Author's Note: A short fababy ficlet set after Forget the Wrong That I've Done and I'll Pick A Star From the Sky. Written around Easter but I'm finally archiving it now.
This Lovely Easter Morning
I could hardly wait to keep our date
this lovely Easter morning.
~Easter Parade, Judy Garland
"Your mama's a little crazy, isn't she?" Quinn whispers to her daughter, a soft smile on her face as she gently bounces Callie in her arms. Wide, hazel eyes sparkle with delight—Quinn is only a tiny bit disappointed that they haven't darkened into a deeper brown—as Callie coos out an unintelligible answer, a little bubble of drool forming at the corner of her mouth thanks to that first tooth that's been trying to cut its way through her delicate gums for days now. Grinning, Quinn lifts the edge of the yellow bib (with a smiling white bunny embroidered on the front) away from her matching yellow dress to gently wipe away the spittle.
"I heard that, Quinn," Rachel admonishes, glancing back at them from her position on top of a chair where she's attempting to hide a plastic, neon pink, Easter egg on the top shelf of their bookcase. "And you're supposed to be distracting her. How can I prepare a successful Easter egg hunt when you're allowing our daughter to watch me hide them?" she asks indignantly, shaking her head. "I knew I should have had you take her out for an hour or two," she grumbles.
"Rachel, sweetie, she's only seven months old," Quinn reminds her laughingly. "She can't exactly go on an Easter egg hunt by herself anyway. And why are you even hiding one up there?"
"I'm hiding a few for TJ and the adults too, Quinn. It's only fair," Rachel explains, before she carefully climbs down from the chair.
"Well, TJ might enjoy it if you'd put some candy in them, but I somehow doubt the rest of our friends and family will be interested in hunting for empty eggs," Quinn notes dryly before grinning back down at their daughter. "And you'll probably be more interested in chasing after Ollie, won't you, sunshine?"
Callie's squeal sounds like a yes to Quinn, and she laughs. Poor Oliver still doesn't quite know what to make of the baby, especially when she decides to exercise those lungs she most definitely got from Rachel, and he still seems a little lost in the new apartment from time to time, but he's mostly settled down and is now handling everything with his typical indifference.
Quinn glances lovingly at her wife as she settles down beside them on the sofa. Rachel smiles indulgently at Callie as she reaches over to brush a gentle finger over her tiny nose—Rachel isn't at all disappointed that their daughter didn't get hers. Quinn can already see so much of Rachel in Callie that the few little things she didn't inherit probably won't make much of a difference. Their daughter is going to look just like her mother, and Quinn couldn't be happier.
"My pretty girl," Rachel murmurs adoringly. "Mommy is raining all over your Easter parade."
Quinn's smile slips at the subtle jab while Callie giggles happily at Rachel. "I'm not," she argues. "But you have to admit that the Easter egg hunt is just a little advanced for her at this point."
"That's what you said about the Easter parade," Rachel reminds her with a pout.
"Did you really want to be out there battling the crowds with a stroller and a seven month old?" As much as Quinn wants to rush into every holiday with childlike glee now that they have a child of their own to experience them with, she really doesn't want to subject their precious daughter to the craziness of holidays in the city until she's a little bit older.
Rachel sighs dramatically. "I suppose you're right," she concedes reluctantly before smiling again. Leaning into Quinn, she lifts a hand to delicately fuss with the soft, dark curls over their daughter's forehead that always seem to be in disarray. "Today is pretty perfect just the way it is."
Quinn couldn't agree more. She has a beautiful wife and daughter to spend the day with, both of whom she loves with all of her heart, and while Rachel is certainly still busy working on her first album, her extended break from Broadway means she's actually home with them more often than not. Rachel's fathers are driving down for the day; Quinn's mother, nephew, and even her sister are staying at a nearby hotel—and okay, maybe having Frannie here won't make today perfect, but she's been so much more bearable since the divorce—and their friends are all coming over for dinner. Best of all, with the exception of her mother and sister who are bringing the wine, they're all bringing their own dishes to add to the meal so all Quinn has to worry about is the ham, which is already in the oven, the tomato and mushroom quiche for Rachel, and the salad.
"But next year, we're going to the parade," Rachel decides.
"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Quinn agrees with a grin, already making her own decision that Rachel will be the one carrying Callie through the streets of New York next year. "Now make yourself useful while I check on the ham," she orders, dropping a kiss to the top of Callie's head before passing her into Rachel's waiting arms.
"Poor defenseless Piglet," Rachel laments to Callie. "Whatever will Pooh say?"
"Oh hush, you," Quinn hisses playfully as she stands from the sofa. "You'll scar her for life."
"Mommy is a stubborn carnivore. Yes, she is," Rachel coos in her baby voice. "But you won't be, will you, pretty girl? No, you won't."
Quinn rolls her eyes at her wife's antics, but her heart is full to bursting at the sight of them together. It's hard to believe that Rachel had ever had a moment's doubt about becoming a mother. She's so natural with their baby girl, and Callie adores her.
"I really love you," Quinn murmurs with a besotted smile.
Rachel flashes a grin in her direction. "We really love you too, terrible eating habits and all." Callie squeals delightedly, waving her little, fisted hands in Quinn's direction as she grins toothlessly up at her. Everything is right with Quinn's world—at least until their guests arrive and turn their apartment into a circus, but even that will be pretty damned perfect.