Laboring to pull myself away from the warmth of my cozy bed, I squinted at the iridescent light of my alarm clock: six-oh-two. The pitched shrills of a two-year old somehow penetrate the deepest recesses of the human mind; even the strongest cup of coffee pales in comparison. As her caretaker for the weekend I stumbled frantically to Sophia’s crib and cries were soon replaced by giggles; her toothy smile always lifted my spirits. Cradling her in my arms I made my way to the kitchen where the two of us momentarily enjoyed a quiet breakfast - toast and eggs for me and vomit-colored baby mush for Sophia. As we ate I felt the slightest tug and saw the sleepy blue eyes of my younger sister Giavonna looking up at me. Her small hand rubbed her face, “The babies are awake Michael.” To complete the cavalcade, the cries of Max and Sophia echoed through the empty house. I secretly wondered if my mother had only birthed me to have a built-in babysitters for her future children.