Hello! Could you do #10 "The ladies love a guy who's good with kids" AND #13 "I lost our baby"? Thank you!
10. “The ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”
He guesses it really doesn’t matter how either of them looks because it happens anyway.
Everyone is under the weather, and he just barely had the fortitude to come to the store and grab a few items for his sick family with Sonia practically glued to his chest. She’s been feeling especially awful today, congested with a raw cough and upset tummy, and she absolutely refuses to be anywhere other than in his arms. He tried to use the cart when they first arrived because his entire body hurts, but she melted down the second her butt touched the seat.
And he feels so terrible, but not just in a physical sense. His poor babies are about to turn one, and he can’t imagine them being so ill during their party this upcoming weekend. At some point, Wesley caught what he and his wife thought was a cold; they knew it would spread throughout all of them, but they definitely weren’t prepared for the flu. Then Stephen started puking, and Sonia started barking up her lungs, leaving him and Leslie virtually useless as the warning signs of their own impending doom kicked into overdrive.
He rubs his daughter’s back soothingly and tries not to drop the medicine tucked beneath his left arm. He was going to grab some orange juice and a couple boxes of tissues, but he’s lacking in the hands department, and he just wants to go home. Ben tucks a fit of wet coughing into his shoulder, which jars Sonia. He’s anticipating a scream with a scrunched face as he rounds the corner of the store toward the checkout when a lady stops him.
“Aw, she’s so cute!”
And he’s taken aback. It may or may not be because of the germs ravaging their way through his broken system. He blinks and sniffles and clings to his daughter a little tighter, dreaming of his wife and warm blankets and a dose of actual NyQuil to clear some of his stuffy achiness. “Um…” he mumbles, biting his lower lip. “Thank you?”
But it comes out more like a question than a statement of politeness.
“And so are you! I really like your jacket! Who makes it?”
Good lord. Is this lady being serious right now? He glances around the store to make sure he isn’t being punked, but no one’s acting suspicious. She’s around his age with whatever color hair and a strange looking face, but he didn’t put his contacts in, and he honestly can’t care less about this situation. He wants to go home. He wants to lie down with his wife and babies.
He looks down at the blue coat he’s bundled in, and Sonia shifts against his chest. “Uh, Target?”
And, thankfully (or unthankfully) his sick almost one year old bursts into tears, shrieking and wailing. He skids away from the strangeness unfolding and checks out with Sonia crying into his already sore ear. Was that woman hitting on him? No, right? He’s been in a relationship with the marvelous Leslie Knope for years and years, and he was never great at flirting in the first place. Hm. Maybe it was the hair? Leslie always tells him he has great hair when he’s sick…
But, soon, the crazy lady is long forgotten.
He gets Sonia inside where it isn’t sleeting, gives her some medicine that allows her to get some much needed rest in her crib without begging for him to stay, kisses both of his sons’ overheated foreheads, and lies down on the mattress beside his wife. Leslie’s starfished out, and he pecks her warm neck before snuggling into her side, shivering violently despite the thick comforter.
“Ben?” she mumbles, turning her head to look at him with barely slit open eyes. “You were gone a really long time.” She coughs instantly after, and he palms her back gently. She sputters and positions herself to where she’s lying on his chest with his arm wrapped around her.
He nods, already feeling his brain start to shut down due to the medicine. He’s praying for at least two hours of rest before the babies wake up. “I know. I’m sorry. This lady stopped me and said Sonia was cute and that I was cute and asked me where my jacket was from. It was weird.”
“Oh, Benji got flirted with.”
He shrugs. “Guess so.”
“I don’t blame her. Your butt is fantastic, but you’re just alright face-wise.”
He chuckles at that. “Just alright? You married ‘just alright?’”
“There weren’t many options left,” she comments, and this is seriously the first time he hasn’t felt nearly as crappy in almost four days. “Plus, ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”
“Is that so?” he questions, and Leslie yawns against his skin. “Go back to sleep, goofball. I love you.”
Leslie hums softly. “I love you too, my sexy triple daddy.”
13. “I lost our baby.”
Listening to his babies’ giggle and shriek is by far the best sound Ben Wyatt’s ever heard.
They’re six months old and as squirmy as ever, and it’s the best. He loves kissing their bellies and holding them when they need extra cuddles. It’s amazing to him that he has three kiddos to love unconditionally, to support and nurture and watch as they grow into regular sized humans. He loves Sonia, Stephen, and Wesley Knope-Wyatt more than anything in the universe.
It’s why he adores the lazy days he and Leslie have off together, the ones where he doesn’t change out of his pajamas and where their strict schedule falls off the map. Tickling and snuggling and rolling around on the carpet with their triple cherries is beyond exciting. Today is one of those rare occasions where he and Leslie aren’t at work at the same time. His wife’s making a late lunch (probably consisting of brownies and brownies alone for them), and he’s sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor, watching as Stephen gnaws on Sonia’s shirt.
Wesley’s in his lap, wiggling around and chewing on Ben’s fingers. They’re all teething at the exact same time, which means plenty of drool and slobber and crankiness. Yesterday evening, both Stephen and Wesley were practically inconsolable, even with the teething gel he and Leslie placed on their little gums, while Sonia just happily squeaked every few minutes. He’s just happy they’re carefree this afternoon, seemingly without a worry in the world.
“Ben!” he hears Leslie shout, and he instantly gets to his feet with Wesley still in his arms.
He glances back at Sonia and Stephen, who apparently love tummy time today, before heading into the kitchen.
“What’s up?” he asks, rounding the island to kiss his wife’s cheek.
“I made a grilled cheese that looks like a butterfly!”
See? This… This is why he loves Leslie Knope to the moon and back.
She’s so ridiculously adorable, and he has no doubts that their children will grow up to be just like their mom.
Three miniature versions of Leslie can and will rule the world; he knows that for a fact.
He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so sappy today, but even thinking about his family makes him kind of an emotional wreck, and he’s not afraid to admit it.
“My next one is gonna be a dinosaur,” she beams proudly.
It’s pretty neat. She’s cutting them by hand, and Ben already knows he has no artistic abilities whatsoever.
They chatter for a few minutes before Wesley gets restless and wants to be put down, and Ben goes into the living room.
To find one less baby.
Sonia’s on her back, chewing thoughtfully on her toes with her tiny legs in the air, but Stephen is nowhere to be found.
His stomach drops, and his heart hammers in his chest.
“Um, uh, honey?” he calls. “I lost our baby.”
He searches around frantically for Stephen and keeps a careful eye on Sonia in the process. He checks under pillows and blankets and in their toy chest.
“Do you mean this baby?” Leslie questions as she walks over to him with Stephen thankfully nestled in her arms. “We have our first crawler!”
“What?” Ben asks incredulously. “That’s so amazing, Stevie!”
The baby smiles and laughs, and Ben gently switches babies with Leslie, blowing raspberries on Stephen’s bare tummy.
They have a son that’s crawling.
“They’re only six months,” he says, kissing his bald head. “Isn’t that too early?”
Leslie shakes her head. “Not for the extraordinary Knope-Wyatt triplets.”
Newt: Let’s begin our conversation. Graves: What’s on the note cards? Newt: They’re possible topics of conversation. Graves: Whales. Parades. Electricity. And the rest are blank. Newt: Yeah, well I couldn’t think of anything else.
(Parks and Recreation; season 2, episode 4: Practice Date)