Forever Luna

sight

noun ~ an extrasensory ability to perceive reality beyond the mundane physical senses

NOVA

The days had started to blur again, though this time it wasn't the newborn haze; it was routine. Phoenix had been back at work for two weeks, and the house already felt different without him. The mornings were the loudest, especially now that the twins knew how to walk. Freddy thundering down the hallway, Aelia wailing for milk, Belle demanding to be carried and fed at the same time...

By midday, the chaos softened into something almost peaceful, the hum of family life settling like dust after a storm.

I'd found my rhythm on day three. Dishes done, dinner cooking, naps timed, tiny socks somehow never staying in pairs. I moved through the motions with a strange calm, half mother, half machine. Still, sometimes the walls felt too close, the quiet between naps too heavy.

But thankfully, the twins did more than keep me on my toes. I swear, Belle had a rocket attached to her ass. Like now. With the pee-soaked nappy removed, I lifted my hand off of her for one second to grab the wipes.

One measly second.

She was already halfway across the room before I even got the wipes open.

"Belle, no!" I called, half laughing, half exasperated.

The half-naked toddler squealed and bolted for the sofa. Her little legs pumped furiously, the tapping of her feet giving her away as she scrambled over a block fortress.

"You can't run forever," I warned, brandishing a clean nappy like a white flag.

Belle shrieked in triumph and toddled behind the armchair. I could hear her giggling; that mischievous, bubbling laugh that always made it impossible to stay truly angry. Aelia, now a month old, stared from her bouncer, watching the spectacle like it was the best entertainment she'd seen all day. Freddy, sat in the centre of the room, blinked, and stared at us too, like we were some psychotic pair.

"Traitors." I told them both, but Freddy just grinned.

Creeping onto the chair, I peeked over the back. She was crouched behind the chair, hair wild and sticky from lunchtime. At nearly eleven months old, she already had more character than I ever expected.

"Belle..." I sang sweetly. "Don't you want to be clean? Mama's got a nice clean nappy here."

A suspicious giggle. Silence. Then, a blur of curls and bare feet. She sprinted again.

"Belle!" I lunged, nearly tripping over a discarded toy wolf, catching only the hem of her little shirt as she squealed and twisted free. "You're lucky your father isn't home to see this!"

Freddy suddenly started laughing too, sensing the fun had kicked up a notch. The entire house seemed to echo with it, the noise, the warmth, the wildness of family life. Until finally I cornered her near the playpen.

"Alright, little wolf," I panted, crouching low. "One of us is going to win, and it will not be you."

Belle grinned, eyes glinting with that stubborn spark she'd inherited straight from Phoenix. Then she tripped on the rug, gently, harmlessly, and I swooped in, scooping her up with a triumphant laugh.

"Gotcha!"

She kicked and wriggled as I carried her to the changing mat, still giggling uncontrollably as she shook her head.

"Oh yes, change," I said firmly, trying not to laugh as I wrestled a clean nappy under her. "You'll thank me later."

Aelia let out a soft groan, Freddy still giggling, and Belle finally went still, wide-eyed and panting from laughter. I wasted no time in strapping a clean nappy to her hips, suddenly aware of how a nearly one-year-old nearly beat me.