jack," I whisper again, waiting to see if I hear rustling or snuffling or any sign of my baby.

I look under his crib and there he is, sound asleep, curled into a tight ball; relief floods through me instantly and my heartbeat starts to return to normal. Laughing at myself, I crawl over to the bedroom door, leaning my head out. "Hey, honey; you've got to see this."

He saunters out of William's room, bouncing the baby in his arms. He gives me a confused look. "Why are you on the floor?"

I just wave my arms at him impatiently. "Come here."

He hurries to step over the gate, kneeling on the floor beside me. "What am I looking at?"

I take William from him and point under the crib. Chandler gives me an odd look but bends over, his face pressed against the floor. "Oh my…how did he get under there?"

"I think we have our first escapee."

"He got out on his own?"

"Well, I certainly didn't put him there."

He sits up, looking at me in wonder. "How did he do that?"

"I don't even want to imagine it," I answer with a shudder, the thought of my little twins climbing out of their cribs almost too much to bear.

"Can we stop it?"

I shrug, rubbing William's back. "We can put them in toddler beds—which, I'm sorry, but I think they're too young for—or we can lower their mattresses so they can't get their little legs over the sides. I think it's a slippery slope from here, though."

He kisses the side of my head, rubbing my shoulder for a moment. "I think our twins are growing up."

I take a deep breath, filling my senses with William's sweet baby smell, trying not to let Chandler's words sink in. It's moments like this that make me understand why some people constant have kids. Watching them grow up hurts like nothing else.

"I'm going to get the camera," he says suddenly and I feel little waves of excitement rush through me though I just nod my head. He hurries out of the room and I pull William back, looking at him.

"Wait 'til you see this, little guy," I whisper, pausing when I see Chandler's changed his jammies, putting him in red fleece with fuzzy white trim, making him look like a tiny little Santa. "Cute."

Last night while Chandler was sleeping, I switched out our old camera with the one I bought him for Christmas. On a good night, he sleeps through just about anything except one of the babies crying, and even then, if he knows I'm taking care of it, he's out again in moments. If I've put out, it can sometimes take an explosion to wake him in the middle of the night.

Just in case, we did it a few times last night.

He was never aware of anything being moved about in our room. He's going to be in for quite a surprise in just a few seconds.

"Monica, what is this?" I hear him call from the bedroom and I grin at William.

"What's what?" I answer, nearly bouncing with excitement.

He appears in the doorway a moment later, gift box in hand. "This."

"Looks like a present to me. Was Santa in our room last night?"

"I hope not," he answers, stepping over the baby gate once more to sit next to me. "If he was, he must've gotten eyeful."

"Well, it would serve the old pervert right." I look at William, bouncing him a little to get him to smile. "Is it addressed to you?"

"Yes, it's addressed to me," he answers, his tone a little mocking, and I look at him with an eyebrow up.

"If you don't want your present, I'm sure Santa will be happy to return it."

He clutches the box to his chest possessively, giving me a look that's somewhere between wounded and horrified. "I don't think there's any need for that."

I roll my eyes, turning to face him. "Then just open it."

He looks at me suspiciously for a moment before tearing into the paper, only to be greeted by a plain brown box underneath. Like I'm an amateur at this. He gives me another look before tearing open the box, gasping when he pulls out the camera. "What did you do?" he asks, turning it slowly in his hands, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open.

"You like it?" I ask, hugging William close to me in my excitement.

"Do I like it? Monica…" he looks up at me in wonder. "What…why…I don't…why?"

"You've really been into it lately, and you've gotten so good at it. You deserve to have something that makes you happy, so…"

"Honey, it's too much."

I just shake my head. "Nothing is too much for the father of my children."

"But…"

"Nothing is too much for the father of my children," I repeat. This man has made me happier than I ever thought I could be, and if something as small as a camera can bring him joy, then it's worth it to make him happy.

"You're the best," he whispers, putting the camera on the floor beside him. He takes my face in his hands, pulling my lips to his, kissing me deeply and I sigh into him, one of my arms wrapping around him, keeping him close.

"You like it?" I ask softly, pressing our foreheads together.

"Do I like it? Monica, I love it. This is so amazing. I can't wait to play with this."

I grin at him, feeling quite pleased with myself. "Well, I happen to know of three subjects who are extremely photogenic."

He kisses me again, still looking completely amazed. "I'm gonna go find some film and, oh! What kind of batteries does this thing—"

I cut him off, scoffing. "Chandler, please. Do you really think it's not ready for you to use right now?"

His eyes grow wide and he looks exactly like William does when he's filled with wonder at the world around him. "Really?"

"Of course. I wouldn't give you something like this on Christmas morning of all days and not have it ready for you."

He throws his arms around me, making me and William squeak at the same time. "You are so getting the good stuff tonight."

I smack his back playfully. "Just take pictures of your children."

And like a kid in a candy store, he starts clicking away, lying on his stomach to take pictures of little Jack under his crib. I guess the noise of the camera wakes him because a few moments later he crawls partway out, Chandler helping him the rest of the way. He pulls Jack into his arms, giving him big kisses; Jack looks quite startled by this amount of activity so early in his day. He makes a displeased face at me, but lets his father shower him with love for a few more moments.

"Come here, Jack Attack," I finally say, granting my son a reprieve, and he wastes no time in holding out his arms for me. I straighten out my legs and Chandler settles him between them, then I put William in front of Jack. I bend over and kiss my oldest son's forehead. "Merry Christmas, sweetie."

He tilts his head up at me and smiles. "Hi."

"Can you say, 'Merry Christmas'?"

"Kit-tas!"

"Close. We'll work on it. Can you say, 'Happy Hanukkah'?"

"Nahkah!"

"I know; these holiday words are tough."

"Yup."

I blink at him, startled, before I bite my lip, trying to stifle my laughter. "Jack, did you just 'yup'?"

"Yup."

"Where did you learn that?"

"Yup."

"Fine, don't tell me."

"Daddy!"

Chandler and I look up to see Erica standing in her crib, grinning down at us. She kills me. She's been going back and forth between "dada" and "daddy" lately, and I'm pretty sure hearing his little girl call him "daddy" has turned Chandler into a pile of mush. It's not hard to picture her as a teenager, batting her eyes and calling him "Daddy" and getting away with pretty much anything.

He points the camera up at her, smiling broadly. "Good morning, sweet pea. Merry Christmas!"

"Down," she demands, holding her arms out.

"You heard the lady," I tell Chandler and he immediately jumps to attention, standing in front of our daughter.

"Say 'please,' Eri," he tells her gently.

She looks at him with her big brown eyes, confused—her daddy's never given her a conditional release before.

I see him melt a little, but amazingly stands firm. "Say 'please,'" he tells her again.

"Peese?" she asks in a tiny voice, and Chandler grins, planting a kiss on the top of her head before pulling her into his arms. He sits down on the floor with the rest of us and Erica squats down, giving her little brother a gentle poke. "Baby."

"They're chatty for this early in the day," Chandler says, keeping a hand near Erica in case she stumbles.

"I think their little brains spend all night processing the words they hear during the day, and then just see what falls out the next morning."

"It's interesting that they'll spend a day spewing out a bunch of words, and then we won't hear those words again for another week or so."

"Well, once they've mastered them, I don't think they feel the need to repeat them for a while. Too many other things to learn. What's even more fascinating to me is the things they understand even if they can't say them yet. Like when Jack got William's jammies for me the other day."

"Lee-um."

Chandler and I look down Jack, who's busy playing with William's onsie.

"What'd you say, buddy?" Chandler asks, but Jack just looks at him for a moment before going back to his brother.

"Jack, did you just say William?"

"Lee-um," he says again, and I feel my heart flutter a little. Is it possible that he's trying to say his brother's name?

"William," Chandler says slowly, sounding it out for the twins.

"Lee-um!" Erica exclaims suddenly, clapping her hands. William kicks his legs at all the noise going on around him, a big, gummy grin plastered across his face. Erica falls to her knees, planting a kiss on William's arm. Then she flings herself at her twin, wrapping her arms around him. "Jack!"

"I cannot handle this much cuteness right now," Chandler says, watching our kids interact like we're not even here.

All I can do is nod in agreement, amazed. Erica's only actually said Jack's name a few times here and there, and she usually says it with a look of distaste on her face. She knows he's her brother—she probably knows he's her twin—but she rarely feels the need to say his name. Why would she have to? She talks, he answers. It's pretty simple. But to see her say it like this, with such enthusiasm and joy, makes my heart break in the best way possible. It's like they really get that they're a family, and that they at least sort of understand what a family is.

It's already been a pretty good Christmas in my book.

"Oh, hey, you know, we have a fairly spectacular tree downstairs, and I'm pretty sure I heard Santa last night, so maybe we should move this little party downstairs?"

Chandler looks a little wistful—it's kind of fun just sitting here with our children, enjoying each other— but nods in agreement. "Diapers first." He grabs William and plunks him one of the cribs for safe keeping, which doesn't thrill him—he whines the entire time we change the twins and is closing in on a full-fledged tantrum by the time everyone's ready to go downstairs.

Chandler hurries down to the living room to turn the tree on and I stand at the top of the stairs with the twins, who look up at me expectantly. "Go ahead," I tell them, and they both drop to the ground, reversing themselves so they can scoot backward down the stairs. They look like little sea lions when they do this. At first, it freaked me out watching them do this, knowing they could slip at any moment, but they've proven to be a lot more sturdy and capable than I ever thought possible. Undeniably, it makes life a lot easier when your twins can maneuver themselves downstairs and we don't have to try to take them in shifts. "We're coming, Daddy," I call out and he stands at the foot of the stairs, waiting to open the gate for them, grinning from ear to ear.

"Santa was good to you guys this year," he exclaims as the twins reach the bottom of the stairs, and I bounce William in my arms, his fussiness gone the moment he was part of the action again.

"I think your daddy's more excited about this than you guys will be for a few years," I whisper to him, just loud enough for Chandler to hear. He just nods his head and grins, bouncing up and down as he opens the gate for the twins to back out, their little feet squishing into the rug. He readies his camera as they see the tree, and even from the stairs I can see their faces light up. They may not really know what's happening, but they do know that they like shiny objects, and the living room has plenty of those at the moment. They run over to the tree, their little hands reaching out for everything, touching boxes and plucking at ribbon.

Ordinarily, I'd be disgusted at the number of boxes under the tree, but a good portion of them are empty. We've already learned from experience that they sometimes play more with an empty box than the toy that came inside, so we just got a bunch of extra paper and wrapped up some empties. It gives them more stuff to tear up, too—another pastime they enjoy thoroughly.

I lean my head on Chandler's shoulder, watching our children. This time next year, William will be over there with them, right in the thick of it, competing with them to see who can grab the most stuff. I hope the twins will be patient with him; they do a pretty good job of sharing with each other right now, and have been known, on occasion, to bring a toy unsolicited to their brother. If we're extraordinarily lucky, we'll get the twins into kindergarten before they start in on the "gimme gimme gimme" part of this holiday, when I'm sure they'll be influenced by the other kids around them.

I sniffle a little as their laughter fills the room, and Chandler asks softly, "You all right?"

I nod, wrapping my free arm around his waist. "Where's the time going? Last year they were just learning to crawl, and now…now…" I don't even know how to finish that sentence. Now, they're more like the people they're going to be for the rest of their lives. There were bits and pieces of that a year ago, but now they're less "baby" and more "little kid."

"I don't know, hon, but I think one of us has got to get in there and referee before there's free-for-all."

I sigh and move over to the tree, gently moving each of them away. "We'll do stockings first," I tell them. "Then we'll have breakfast, and then you can open presents."

"So much order, Mommy," Chandler says, teasingly.

"I'm going for controlled chaos," I tell him, ushering the twins over to the couch, grabbing their stockings off the fireplace. I sit down in front of them, William in my lap, and help the three of them open their stockings; Jack and Erica seem genuinely excited over each item. William could really care less, but he makes soft, one-syllable noises as I try to explain what things are to him, so that's close enough.

"Ugh—out of film," Chandler says suddenly, and I look up to see him pouting.

"You know, I think Santa mentioned something about more film in your stocking."

"On it," he says, grinning as he rushes over to the mantel, and all I can do is shake my head; I may have created a monster with that gift.

But if it makes my husband that happy, I'll live with it.

*A/N...truth time, guys. You get getting tired of me? I mean, I know that people are reading my stuff (yay!) because I'm obsessive and check my story stats fairly regularly. I like that people are reading it. But I'm not getting much in the way of feedback lately, and while I'm working on not getting offended or disheartened when truly crappy stories (in general, not necessarily Mondler) get tons of reviews, it can be tough without any sort of feedback in general. It's hard to know if I'm doing things right or if there's something that someone wants to see in a story, that sort of thing. If my stuff isn't holding anyone's interest, that's cool. I'll keep writing, but, you know, just keep it on my hard drive (not really as sad as it sounds). Seriously-just let me know.