Qeya River i'll pretend being with you doesn't feel like drowning

as much as wren loved her children, sleep-deprivation and lack of experience drove her to frustration. one son yowled as if he was being murdered, and the other made a rather obscene noise that seemed to have come from both ends. it was as if she had jinxed herself.
oh, sweet jesus, mary and joseph, she sighs exasperatedly as she sinks her face into her wife's shoulder. she wishes she could disappear there, even just for a moment — just one moment of peace! that was all she wanted! do they ever shut the fuck up?
even through the prickle of annoyance, the mother could not harbor such a feeling for long. she scoops little rowyn in a forearm and adjusts herself so that he may find a teat, the other baby boy now held in the crux of the other. the girls seemed to be calm, for now, at least — she lets them guide themselves and laughs to herself about the neediness of the boys as opposed to their sisters. each are given tiny kisses to the soft spaces between their downy ears.
half listening and half dozing again already, wren picks up on the fact that her wife is speaking to her as a yawn splits her garish jaws. she scoffs lazily. do any of your medicines involve giving me amnesia so i'll forget the hell of having newborns and will want more kids next year?