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“...Yeah, so I’ll have to miss girls night, I think,” Deidre says, holding her phone up to her ear with her shoulder. “Shot June a text but figured you’d want to know too. God, I’m glad Eldin can connect to your ancient ass phone.”
(“Thank you, I try,” Eldin declares smugly.)
“No problem,” Trinkett says. “Believe me, I get it.”
Deidre shifts the phone to better hear her, her busy hands preparing a bottle of milk and protein powder to thicken it a little. “I know you do,” she replies.
“Have fun with your little one,” Trinkett says. “I’ve got to get ready.”
“Oh, I will. Love you, bye.”
Trinkett hangs up first, and Deidre pauses to grab her phone and set it down to charge. She doesn’t need it for this – other than for photos, which can come later. The bottle goes in the fridge until it’s needed, prepped early so that Verge won’t get fussy over the wait when they get sleepy, and she grabs the plastic bins she’s invested in since Verge started regressing. She runs the sink, putting them side by side so that they’ll both fill at the same time, and goes to check on her little one.
Verge is as she left them, sitting on the floor of the living room with their paci and blanket, staring into space and fidgeting.
“Hey, baby,” Deidre murmurs, resisting the urge to scoop her baby up into her arms and kiss them all over their sweet face. It’s a very prevalent urge. “How are we doing, hm? Feeling a little better?”
Verge babbles in reply, a string of muffled syllables from behind their pacifier that make no sense but fill Deidre’s heart with incredible fondness nonetheless. They’re the most precious thing in the multiverse when they’re like this, soft and adorable and safe.
Deidre, while they didn’t expect to be caregiving today, is happy it happened. Verge has been stressed since Leif showed up again, but with everything his presence brought with it, there’s been very little time for them to truly relax. It was only a matter of time until things boiled over.
Today, that meant a panic attack over all the new changes, and Verge still hasn’t gotten a handle on how to calm themself down – or even how to ask for help with it. They’d locked themself in the bathroom, cried quietly until Deidre noticed their absence and came to check on them, and then wailed so hard in her arms that they’d made themself sick.
Somewhere in there they’d dropped, but she’s unsure if it was before or after they threw up on themself – even when they’re big, panic attacks make them really damn sick – and frankly it isn’t important. What is important is that now they’re completely free of anxiety, shirtless – Deidre really needs to fix that, but their shirt was gross and they didn’t think to grab a spare from the bedroom – and sitting while Deidre makes a sensory bin for them to play with.
Verge is perfectly content doing nothing when they’re small, and Deidre knows this. They amuse themself with the mere existence of the world, colors and shapes and sounds that suddenly make up the whole of their comprehension, instead of just a sensory backdrop in which to think in. Deidre could sit with them and make approving noises while they ran their fingers through the carpet for an hour, and it would be a positive experience.
But Deidre adores this, how soft she can be, the gentle weight of being responsible for another person and being loved so wholly for it, and she wants to make this great for Verge. She doesn’t want this coping mechanism to feel inconvenient or unwanted, because Deidre does want it. It fills her with joy to see Verge small – whether they’re laughing at nothing or sticking something new and probably inedible in their mouth or crying over a papercut – and they wouldn’t give this time up for the world.
And she’s got a vast Pinterest board for baby and toddler sensory activities, and may as well use them.
“Dee’s gonna check on your water bin and then get you some clothes, okay sweetie?” Deidre asks, cupping Verge’s cheeks in her hands. Verge sticks their tongue out a little so their pacifier drops down to hang off their shirt and tilts their head, blowing a raspberry.
“Gross, hon,” she laughs. She should have gotten a photo of Verge with their tongue peeking out of their mouth like a kitten, it would have been a perfect phone background.
Verge giggles back at them, though Deidre knows from prior experience that there was very little intention behind the movement itself – Verge just hangs onto Deidre’s every reaction.
She pops the paci back into their mouth before she heads back to the kitchen, noting with satisfaction that the bins have filled just over halfway, the perfect level to put some toys in. She shuts off the water and glances around, expecting to find her bin of plastic sailboats and other ocean themed paraphernalia.
“Oh… Guess I left that in our room, huh?” She muses aloud. “Well, needed clothes anyway!”
She gives Verge one more kiss passing through the living room and goes to grab the toys from the closet in their room. Her collection of baby stuff – mostly acquired from community members, who’ve been so normalized to regression through Steve and Doug that they readily offer old toys – is rapidly escaping the bounds of their closet, and she’s considering finally clearing out the old office closet for storage purposes instead of as a thriving HOA neighborhood for every spider in the area.
Nonetheless, she wrestles the box labeled ocean toys out of the fray, and grabs an outfit for Verge from the dresser. Having been able to acquire cute baby clothes for Verge is such a blessing.
She tosses the clothes over the back of the couch and prepares the sensory boxes, full of plastic sea creature toys and floating ducks and one little maraca egg colored like a jellyfish. With that and a towel to lay down on the floor so everything isn’t too soaked, she heads back to Verge.
With that sorted, she turns to her baby, who’s staring at her with a tiny grin.
“That right, sweetheart?” she asks, ruffling their messy hair.
“Dee…” They babble, lifting their arms. Deidre scoops them up to their feet, where they wobble for a few moments before leaning on her.
“You want me to help with standing, hon?” she asks gently, even though she’s already helping them to the couch. Despite tiny being Verge’s consistent state when they’re regressed, they usually lose very little in terms of gross motor skills. They run and wander and go with Steve on little forest adventures. Sometimes, though, usually after dropping suddenly, they’re left with very little ability — or will, perhaps — to move.
Deidre helps them to the couch and grabs the outfit, helping them change into it. The shirt’s been modified to support their extra arms, leaving the bottom two free. They usually end up tucking them firmly around their torso, as they’re atrophied and Verge is far too accustomed to hiding them.
“Oh, V, you’re so cute,” she marvels. It’s simple, an athletic tank top with a cute kitten design on it, and a knee-length skort-ish thing, the exact design choices of which Deidre struggles to parse out. Regardless, it’s cute, and won’t get all heavy and uncomfortable when Verge inevitably gets soaked.
“Are you my baby?” she teases, tickling Verge’s tummy and grinning as they break out into peals of delighted laughter. Hearing them so perfectly delighted is a treasure, one of the memories they tuck into the back of their skull to replay when things get hard. That they can make someone they care for so dearly so happy. When the laughing gets to be so much that Verge is gasping between fits, Deidre lets up and kisses their cheeks.
“You are the cutest thing, you know.” Verge bites their lip, rocking side to side and babbling. “Now, love, let’s let you play.”
She pushes Verge’s pacifier back between their lips so they hopefully do a bit less chewing on the toys (a pipe dream) and settles them down on the towels.
“Look, sweetheart, there’s water!” She says, stirring the water with a finger to give the toys some movement. Verge’s unfocused gaze locks onto the water intensely, and they crawl forward to immediately slap at the water with an open hand, making a curious sound.
Verge plays with the water, grabbing the toys in one bin and transferring them, splashing water out of the bins and onto the towels, and sticking the toys into their mouth, running the textures over their fingers.
Deidre doesn’t play with them, because they’ve learned since Verge started regressing that they prefer Deidre to be there and make approving sounds when she shows them things instead of participating. It’s adorable, and Deidre makes sure Verge has her full attention when they’re playing. They didn’t get this as a kid, she knows. Space to play and explore and look up to a caretaker with excitement in their eyes and find only adoration and approval.
It’s such a fucking privilege to be that person for them.
“Dee!” Verge chirps, holding out a textured stingray toy. “Ting!!!”
“It is a stingray!” Deidre says, taking it and dropping it back in the bin for Verge to fish out again. Verge grabs it and splashes, their hand closing around the toy and bringing it to their mouth, chewing on one of its thin plastic fins. Deidre doesn’t bother to intervene. That one seems pretty harmless to gnaw on.
She watches them more as they play, making approving noises when prompted.
Verge doesn’t play long before getting sleepy and clingy and reaching for Deidre more often than they do for their toys. Deidre isn’t surprised, they’ve slept so badly recently and panic attacks are exhausting.
She adjusts; she doesn’t want to rush them through the process of settling down too fast. She lets playing with the bins transition to playing with the ocean toys while curled up in Deidre’s lap, and then finally to discarding the toys altogether, their pacifier back in their mouth as they reach up and play with Deidre’s hair, combing through the waves with their fingers and separating the colors into individual locks. She hums to them, this sweet baby who puts so much trust in her that she doesn’t know how she ever could have earned it.
But it’s there, and as they tucker themself out more and more, Deidre makes the executive decision that playtime is over, before they fall asleep on the floor and Deidre is stuck cuddling them – the only option, clearly, as she would never dream of disturbing their precious rest – until both of their backs are fucked up.
“Naptime, V,” she murmurs, shifting Verge so she can pick them up. Verge doesn’t protest, mumbling and curling one of their lower hands into her shirt. Deidre swings by the kitchen to grab and warm their bottle and take her phone off the charger before going to their room, settling Verge on the bed. Verge holds out grabby hands for her sleepily while she gets some extra blankets and one of the softer pacifiers Verge can actually sleep with.
It takes all of thirty seconds, but still Deidre can’t help but praise Verge for their bravery and patience when she sits beside them, showering their face with kisses. Every little thing they do is perfect and special and Deidre needs to show that every chance she gets.
They bump her cheeks with their paci, making “mwah!” noises as reciprocation. Absolutely adorable.
They settle themself into the crook of Deidre’s arm, perfect to give them their bottle. She knows Verge can and will hold it on their own, but they like it when she helps and it’s nice.
Deidre doesn’t deny that all of this is vulnerable for them. Sometimes achingly so. They never seem to feel it while they’re small, but afterwards they used to panic every time, apologizing for the weakness, for the pressure they thought they were putting on her. She knows just how hard Verge has to work to accept that this is something she needs and wants just as much as they do.
She thinks that Verge still doubts that sometimes. But it’s true that this is a wonderful experience for her as well. She doesn’t worry about all the bullshit they’re dealing with when she takes care of Verge, and she delights in seeing them content and healing. They're her partner, and it's an honor to take care of them.
They fall asleep easily, just as expected, and Deidre sets the mostly-empty bottle aside and kisses their head. She doesn’t need a nap, but there’s plenty she can do from bed. There’s a book she’s been meaning to get through, and June has texted her nothing short of 15 times asking for photos.
She takes one of Verge’s precious, sleeping face, but it’s not going to June. This one’s hers.