After making sure it wasn’t too hot, he put a mug of tea in front of her and then a plate with toast, cinnamon, and sugar—her favorite of late.
Then he sat next to her.
Tired hazel eyes drifted to his. “Is Hunter up for school?”
He nodded. “I dropped him already.”
Those eyes flew to the clock. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was my turn. I must not have heard the alarm and—”
He covered her hand. “I turned off your alarm, sweetheart.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“You’re not getting enough sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
He lifted a brow. “We’re starting the bottle tonight.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he said. “You’re running yourself ragged between Carter and Hunter and Emma, and you need at least one chunk of solid sleep every night.” Squeezing her fingers lightly, he shifted closer to her. “You don’t have to be Super Mom. I’m here, too. Let me help.”
“But you’ve been taking more of the nighttime feedings and that isn’t fair.”
He loved this woman, but she was talking crazy. “You mean I’ve been carrying Emma around and changing a few diapers while you’re feeding her,” he said. “Tell me which of those is more important.”
“Jor.”
“I love you,” he said. “But this isn’t a scoreboard. Your body needs to rest and recover, and you’ve been pumping, so why not use the milk?”
“What if we need it?”
“More than we both need sleep?”
She froze, and he knew he’d scored a point. Jordan understood she was exhausted—he wasn’t feeling particular chipper himself after Emma’s weeks of exercising her lungs—but Abby had been through a difficult pregnancy, a difficult delivery, and now a difficult few weeks. She needed more rest than she was getting.
Even if she was trying to pretend otherwise.
“I’m just not sure if it’s too soon . . .”
He brushed back her hair from her face. “How about we just try? If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll go back to the other way.”
“Okay,” she said and picked up her cup of tea, lifting it to her lips.
Right on cue, Emma, who he’d had set up in the vibrating, musical swing in the corner, began crying. Which was promptly followed by Carter, who had been building a tower of wooden blocks that collapsed.
He glanced at his wife, lips twitching.
“What was that you said about rest?” she asked, fighting a smile.
“We’ll look back at these days at some point, right?” He kissed the top of her head, moved to the swing and picked up Emma, bringing her back to Abby and shifting the mug well out of the way of flailing little arms. Then he scooped up Carter, hugging his son and talking him down from the tower edge before they sat on the rug together and rebuilt an even better one.
“You’re a good dad,” Abby said, coming over to them and kissing his cheek. “Even if you are a stubborn husband.”
“I learned all of my stubborn skills from you,” he deadpanned.
She laughed, and even after all these years, it was still the best sound on the planet. “I love you and your stubbornness.” A waggling of her brows. “And your hammer.”