#crying hours

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It was barely three days since you brought her home.

Three days of no sleep, endless diapers, soft cries, and milk-stained shirts. Three days of falling in love and falling apart and falling back together—over and over again. You and Lance were trying your best, and maybe that’s what scared you the most.

It was 3:02 a.m. when she started crying again. That sharp, shrill newborn cry that broke straight through your chest and rattled every nerve.

You stirred, muscles sore and body still heavy with exhaustion, but Lance was already sitting up—bare-chested, hair messy, dark circles like shadows under his eyes.

“I got her,” he said, voice low and hoarse.

“No, let me,” you whispered, trying to sit up.

But he was already out of bed, moving faster than he should for someone running on less than two hours of sleep. You watched him disappear into the soft light of the hallway, heart aching.

She was crying louder now.

You rubbed your face, overwhelmed by the mix of guilt and love and this all-consuming fear that you were already doing everything wrong.

When Lance returned, he had her against his chest—her tiny body trembling with hiccupy sobs. He bounced gently, whispering something you couldn’t quite hear as he paced back and forth beside the bed.

“She’s so upset,” you murmured, arms already outstretched. “Let me try—”

“No, just wait a second,” Lance said gently, still pacing, “I’ve almost got her.”

He kissed the top of her head, eyes half-closed as he rocked. “It’s okay, baby girl. We’ve got you. Mommy and Daddy aren’t going anywhere.”

It was such a simple sentence, but it hit like a wave.

You covered your mouth with your hand, tears slipping out before you could stop them. You weren’t sad—you were just so full. Of love. Of panic. Of something too big for your chest.

“She looks like you when she cries,” Lance whispered with a tired smile as she finally started to calm, her tiny body melting into his.

You laughed softly through your tears. “God, I’m a mess.”

He finally came to sit beside you, still holding her between you both. “We both are,” he said, glancing down at the burp stain on his shirt. “But she doesn’t care. She just wants us close.”

“I feel like I’ve never loved anything this much,” you whispered, brushing your finger down her soft cheek. “And it terrifies me.”

Lance looked at you, really looked at you, his eyes glassy now too. “Yeah. It’s like… everything matters now. Every second. Every noise. Every breath she takes.”

“I didn’t even know I could feel this much,” you added, laughing through the tears. “Like—one second I’m looking at her and I think my heart’s going to explode… and the next I’m Googling ‘what does a newborn rash mean.’”

“Oh my God, I literally looked that up earlier,” he said with a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “And then I panicked and started checking if she was breathing every five seconds.”

You both laughed, deliriously tired but clinging to each other and the tiny life in your arms.

“I’m scared she’ll stop loving me one day,” you admitted in a whisper. “Or I’ll mess up. Or I’ll miss something important.”

Lance leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re gonna mess up. That’s part of it. But we’re going to love her through every second of it. That’s what matters.”

She stirred again between you both, letting out the tiniest sigh, her fist curling into the fabric of Lance’s shirt like he was her anchor.

“I can’t believe we made her,” he murmured.

“I can’t believe they just… let us walk out of the hospital with her,” you replied, incredulous. “Like—no one stopped us. No manual. No training. Just… ‘good luck.’”

“I mean… she cried the whole ride home and then pooped twice while I tried to change her,” he said with a crooked grin. “So, they probably figured we’d figure it out fast.”

You snorted softly, and it felt good to laugh. Even with tears still drying on your cheeks.

Lance leaned back against the headboard, cradling her carefully on his chest, and you curled up next to him, your hand on her tiny foot. There was something sacred about the moment—like the world had slowed down, just for you three.

You looked over at him, eyes soft.

“You’re already such a good dad.”

He turned to you, surprise in his face. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

He swallowed hard, nodding, biting the inside of his cheek the way he always did when he was feeling too much. “I just want her to grow up knowing how much she’s loved. Every single day.”

“She will,” you whispered. “Because she already does.”

And just like that, the silence settled over the room again. The kind that wasn’t empty—but full. Of love. Of hopes. Of fears. Of everything new.

At 3:47 a.m., with a baby asleep on Lance’s chest and your hand intertwined with his, you weren’t just parents.

You were everything she needed.

And that would always be enough.

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Let me know if you want a second part where she's a toddler and you two are dealing with a totally different kind of chaos—but still full of love. I’m here for all the Lance x reader parental fluff!😉

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P.S.

Hey! Just a little note—I’m so sorry if this isn’t exactly what you imagined. I really tried to make it soft and emotional, but I’m still a teenager and I’ve never been a parent myself. I don’t fully know what it feels like, but I did my best based on what I’ve experienced as an aunt (I have four nephews, so I’ve seen a lot of late nights and messy love!). I really poured my heart into it, and I hope you enjoyed it!

😭😭😭😭😭

Oh, I’m

NOT

A doodle I did weeks ago