Month One - January


"What? What's wrong?"

"Chloe's sleeping."

He blinks and stares at the clock. 3:17 in the morning. He turns his head and stares at his wife, hovering over him in their dimly lit bedroom.

"Cristina ... you woke me up ... because our baby is sleeping?"

Cristina nods.

He sighs. "Has she woken up at all?"

"Yes, she's woken up once for feeding and a diaper change."


"And then she went back to sleep."

He yawns and sits up. "Cristina, why am I awake?"

"Owen, we have the perfect baby. We did it. Us. You and me. Well, mostly me. I didn't see you carrying a baby for nine months. But you were there."

He smiles and shakes his head. "Thank you for telling me."

"I thought you'd like to know," she says, climbing into bed beside him.

"And how are you?" Owen lies down again.

"Sore," she sighs, snuggling against him. "But it was totally worth it, having the perfect baby."

"Mmm-hmmm," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her.

"Owen, this is our baby's first night at home and she's sleeping through the night. Meredith is going to be so jealous."

"Are you going to call her and gloat?"

"Not now. In the morning."

"Yes, let Meredith sleep."

She playfully elbows him. He chuckles and kisses the back of her neck.

They lie there in silence for a few moments.

"I should go and check on her," Owen says. "Make sure she's still perfect."

"I'll come with you."

Day Four

Cristina is sitting on the couch, burping Chloe when Owen arrives from the airport with their guests.

"There she is!" Helen exclaims, throwing her coat at Saul and heading straight for the living room. "Let me see my grand-daughter!"

Cristina smiles and turns Chloe around. "Good timing, she just finished lunch." She carefully places Chloe in Helen's arms. Owen waves at her before taking the suitcases up to the guest room.

"She's beautiful," Helen coos, sitting down. "She is so beautiful. Cristina, she looks just like you did when you were a baby."

"Well done," Saul smiles, coming over to see the baby. "Hi Cristina."

"Hi Saul."

"What kind of formula are you using?" Helen asks. "Did you even read the list I emailed you?"

"Oh, no formula," Cristina shrugs. "Breast milk is the best for her right now."

Helen frowns. "You're breastfeeding?"

Cristina sighs and tenses. "Yes. What's wrong with that?"

"Well, you're such a modern woman. And you don't like to be touched."

"I did a lot of research while on bed rest. This is the best for her right now. And don't worry, I'm not going to be one of those moms who breastfeed until the kid goes to school."

"I hope you won't be doing it in public."

Cristina rolls her eyes and gets off the couch. "No, the world is not getting a look at my breasts. Be right back."

She heads upstairs, where Owen is leaving the guest room. He takes one look at her expression and grins. "What did your mother say?"

"She thinks I'll be whipping my boobs out in public to breastfeed. And she's surprised. Why is everyone surprised that I'm breastfeeding?"

Owen smiles. "Well, you're not well-known for liking children. But I'm not surprised you're breastfeeding. And I think you're doing the right thing."

"Oh, I know you like it," Cristina smirks. "And I know why."

He smiles, drawing her close and deliberately not looking below her neck. "I agree with you, breast milk is the best thing for her. And there's nothing wrong with liking what motherhood has done to your body."

"What, are you ready to make another baby?" She teases him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Ready whenever you are," he says huskily.

She smiles. "Believe me, you'll know when I'm ready for sex again. You will know."

Day Eight

They both wake up at the sound of Chloe crying into the baby monitor.

"I just fed her," Cristina moans. "Half an hour ago. What does she want now?"

"I'll go see," Owen says, slowly getting out of bed. "Go back to sleep."

"Thank you."

He walks into the nursery and picks Chloe up. She stops crying as soon as he holds her. He checks her diaper – dry.

Owen yawns and sits down in the rocking chair. He looks down at Chloe in his arms, who is looking up at him, wide awake.

"Feeling lonely, were you?" She blinks at him. He chuckles and gestures to the bookshelf in the room, already full. "What shall it be tonight? Harry Potter, Dr Seuss, or Percy Jackson?"

Day Thirteen


Owen smiles and hugs his mother, then takes her coat as she steps into their house.

"I thought I'd drop by," Kathy Hunt smiles. "Where is my grand-daughter?"

"In the living room," Owen says, hanging up her coat. "She's napping."

They go into the living room. Owen sits down on the couch, where he's folding laundry.

His mother peeks at Chloe sleeping in a bassinet at Owen's feet. She looks at the pile of clothes.

"That – is a lot of pink," she says carefully, sitting down on the couch.

Owen chuckles. "Our coworkers had a baby shower for us last week. We did not choose all of that pink."

"Your first baby shower!" Mrs Hunt beams. "How was it?"

"It – was very pink," Owen says carefully. "There were a lot of ribbons and balloons. It was strange."

"Cristina must not have been pleased."

"Pleased with what?" Cristina walks downstairs.

"The pink baby shower," Owen smiles.

Cristina scowls.

"It wasn't all pink," Owen points out. "There was yellow, and green, and purple, and white."

"And bright pink, dark pink, and more pink. It was like the shower was sponsored by Pepto-Bismol," Cristina says, sitting down next to her mother-in-law. "Made me want to barf. Oh! And I no longer have a name!"

Owen sighs.

"My name is no longer Cristina," she continues. "Everyone called me 'Mommy'! 'How is Mommy doing?' 'Would Mommy like more coffee?' My name is now a role!"

"Exaggerate much?" Owen teases, not backing down from her glare. "A few people called you that, but not everyone."

"Says the man who is enjoying being called 'Daddy'," Cristina shoots back. "We're going to have to buy lots of clothes just to offset the pink."

Chloe stirs. Cristina reaches down and picks her up, then hands her to her mother-in-law. She smiles to see Kathy's face soften as she cradles the sleepy infant.

"At least she looks good in pink," Cristina finally says.