On some days, it looks much like you’d expect it to, with the four of us in our pajamas late into the morning, sprawled on the living room floor with various books and blankets and trucks. We play and snuggle until someone needs a snack or a diaper change. When that happens, my husband and I take turns, letting the duty fall on whoever needs a stretch or a bathroom break. He’ll pour coffee for himself and milk for our son, while I practice Peek-A-Boo with the baby, hollering for him to hurry back when she actually responds with a giggle. We typically keep this up until our 3-year-old’s due at preschool, or until his pent up energy requires my husband to start a rollicking round of “ninjas” or “pirates” or “ninja pirates,” leaving me with our youngest.