It's babysitting duty again, little Krunny squirming as you hold her up, taking her to the high chair in the kitchen,
She coos and babbles, her baby noises though not in a coherent language were still understood by you. 'Where is mommy?'
Mommy is sleeping dear.
You carefully corral her in, her little legs kicking as you try to guide them thorough the opening.
She's agitated, about to cry, you take out the Boros plushie you kept in your pocket and give it to her. She grabs it, hugging it fiercely, crisis averted. Kronii won't be waking up to chastise you for making the baby cry.
You go to the kitchen, taking a container out of the fridge. It was filled with Kronii's breastmilk, your wife always complained about having to extract it out, continually moaning about just using formula. You refused, you weren't going to jeopardize your daughter's developmental health just because her mother was being lazy.
You pour the milk into the stove, heating it up for 10 minutes, Krunny was quiet, still playing with Boros.
The milk's done, you pour it into a baby bottle, pressing the glass against your face to check the temperature, you screw the cap on, then proceeded to shake the bottle for a minute or two.
You make your way back to Krunny, her eyes glowing brightly as she saw the bottle in your hand, you don't give it to her yet, instead putting on a blue bib around her neck.
You place the bottle on the tray in front of her, she stares at it for a while before picking it up and suckling on it.
Her little fangs were growing, chewing on the bottle's nipple, she's drinking eagerly, kicking her legs out in happiness. You occasionally wipe off the excess milk on her face with baby wipes.
She's smiling, a bundle of joy, she's smiling at you.
'Damn', you think to yourself. You and Kronii made this. This creature before you.
You rub her head full of Kronii's dark hair, ruffling it a bit, Krunny gurgling out a joyful noise.
You hope you can keep her happy in the years to come.