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Sam was an old hand at baby care. He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Emma he could pretty much handle it all in his sleep. What he hadn't really been thinking about was that he'd have to. Yes, he was used to pitching in and helping out. Diapers and bottles and colic and spit up and blowouts and pretty much everything that came with babies. Lots of babies. One after the other and year after year. What he wasn't used to was being the only one handling it for most of the day and all night every night and by Friday the lack of sleep was starting to show.

Two am feeding time and Claire had woken Maria and they'd both needed changes and bottles and burping and now Sam was awake, sprawled at the head of his bed with Claire draped limply over his bare chest, making disconcertingly lifelike sounds as she patted aimlessly at him and drifted back to sleep.

"It's really sorta scary how much this feels like holdin' the real thing," he murmured quietly in deference to the babies as he turned to look at Bobby.