I wrap my hands around my steaming mug of coffee, smiling as I inhale deeply. The aroma wafts through me—comforting and familiar. I look over at Erica, who studies me intently for a moment before wrapping her own hands around her smaller mug of hot chocolate. She takes a deep breath and grins, letting out a loud, "ahhhh."

I chuckle and shake my head at her. "Are you copying Mommy?"

She scrunches up her shoulders and giggles, accidently sticking her nose in the top of her whipped cream. She giggles even louder, watching little puffs of white float up around her, and I can't help but laugh, too. I hand her a napkin and she clumsily wipes her face, managing to get herself mostly clean. "All better!"

"All better," I agree, taking a sip of my coffee, imagining that I can feel the caffeine flowing through my veins. "Is it good?"

"Mmmm," she answers, holding the cup steady on the table as she takes a careful sip from the edge of it. She lifts her head again, her eyes crinkling as she smiles, and she pushes the mug in my direction. "Have some."

"You're a sweetheart," I tell her, scooting my chair a little closer to hers. I take a tiny sip and put it back in front of her. "Thank you, Share Bear."

"You're welcome, Mommy." She leans forward again, taking another careful sip of her hot chocolate as I watch her, fascinated. She's like a different little girl today and she's completely mesmerizing. "Mommy?"

"Yes, Eri?"

"I'm not a bear."

She says it so seriously and matter-of-factly that I almost snort coffee out of my nose. I cough for a moment, getting myself under control before I answer her. "You're right. You're not a bear." I wrap an arm around her little shoulders and pull her toward me a bit, kissing her forehead. "But you're Mommy's little bunny, aren't you?"

I feel her arm wrap around my waist as best as she can, squeezing, and I have a moment where I never want to let her go. She's so tiny and perfect, and so utterly amazing that I just want to keep her like this forever. "I'm a bunny," she finally answers, and I give her head another kiss before I let her get back to her hot chocolate. I stroke her blonde hair gently, making sure she doesn't pull the mug onto her lap by accident, but she seems to be doing quite nicely.

My daughter is almost three, and it feels like overnight she became this tiny little person instead of one of my babies—not in the way that I always feel my kids are growing up, either. They're all developing separate interests and their own ideas, and it's thrilling, but scary.

What's sad to realize is that this is the first time I've spend a significant amount of time alone with Erica. Actually, the only one I've spent one-on-one time with so far is William, but considering he was a newborn at the time, I don't know that it counts the same way. Chandler and I have come to realize, though, that we don't know our kids as individuals. With having twins, they almost become like one person—Jack&Erica instead of Jack and Erica separately. Then having a third so close to their age, it's very easy to lump them all together. They do most things as a group, and because they all love each other so much, we never see a lot of need to separate them. I'm sure that's bad for them somehow. Some child psychologist would probably love to tell us we're permanently damaging our kids by letting them play together all the time. On the other hand, if we kept them apart more often, I'm sure some other psychologist would tell us how horrific it is to keep kids from their siblings. Then, of course, there would be the inevitable counseling for the twins because someone would feel that they're acting out because they're adopted…

I pause that train of thought, shaking my head. If my kids ever do need to see a shrink, I imagine it would be for that, but it's certainly not going to happen any time soon. I don't think there's any way they could understand at this point that Mommy and Daddy aren't biologically Mommy and Daddy, nor do I think it's something they need to know right now. There'll probably come a day when it's a talk we'll have to have with them, but that's a long way off.

Still, as much as we love where we live now, there are a lot of crazy, overprotective suburban parents who already have their kids in therapy. What the average four-year-old could need to talk to a counselor about is beyond me, but I'm sure those same parents, if they knew about Jack and Erica, would insist that they need to talk about it to someone because they'd been traumatized by being taken from their birth mother so early.

I sigh and roll my eyes, knowing it's true. Some people probably would see it that way, instead of seeing that a high school girl made the best choice for herself and her unborn children. But because of that, only a couple of our new friends know about the adoption, which is fine because most days, I truly forget about the adoption myself, at least for a while. We still have the completely unfounded fear that Erica will decide she wants the kids back one day, but now that thought is often mixed with confusion as to why someone would want kids that aren't her own.

At any rate, Chandler and I personally feel that the helicopter parents who never let their kids out of their sight or never let them play on their own are doing more damage than anything we could possibly be doing at the moment. True, we play with our kids a lot, but mostly because it's a hell of a lot of fun. A lot of the time, though, we just put them in front of their toys and let them have at it. Seeing what they come up with on their own is pretty entertaining in its own right, and the only time we really worry about them at that point is when they've been quiet for too long. The Bing children are rarely silent, and it usually means they're up to no good.

"I love you, Erica," I tell her suddenly, overcome with love and appreciation for the beautiful little person in front of me.

She looks up at me, her big brown eyes even wider than usual, a whipped cream mustache all over her top lip, and an even stronger wave of love washes over me. She puckers her lips, leaning toward me, and I meet her half way. Baby kisses really are the best kisses. I wipe off her lip and she ducks her head a little, giggling again. "Love you, Mommy."

I'm truly, honestly in love with my kids.

I hear a quiet little, "awww," and look up to see a couple standing near the door, shrugging into their jackets. The woman smiles at me sheepishly. "Sorry. Your daughter is beautiful."

An ear-to-ear grin spreads across my face, so wide it hurts. "Thank you." I turn to my daughter. "Erica, what—"

"Thank you," Erica answers immediately, smiling at the couple bashfully.

Rotten little flirt.

The couple looks ready to melt as they walk out the door, and I see Phoebe finally emerging from the bathroom, Amelia holding her finger as she toddles along next to her in a completely different outfit than she wore all day. I shudder a little, knowing what that has to mean, and feel eternally grateful that my kids are well into their potty training—William, too, miraculously. They're not perfect at it yet, but they're definitely getting the idea.

Phoebe plunks Amelia into her highchair, giving her daughter a look of loving disgust. "This kid is so nasty. You'd think that even just helping out with the triplets when they were babies that one couldn't be nearly as bad but…she is. She's perfectly content to just sit in her dirty diaper, wiggling her little butt until it gets everywhere. I practically had to give her a bath in the sink."

I wince in sympathy—my kids certainly have had their fair share of disgusting diapers, and William was definitely a pro at squirming until it got most of the way up his back. "They're lucky we love them, right?"

"Hi, Aunt Teebee," Erica says, her mouth covered in hot chocolate this time. The whipped cream has been completely consumed. For some reason, Erica has trouble stringing "Aunt" and "Phoebe" together properly. If she says them slowly, it's fine. If she just says, "Phoebe," she has no trouble. But when she's greeting her aunt, it comes out as "Aunt Teebee." Interestingly, Jack doesn't have the same issue.

"Hi, Cutie," Phoebe answers with a grin, handing Amelia her sippy cup.

"Hi, 'Melia." I hand Erica another napkin and she swipes at her face haphazardly, mostly just smearing the hot chocolate around her cheeks.

Amelia looks up to her mother, her hazel eyes wide with alarm. "It's okay. Say 'hi' to Erica."

She turns back to my daughter and says, "Hi," before picking up her bottle and stuffing it in her mouth.

Phoebe sighs, shaking her head. "I don't think we're socializing her enough. She goes to daycare maybe once a week, but the rest of time, because our schedules are so weird, she's with me or Mike. She doesn't really know how to play with other kids."

I shrug, taking another sip of my coffee. "I couldn't say, Pheebs. I'm definitely not an expert, though I'm sure being twins helped them learn how to interact with other small people."

She sighs, fiddling with her cup of tea. "Well, how did you get them to stop pointing and grunting at things?"

"They never really did that to begin with. They tried a little until we realized just how easy it was to just hand them things without explaining what it was. Plus, we were really worried about the twins developing some sort of twin-speak, so we did our best to make sure we taught them as many words as we could. But, you know, first there were two of them and not long after they became a trio. Jack and Erica compete against each other all the time. William wants to catch up to them, so he has a lot more words than most babies his age. Amelia's an only child and she has a captive audience. From what I understand, a lot of only children are like that. They don't have a need for using words. Ben was like that for a while, remember? But she understands what you're telling her, right? I mean, obviously, because you told her to say 'hi' to Erica and she did."

"Yeah, she gets things," Phoebe agrees. "We've taken her to her doctor to make sure she's fine, and she is. She just doesn't really talk."

I shrug again, looking over at my normally chatty daughter, who is contentedly watching us chat. "I think some babies just don't, at least not for a while. At some people, she'll probably just burst out into conversation, like she's been holding it in her whole life. You can still take her to daycare, though, even if you or Mike are going to be home during the day. It might be good for her to be around more people like that."

"I guess," Phoebe answers, stroking her daughter's dark hair. "I just like to be around her."

"I get that. I get that completely, and I don't blame you for it at all. But it's just an option. Of course, you can always bring her over to play with my kids. I'm sure they'll all revel in socializing her." I reach out and give Erica's side a little tickle, making laughter bubble out of her. "What do you think, Eri Berry? Do you want to play with Amelia some time?"

"Yes!" she exclaims happily. "I love my 'Melia."

Phoebe smiles at my daughter fondly, leaning over to press a kiss to her own daughter's temple. "Well, if that doesn't just melt your heart." She takes a sip of her tea before lifting her eyebrow at me curiously. "So, I take it Rachel left."

I try to bite back my smile as I roll my eyes. Most days, I love Rachel as much as I love anyone. She's still one of my best friends, and when it comes down to it, I can count on her for anything. But there are those days—fewer and farther between now, granted—when she regresses to the girl who ran through the doors of Central Perk in a wedding dress all those years ago. When I called up her and Phoebe and suggested a girl's day out with our daughters, Rachel had something very different in mind. She was expecting a full-on spa day, complete with facials and mani-pedis. While that sounded wildly appealing to Monica the adult, Monica the mom didn't think her daughter would enjoy sitting still for that long, nor did she feel that her already Diva-like child needed to be pampered like that at such a young age. Her little feet are too small for a pedicure, and her skin is still baby-soft, so she doesn't need a bunch of chemicals slathered all over her. I certainly don't want to get her into that sort of mindset at this age, either.

Instead, Phoebe and I managed to talk her into something more kid-friendly, though it was begrudging on her part. We wanted to take the girls to a petting zoo, but the winter is trying its damndest to stick around for as long as possible, leaving the weather cold, dreary, and drizzly. Instead, we took them to a kid's museum, which they all loved. They got to touch everything, not wanting to leave until we saw each and every exhibit in the place. Rachel smiled at Emma indulgently, but mumbled under her breath about "science crap" the whole time. I'm really not sure if Rachel is that opposed to her daughter being a "nerd" or if she's so used to giving Ross a hard time for it that she doesn't notice that it's happening, but it got old, fast.

"Yes, Rachel left. I think she was still bound and determined to get their nails done today."

"Wow. I really didn't think it'd be that big of a deal to take the kids to a museum. Is she really that opposed to Emma being into that stuff?"

"So it would seem. I think she wants Emma to be her little princess, and she is, but she also likes to do stuff with her hands."

"What's Rachel gonna do if Emma winds up being into science or math or history? Is she going to tell her she's not allowed?"

"I hope not. I can't imagine telling any of my kids that they aren't allowed to be interested in something. As long as they're exploring the world around them and not tearing everything to shreds, I'm happy. But because Rachel's so adamant about it, Emma will probably wind up following in her father's footsteps. That just seems to be the way it works." My kids are still so little that they could grow up to be literally anything. Everything interests them. I never want to step on that enthusiasm because they could be interested in a field that doesn't excite me. As long as they find something that makes them happy, I'll be happy.

"Mommy?"

I smile down at Erica, who's looking back at me earnestly. "Yes, pumpkin?"

"Am I a pin-cess?"

"No, baby girl. You're the queen."

"Ohhhhh."

I shake my head at her, stroking her hair once more. "You finished with your hot chocolate?"

"Ummmmm," she pauses, lifting herself up in her seat to look at the bottom of her cup. "Yes!"

"Good girl." I reach into my bag, pulling out the baby wipes. "Let me clean that face of yours." She leans her head toward me as I hold out a wipe, shaking her head back and forth to rub her face against it, Not surprisingly, she sets off a round of giggles at her own silliness. I know it's not the most effective way for her to wash her face, but it's just one of those things that keeps her happy, and prevents the random outbursts at the audacity that we might want to get the grime off of her. Amelia bangs on the table a couple of times, laughing at my daughter's glee. Phoebe looks around the coffee shop nervously, but none of the patrons seem at all bothered by laughing babies.

"All better," Erica declares, cheeks and chin still smeared with chocolate.

"Not too bad," I agree. "But Mommy's going to take another pass at it, all right?" Before she can protest, I wipe her down more thoroughly, taking care to gently squeeze her cheeks and her nose, making little honking noises as I go to keep her giggling. "Now you're all better," I confirm.

"Thank you," she answers, and I pick up her hand, kissing her little palm.

"You're very welcome."

She opens her eyes even wider than normal, and I mentally cringe, preparing myself for what's to come. It's anyone's guess with this one. "Can I sit with you?"

My insides turn to melted butter at her request. "Of course you can, honey." I pull her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her tummy. I press a kiss to the top of her head and sigh. "You can always sit on Mommy's lap."

"Ugh," Phoebe says, picking Amelia's cup off the floor, wiping the top on her pant leg before giving it back to her daughter. "So cute. She's not usually like this, though, right?"

I shake my head and shrug. "This is the first time I've spent this kind of time alone with her. She's completely different without her brothers around, apparently." She is, too—when she's around Jack and William, she's usually the loudest one, the leader of the pack, the bossy one, the center of attention. She likes to take charge and her brothers let her. The three of them tend to talk over each other, often unintentionally competing to see who can be the loudest. Today, she's been fairly quiet. Not upset quiet, but just without her usual need to get the most attention. She's been asking what things are and how they work, holding fairly impressive conversations with me, her aunts, and a few random adults we met at the museum. Right now, she seems content to watch the world around her, taking it all in and being very introspective, which is not at all like her usual personality.

But this is why Chandler and I want to spend time with the kids one-on-one; in a lot of ways, we have no idea who they are yet. If Erica is behaving more like Jack when she's on her own, I can't wait to get Chandler's report of Jack's behavior without his sister.

"'Scuse me, Mommy."

I can't help but grin at Phoebe over my daughter's head. "Yes, Erica?"

"Where's Daddy?"

"He's at home, working on your playroom."

"Okay."

"How's that going, by the way?" Phoebe asks. "Any word from Chandler?"

"He texted me about an hour ago to let me know they were finished with the construction and were onto sorting through the toys. As long as the boys don't try to 'help' them with that part, it probably won't be too long before they get everything down to the basement." Recently, we mutually agreed that the kids needed an actual area to play. We also agreed we needed to downsize some of their old toys. Then, we even more strongly agreed that I shouldn't be around when any of that happened, knowing how overwrought and emotional I get when it comes to our children, which is how my husband and all the other guys in our life wound up being the ones to be in charge of this process. While I don't normally enjoy relinquishing control of something like this anyone, I've been a mommy long enough by this point to know that I'd be doing more harm than good at home right now.

"Are you excited about your new playroom, Eri?"

I tilt my head to the side, watching Erica smiles at Phoebe. "Yes." She turns her gaze back to me. "'Scuse me, Mommy."

I bite back my grin—she doesn't need to know just how cute she's being. "Yes, Erica?"

"Where's my Jack?"

"Jack's with Daddy today, honey. Remember?"

She makes a face at me, obviously not satisfied with that answer. "Where's my Liam?"

"William's with Jack and Daddy."

"Why?"

"Mommy wanted to spend the day with just you. Is that okay?"

Her face immediately brightens. "Oh!"

I kiss the top of her head, giving her a gentle squeeze. "I thought you might like that. We'll go home soon, though, and see your daddy and Jack and William, all right?"

"'Kay," she answers, and I feel her nestle her back against my stomach.

"She's sleepy," I mouth to Phoebe, who nods in understanding.

Amelia pushes her cup to the floor again. "Uhhhh."

"What is it, honey?" Phoebe asks, and I can see her physically fighting the urge to grab the cup right away.

Amelia points to the floor, bouncing up and down a little. "Muuuuh. Buhbuh."

Phoebe picks it up and shows it to her. "Do you want this?"

"Uhhhhh."

Erica tilts her head, looking up at me in confusion. "She's still a baby," I explain softly. "She doesn't know the same words you do yet."

"Mama buhbuh."

Phoebe gives me a nearly-frantic look, and I throw up one hand in innocence. "Your baby, Pheebs. Your call."

She makes a face at me before turning back to her daughter. "This is a cup, Amelia. Cup."

"Buhbuh," Amelia says, her hands reaching out for the cup.

"Mommy, that's not a bottle," Erica tells me matter-of-factly. Considering we never referred to their bottles as "buhbuhs," I'm pretty impressed that she knows what Amelia's talking about. Maybe kids have some universal language of their own.

"She's not usually this fussy," Phoebe says apologetically, but I just wave her off.

"No biggie, Pheebs. I would guess she's not used to you making her work for it."

"So not." She takes a deep breath and looks back to her daughter. "Amelia, look at me." To her credit, Amelia does focus on Phoebe, waiting. "Cup." Amelia looks at her mother like she's crazy. "Just try it. Cup."

"Cup," she answers, clear as a bell. She holds out her hands, exasperated that she's still being made to wait, or that anyone would assume that she didn't know the word. "Cup!"

Phoebe grins at her daughter, handing over the cup as she kisses her forehead. "That's my girl!"

Erica squirms in my lap for a second as she tries to stand. "What're you doing?" I ask her. My kids are daredevils, and I never really know what to expect from them.

"Help, Mommy," she answers simply. Curious, I hold onto her sides as she pulls her feet onto my knees and stands. She turns around a moment later and sits down again, resting her head on my chest, right over my heart.

I rub her back gently in big circles, her little arms and legs already a bit like wet noodles as she rests against me. "Pheebs…"

"Oh, no, totally," she agrees instantly, lifting Amelia out of the highchair. "This one definitely needs a nap."

Each with one hand, we gather up our belongings and used cups, dumping our trash before heading out to the sidewalk. "Want me to give you a ride back to your apartment?" I offer. Being the only one with a car big enough, I did the shuttling today, picking everyone up at their various apartments. Not that I mind—it's nice to have the option if we need it.

"No, you're going in a completely different way," Phoebe answers. "And truthfully, it'd probably be faster for me to walk or hop on the subway than for you to fight with traffic just to take me a few blocks."

"Phoebe, it's like ten blocks from here," I protest, but she just waves me away.

"We do it all the time," she reassures me. "The noise usually helps put her to sleep."

"All right," I finally concede. "If you're sure." We hold out our sort-of-free arms to give each other a hug, kissing each other's cheeks in the process. "Thanks for coming out today," I tell her, shifting my sleepy little girl in my arms. "We had a lot of fun." I lean forward and kiss Amelia's squishy little cheek, earning myself a smile in the process.

"So did we," Phoebe assures me. "I think Rachel did, too, though she'll never admit it."

I smile a little regretfully and kiss Erica's head. "Eri, can you say bye-bye to Aunt Phoebe?"

She lifts her sleepy body off mine for a moment, holding out her arms, giving Phoebe a hug when she leans in. "Bye bye, Aunt Teebee."

"Be good, Erica," Phoebe tells her, giving her a one-armed hug before kissing the top of her head.

"Okay," she answers quietly, already burrowing herself into me again.

"And seriously, Pheebs. Any time you want to bring Amelia out to play with the kids, just let me know. You're all always welcome at our home, you know that."

"I will; I promise. It'll be good for all of us." She takes another moment to make sure everything is secure in her arms before waving to us. "All right, little lady. Let's go home."

"Bye bye, 'Melia," Erica says softly to their back, her hand coming up in a tired little wave.

I pull the keys out of my pocket and head in the opposite direction toward my car, feeling Erica's body grow heavier and heavier with sleep. "You were such a good girl today, Eri. Did you know that?" She doesn't answer, but I can feel her breath against my neck. "I'm very proud of you." She snuffles a little, tightening her arms around me. "I love you to the moon and down again and around the world and back again, and I'm so happy we got to spend today together." She snores a little and I chuckle, pressing the "unlock" button on my car key. Carefully, I buckle her into her car seat; she blinks at me sleepily a few times before her eyes fall shut completely, ignoring me. I pull a blankie out of the diaper bag—really, it's just an old burp rag that she's taken to dragging with her to bed lately—and put it on her lap, putting one of her hands on it so it'll be within reach if she wakes up during the ride home and needs something to hold on to.

I stuff my other bags onto the floor, pausing for a moment to watching my sleeping daughter. She still has a couple of traces of hot chocolate on her cheeks. With a sigh, I pull myself away and close the door, settling myself behind the wheel. I pull my cell phone out of my jacket pocket and flip it open, sending a text to Chandler.

On our way home.

Just a moment later, my phone buzzes, his reply popping up.

Good. Be careful.

Before I can put it away, it vibrates in my hand again, another message popping up.

Missed you. Love you.

I grin as I tap out my response.

Missed you more. Love you more.

I wait for a moment but my phone stays quiet, so I toss it into the cup holder next to me, turning the ignition and pulling slowly out into traffic.

*A/N…hey sports fans. I think that last A/N confused people (probably because I didn't word it very well), so I just wanted to follow up. First of all, the kind words each of you left me were incredible and, as always, much appreciated. Seriously—it's wonderful, so thank you! Second, I didn't mean to make it sound like I was down about that whole thing with someone telling me my writing was repetitive, etc, because that's honestly not what I meant. I'd been sort of blocked for a while, and I think it was within the last chapter or two I published that I realized it was because of that. Again, the spirit of that particular criticism wasn't mean—I truly think they were offhand remarks during the course of a few different conversations. I honestly hadn't realized that this little voice had taken up residence in my head until then (don't you hate squatters? They just take whatever space they want). I think, unfortunately, most of us deal with that sort of thing—a hundred people could tell you how good something was, but all it takes is one person (often ourselves) to think it's mediocre and you question everything in your life. Doesn't help that these were thoughts I'd been having about myself and my writing for some time, so yes, it's been a struggle. At any rate, I'm going to keep trying to find way to make it interesting for me to write—because I often have a lot of ideas, but it can take me some time to make sure it doesn't feel like a story I've written before, you know?—because I truly love this fandom and all of you crazies that go along with it. Again, any reviews you want to throw my way are much appreciated, but please don't feel you have to review just to reassure me. Review what's in your heart and that's all that matters.