Clara climbed across the mattress, grabbing her baby brother's small hand and pulling him away from Evelyn's bosom down toward the foot of the bed.
Ready to tease baby Donald, Clara turned to sit down, completely unaware that she was sitting directly onto Michael's neck.
Half-asleep and half-awake, Michael was jolted wide awake by the sharp sting across his throat.
He looked up to see his daughter giving him an adorable, exaggerated pout. "I'm sorry, Papa, I didn't mean to!" Yet her little face lacked even a single trace of true repentance as she reached out to pinch her brother's cheek.
Michael stared at Clara, caught between exasperation and fondness. His remaining sleepiness evaporated entirely. He sat up straight. "Alright, let's go. Papa will get you washed up."
By the time Evelyn finally woke up, only she and the two newborn babies were left in the bedroom, kicking their legs playfully in their onesies.
