I let my voice trail off, closing the book of Aesop's fables as I look at my sleepy twins, curled up next to each other on Jack's bed. They honestly melt my heart, and it's even worse when they're on the edge of sleep. Two little blonde babies, side by side in their nearly-matching thermal jammies, their little feet tangled together, their eyes heavy…it's almost too much.

I look over at Chandler in the rocking chair, and he shrugs helplessly, William sprawled across his chest, his mouth hanging open as he sleeps. We try to do that thing where we get them sleepy and then tuck them into bed—it's supposed to help them fall asleep on their own—but it doesn't always work out that way. I figure once in a while won't hurt anything.

With a little groan, I push myself off the floor and turn to the twins. "Come on, sleepyhead. Time for bed." Erica gives her brother a kiss and scoots to the edge of the bed, letting me usher her tired little body to her own bed.

"Mon?" I look up to see Chandler next to me, holding William out ever so slightly. I lean over and press a kiss to his temple, gently stroking his little head.

"Goodnight, sweet William," I whisper. Chandler kisses the top of his head, too, before walking to the other side of the room, tucking the baby into his crib. The three of them in one room is a relatively new arrangement, mostly to see how it works. It's only been a couple of weeks, but so far, so good, though I'm sure the twins will help William escape from his crib sooner or later.

I turn back to my sleepy little girl, who's patiently waiting to be tucked in. I pull her blankets up to her chin and she smiles at me—oh, yeah, she's definitely a heartbreaker. I lean down and wrap my arms around her, squeezing her gently. "I love you so much, Erica," I tell her softly.

"Love you," she answers, and I feel a tear prick the corner of my eye. I haven't gotten used to them being able to say that, and it makes my heart clench every time. I haven't told my husband yet, but I think hearing my kids tell me they love me is better than when he says it.

"Sleep tight," I tell her, giving her a kiss before I stand up, making room for Chandler, and her entire demeanor changes in half a second. Even though she's still super teeny and can't reach most door handles yet, she's surprisingly self-sufficient. But when it comes to her father, she can make herself seem completely helpless in a flash, and he falls for it every time. She's a complete Daddy's girl, the perfect stereotype in a so-close-to-three-years-old-it-hurts package.

"Hi, Daddy," she says, and I just let them have their moment, going over to our eldest who's already gone through his bedtime ritual with Chandler.

I hate to call Jack a Mama's boy because it has such negative connotations, but the bond he and I have is about the same that Chandler and Erica have. He's my first born, the child I waited so long for, and I think mothers always have a different connection with their first. It's not that I don't love my other two just as much—they were our wonderful surprises, though. We expected neither but we both know just how empty our lives would be without them.

I sit down on the edge of Jack's bed, gently stroking his hair away from his eyes. "You're going to stay in here tonight, right?"

He grins at me shyly, ducking his head, and I'm sure that's his way of letting me know I shouldn't bet on it. Ever since we put the twins in their big kid beds, they've become midnight nomads. At least four nights a week, Chandler and I wake up to one or the both of them standing next to the bed, usually poking us and asking if they can sleep with us. We entertained that for a few nights before we realized how easy it would be to just let them have their way with that. Now, we just bring them back to their rooms and tuck them back into bed and leave, usually without a word. It's surprisingly effective. Bad dreams and upset tummies are a whole different matter—usually, we both find that to be a good enough reason for an extra cuddle session.

Of course, we had to take the baby gate down from their room. The first night we put them in their beds, they woke us up a few hours later, screaming bloody murder, their little faces bright red as they cried because they were in a whole new situation and couldn't get to Mommy and Daddy. It was horrifying. Now that they can run into our room if they get scared, they're a little more relaxed with the whole bed situation, but we still have our moments. We just had to add a couple of other gates in the hallway so they wouldn't be able to go very far.

It's oh-so-much fun navigating a series of baby gates first thing in the morning before I've had my coffee; we're certainly keeping them safe, but I think I'm going to wind up breaking my neck.

Still, they're adjusting to the change as well as can be expected. They've had a few nights where they completely refuse to sleep until they're nearly catatonic, then they'll sleep wherever they land—sometimes even standing up. Some nights, Chandler and I have to curl up in bed with them until they've almost drifted off, and then we try to slink away without much fuss. Other nights, they're perfect little angels, happy to be read a story and to be tucked in. They've had more angelic starts than anything else lately, but that usually balances out with several middle-of-the-night visits.

"Jaaaaack," I say, grinning at my son. "You can be a big boy for Mommy, can't you?" He blinks up at me sleepily, and I can tell by the look in his eye that he's playing innocent. "Please? Pretty please?"

"Okay, Mama," he finally answers, melting my heart just a little more, and I lean down, wrapping my arms around him.

"I love you to the moon and down again, Jackaroo."

He snuffles softly in my ear as I kiss his cheek. "Love you." By the time I pull away from him, he's already mostly asleep, but that's always been his way. Aside from the perceived trauma of being moved from the safety of his crib to the danger of his real bed, he's never had much issue with sleeping.

I look over at her majesty, still holding court with her father. He must feel my eyes on him because he glances up sheepishly before leaning in, kissing Erica's forehead and saying goodnight to her as well. She watches us as we walk out of the room, and I blow her a kiss. She blows one back and turns over, burrowing herself into her blankets. Chandler pulls the door mostly shut behind us, the soft glow of the nightlight in the hallway filtering into their room just a little.

"Let's just hope William doesn't give us trouble about sleeping in a bed when the time comes," Chandler says softly as we head down the hall. "Nosypants is so into everything else the twins are doing that maybe he won't fight us on that one."

I shrug as I yawn, rubbing the back of my neck tiredly. "Maybe. He's gotten pretty good at all the potty stuff all of a sudden. He could like a big kid bed, too."

Chandler nudges my shoulder playfully with his, catching me when I stumble anyway. "Remember when used to talk about things other than our kids?"

I give him a little smile as we turn into our room, our bed looking more inviting than usual tonight. "Hmm. Vaguely. Feels like a whole different lifetime." I crawl onto the bed and collapse facedown for a few seconds before I turn my head so I can breathe. A few moments later I feel the mattress shift next to me, my husband's face coming into view. He smiles at me sympathetically, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

"You could quit, you know," he says softly.

"But I love my job," I protest weakly, sighing as exhaustion courses through me.

"I know, baby. I know. But these hours are killing you. Is it really worth it?"

That is the question. Being a chef at one of the best restaurants in Manhattan is actually a thrilling experience—knowing that I was requested personally for the position makes the job all the better, and I absolutely love what I do, but the hours can be murder. It wasn't so bad when we lived in the city and it was just the two of us. It tended to limit some of our time together, but we always made it work. But now, it feels like it gets harder every day. The commute is about an hour each way, and even though they're very accommodating to me, I still have to do my job, which often means late nights or long days.

I closed the last couple of nights, though, which means I don't leave Manhattan until around two in the morning, and I don't get to crawl into bed until closer to four than I'd like. Then I'm up by seven at the latest with the kids; sometimes I let Chandler just take them all to daycare so I can get a few more hours to function somewhat properly, and it's good for them to be around other kids, but usually once I'm up, I'm up, so I just keep them with me for the day. Unless it's another night that I work, I'll be asleep by eight at the latest after we put the kids to bed. It's exhausting, I miss my husband, and it winds up feeling like we do a lot of solo parenting, like we're just ships passing in the night.

Suffice it to say, though, the last few days have felt more like a marathon than real life, with only three hours of sleep one night and just about two the next, driving back and forth into the city, and spending all day with the little munchkins—time I honestly wouldn't trade for anything in the world—and just the general tasks that come with being a parent and homeowner have left me completely enervated.

"If you want your job title to be 'stay-at-home Mom,' that's fine by me," he tells me gently, his hand sliding to my back, rubbing soft circles.

"I can't put that financial burden on you," I mumble, tired tears filling my eyes despite my best effort.

"I make pretty good money."

"That may be true, but we have three children and a mortgage."

He sighs and shifts closer, pulling me against his chest. "I just hate seeing you so tired all the time."

"I know."

"We're not in our twenties anymore, Mon—working until all hours of the night may not be the most viable of options."

"I know that, too."

"If you want to keep working at Javu, I'll support you one hundred percent. If you want to quit, I'm behind you." I sigh heavily, my tired mind trying to think everything through. "They have pretty nice restaurants out here, too, you know."

I wrap my arm around Chandler, cuddling in close. "They do."

He's silent for a while, but I can practically hear him thinking. "There's the other option that we don't really talk about."

"What option could we possibly not have discussed by this point?" I mumble into his chest, and his fingers run through my hair.

"You could open up your own place."

That certainly gets my attention. Slowly, I lift my head, meeting his eyes. "My own restaurant?"

"It's just a thought. You could make your own hours—"

"I don't think that's how that works, honey," I interrupt. "Not with a new place. I'd have to be there all the time."

"At first," he concedes. "For a while. But once it got up and running, you could do whatever you wanted."

"Do you know how many new restaurants fail within a year?" I ask, propping my head up on my hand.

"No, but I'm sure you'll be able to tell me by this time tomorrow," he teases, mirroring my position.

"And do you have any idea of how expensive it is?"

"We have good credit," he answers casually, and I can tell that not only is this not the first time he's thought about this, but he's given it a lot more thought than I would ever expect.

"I would be gone all the time. The only time I'd get to see you or the kids would be if you brought them by while I was up to my elbows in blueprints or ordering equipment or interviewing people." The prospect of having a place that's just mine is wildly alluring, but I can't kid myself—I know it's a lot more work than I could ever anticipate, and maybe more work than I have in me.

"Well," he says slowly, reaching out to grab my fingers, toying with my engagement ring playfully. "What if it's not a restaurant?"

I look at him blankly for a few moments before understanding dawns on me. "You mean…a bakery?"

"Yeah. I mean, your cooking is out of this world, but you can't tell me that baking hasn't always been what makes you happiest."

He's got me there. It's most likely because I found all those cakes and cookies so comforting as a teenager, but my baked goods have always been some of the things I'm proudest of. Honestly, the thought of having a little bakery is really amazing.

"Do you think we could—"

"Yes," he interrupts immediately, pulling himself into a seated position. "I've noticed that this area actually has a lack of bakeries, aside from the ones in the grocery stores, and those always have crazy business. There's always some kid's birthday party or work event that needs cupcakes. There's a market for this, honey, I can tell. People want to shop local, and they want to support the area. There are enough little buildings downtown that could easily be converted, and it would only need a small business loan instead of something massive like for a full-size restaurant. Staffing could be minimal, depending on your business, and the hours would probably be early in the morning, true, but you'd be finished with your day by early afternoon."

I sit up and face him, gaping in wonder. "You've put a lot of thought into this."

"I had to. I knew if I just suggested you quit Javu with no real alternative, you'd eventually just shoot me down. But, if I came to you with a game plan, it's something you'd at least consider."

"It's still a lot of work," I remind him.

"I know that, but less work than an entire restaurant. And you could start small!" I jump a little, laughing at his enthusiasm. "Reach out to some of the parents, let them know that you'd be interested in baking school treats from them so they wouldn't have to. Talk to Leta—she's in dire need of a project, and I think with her connections, she'd be a huge asset in something like this."

"But so many places are going to designer cakes and things," I protest. "I mean, the skill needed to create some of these things—"

"Is something you have," he answers, scooting toward me a little. "And there are classes for this stuff. Like I said, you can start small, but if this is something that you think you'd want to do..."

I pause for a moment, my heart racing with the enormity of it all. "I think…it could be something that I'd want to do."

"Then we'll take our time with it. We'll look into every aspect, we'll comb through every detail, we'll talk about it until we're blue in the face, whatever it takes until we know we're doing the best thing for all of us."

"You really think I could do this?" I ask in a whisper, and he pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly.

"I know you could do this. You can do anything."

"But…my own business…"

"Weren't you and Phoebe going to open your own catering company at one point?"

I sigh in exasperation, pulling back to stare at him incredulously. "Chandler, that was ten years ago. I had a crap job and no family. Starting my own business seemed like a good idea at the time. What the hell did I know? I was practically a kid and considered catering out of the back of a van. I don't know that I was making the wisest of choices back then."

"It's still something you considered, so why not do it now? Monica, you're the best—you know you're the best. People would pay good money for your food and you know it."

"Isn't the country in the middle of a recession?" I argue, and he makes a face at me.

"Mon…look, I know it's risky, but if it's something you want to do, isn't it worth it?"

"But…"

"No, seriously. Didn't you support me when I decided to quit my job and find my passion?"

"We didn't have a house and a family then, Chandler! Everything's different now."

He takes my face in his hands, calming me down a bit. "True; everything's different, but that doesn't mean you can't have the job of your dreams, too. I don't want you to go through life regretting a chance you didn't take, and if this is something you want and it'll make you happy, that's what matters. The kids will be happy that you're happy. Just think about it, all right? That's all I want us to do right now is consider it to be a possibility and we'll weigh all the options. We're not jumping into anything, I promise."

I lean into him, resting my forehead against his shoulder, my arms loosely around his waist. "This is really huge," I finally whisper.

"I know. And I know I'm sort of springing it on you while you're exhausted, but that's why we're not going to rush, all right?"

"What if we have another baby?"

"We'll manage. I can do some work from home, remember? And if your shop happened to be up and running by that point, you might be able to take the baby with you, at least some of the time."

"There's no such thing as maternity leave when you own a business," I remind him, and I feel him shrug.

"All right—so that goes in the 'con' column. But don't forget that you happen to be sleeping with an advertising guru, so he might be able to figure out something to help boost a business."

I shake my head, chuckling. "That goes in the 'pro' column definitely." My body droops suddenly, the adrenaline of the moment vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "How did we go from talking about being tired to opening a bakery?"

"I'm a conversational wizard," he answers smugly. "And I love you more than anything—well, you and the kids—and I want you to be happy, and I don't want to have to worry about you driving in from Manhattan in the wee hours of the morning."

"I am happy," I answer as I pull away from him, finally crawling under the blankets. "Don't ever doubt that."

"Okay, then. I want you to be as happy as you can possibly be." He crawls into bed next to me, never batting an eye at the early hour, and wraps his arm around my shoulder, resting his head against my temple. "That's all I want for any of you."

"You're the best husband in the world," I whisper, fading quickly even though parts of my mind are still reeling with the notion of opening my own shop. If we could pull it off, if we could make it work, I think it really could be amazing. The more I think about it, the more I realize that this is something that I've also sort of wanted to do for a really long time.

"Only because I have you to keep me in line," he answers, and I nudge him with my elbow. He kisses my neck and I turn onto my side, feeling his arms wrap around me. "I love you."

"Mmmm. I love you, too." I shouldn't be surprised at all that he's this enthusiastic about the idea, and really, I'm not. I honestly have the best husband anyone could possibly hope to find, and he truly would support me in anything I wanted to do. He's had my back for years, and the same way I didn't bat an eye when he told me he quit his job because he wanted to find something he cared about, I know he would do the exact same thing for me.

I grab his hand and kiss the palm before I tuck it under my head, thoroughly wrapped up in my husband and I feel my body happily give out.

Until I get the eerie feeling of being watched and open one eye just a crack. My twins stare back at me solemnly, their dark eyes glittering in the moonlight streaming in from around the curtains, and I'd swear they look like a couple of creepy little kids from some horror movie.

"Hi," I say tentatively, and they both break out into big smiles, the moment gone.

"Hi Mommy," Jack stage whispers.

"Come play wif us, Mommy," Erica says, her hand tugging at my arm.

I groan a little—they sound way too awake for this hour. "Bed," I answer, earning pouts from both of them. I turn my head to see Chandler's mouth hanging open a little as he sleeps, looking so much like William that it's insane, and drag myself out of his arms. I stagger for a moment as I stand then put a hand on each of their shoulders, guiding them toward their room. I feel them both hop up and down a little, excited that Mommy's coming to play, but I stay silent.

When I get to their room, I see they've spent a good deal of time playing on their own; among other things, a large wooden train set, building blocks, and various stuffed animals litter the floor. "You've got to be kidding me," I mumble, looking at the watch still on my wrist, surprised to find that it's already after midnight. I steer them back into their beds, tucking them in despite their protests. I'd make them clean it up now, but I'm afraid that would really get them riled up. I check on William; mercifully, he's still asleep. I pull their door most of the way shut before stumbling back to my own bed.

"Where'd you go?" Chandler mumbles, pulling me close again.

"Trouble and More Trouble thought the middle of the night was a good time to play."

He moans a little, draping his leg over mine. "We have to find a better place for all their crap."

"Mmmm," I agree, burying my face in his chest. "I think before we really consider opening a business, we have to convert the basement into some sort of play room for them."

He grunts in agreement, his body relaxing against mine as sleep claims him again, and I follow right behind him.

*A/N...I wrote this forever ago, so I'm sorry I didn't get it out sooner. I lost a very dear member of my family recently, so I had to prioritize. Also, I'm in a bit of a writing slump right now-I'm hoping to get over it or work through it, but I'll just have to wait and see. Sorry, guys.