"Those are birds," I tell her. "They'll watch over you while you sleep."
She considers this seriously, then lies down and pulls her favorite blanket—the soft yellow one Diana knitted before Emma was born—up to her chin.
"Love you, baby girl," Nick says softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Love you too," I add, smoothing her dark hair. She has Nick's eyes but my stubborn cowlick, and the combination makes her look wise beyond her eighteen months.
"Da-da," she says sleepily, already half-asleep. "Love."
My heart does that thing it always does when she says her few clear words. "Love you too, Emma Rose."
We leave her door cracked open and retreat to our own room, where boxes labeled "Master Bedroom" are stacked against thefar wall. The movers set up our bed first thing, which was smart because I'm too exhausted to think about unpacking clothes.
"Good first day?" Nick asks, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his shoes.
"The best," I say honestly, settling beside him. "I can't believe we actually did it. Bought a house, became real adults with a mortgage and everything."
"Don't forget the toddler," Nick adds. "Real adults with a mortgage and a tiny person who depends on us for everything."
"How are we responsible for keeping a human alive?" I ask, the same question that's been floating around my head since Emma was born. "Some days I can barely remember to eat lunch."
"We're doing okay so far," Nick points out. "She's happy, healthy, says new words every day, and only occasionally tries to poison herself with household objects."
"True. And she's got your mom wrapped around her tiny finger, which means built-in babysitting and unlimited spoiling."
"Also true." Nick lies back against the pillows, pulling me down beside him. "Think she'll like it here?"
"She already does. Did you see her face when she discovered the backyard? She's going to spend all summer running around out there."
"Making mud pies and chasing butterflies," Nick says with a grin. "Maybe we should get her a swing set."
"Slow down there, Papa. She just learned to walk without falling down every five minutes."
"But imagine how cute she'll be on swings."
I can imagine it, actually. Emma with grass stains on her knees and dirt under her tiny fingernails, laughing as Nick pushes her higher. The mental image makes my chest warm with anticipation for all the ordinary moments we'll collect in this house.
"We should probably think about the future," I say, settling more comfortably against Nick's side. "Long-term planning and all that."
"What kind of future thinking?"
"Well, there's the second nursery."
Nick goes very still. "Second nursery?"
"The room next to Emma's," I say casually. "Perfect size for another crib. When we're ready, I mean. Eventually."
"How eventually?" Nick's voice is carefully neutral, but I can feel his interest through our bond.
"I don't know. Emma should probably be potty trained first. And maybe sleeping through the night consistently."
"She is sleeping through the night. Mostly."
"Last week she woke up at three AM because she wanted to show us her stuffed elephant."
"That was important elephant business," Nick defends. "But you're right, maybe we should wait until she's a little more independent."
"Maybe when she's two? Two and a half?"