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I pick my way through the minefield of toys strewn about the living room. Sunny took them out of the basket that Finn brought from Layla’s one at a time. And each one held her attention for a whole thirty seconds.

The empty paper towel roll? A solid five minutes.

Go figure.

I pluck her off the kitchen floor. “How do you keep getting in here, you little rascal?” I kiss her cheek. “I need you to stay in the living room where there are not as many dangerous things for you to find since you can open cabinet doors.”

“Dog,” she says, nodding seriously.

“I like dogs. They’re super cute.” I pop her on my hip and carry her back to her designated play area. “We had a Jack Russell terrier when I was your age until I was eight or nine. His name was Beau, and he used to lick me in the face.” I flinch, not having thought about that in years. “You know, now that I think about it, there were probably so many germs on his tongue that I kind of want to puke.”

She babbles, looking me right in the eye as if we’re having a late-afternoon gossip session. I nod, giving her the occasional really? and wow that I give my mom when she’s two minutes into a story about a lady at church that I don’t know.

We make it to the rug in front of the couch, and I stop to take a moment to breathe.

The house is a disaster. There are toys, a pack of diapers that Sunny somehow got ahold of—how? I’ll never know—and deposited them one by one around the room like Easter eggs. There’s a pack of baby wipes under the table in the kitchen and actual wipes sprinkled through the living room like glitter. I spot two pacifiers that she’s not supposed to have during the day, but this is essentially a vacation for her, and who am I to deny my girl her version of a margarita?

They’re calming, perk up her mood, and they’re a pretty color.

I’m not wrong.

My shoulders sag as I scan the area and wonder how the hell people do this on a daily basis. It doesn’t seem like it would be this hard to get some work done while she entertains herself … except she doesn’t. Or she does, but it’s with something that might kill her.

“Are you allowed to watch cartoons?” I ask her.

“No.” She nods her head before expounding on her stance in baby babble.

“Good.” I set her down and grab the remote, finding an app on the television that has cartoons. Finally, I recognize one and press play. “Listen, Auntie Pop needs to do a few things before Uncle Finn gets home.”

“Finn Finn!”

“Yes, I’m excited, too. But before he comes back and sees that we’ve destroyed his house, I need to pick it up. And I need to make two phone calls before the end of the business day, and I’d love to answer a couple of emails.” Not to mention that I haven’t brushed my teeth or gotten dressed other than to put on a pair of shorts under Finn’s shirt that I slept in.

Sunny points at the TV. That’s a good sign.

“These little geniuses are going to take you on their rocket ship and teach you about music, okay?” I ask, standing up and putting the remote on the couch. “Let’s just pretend this is preschool.”

She looks at me with her beautiful blue eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I smile at her. “Did you just say okay?”

“No.”

I laugh as my phone begins to ring. I pick it up and see Layla’s name on the screen.

“Sunny, this is your ...” I’m not about to say Mom. “Your favorite person. You cannot scream or fall down, and please, please don’t cry. Because, if you do that, she’s going to come straight back home and leave your … other favorite person. And I know they don’t let you have frozen waffles for breakfast or have day pacis, so think about that while I’m on the phone.”

“No,” she says, wiggling her fingers.

God help me.

I let out a breath and answer the phone. “Hey, Lay,” I say, sounding much more pulled together than I feel.

“Hey,” she says. Exhaustion is thick in her tone. “How are things going?”

“It’s going great. Sunny is a happy little girl.”

“Oh, good. That helps. Did she take her nap today?”