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“Paige and Payton drew all over Gigi’s wall,” Jonah says. “Emmy-Lou ate too many sweets and vomited on the new couch, and baby Zander is teething, so he cried for most of the night. I heard Gigi tell Rosalita she was ready to rip her own hair out. Why would she do that? Wouldn’t that hurt?”

I bark out a laugh. “It’s just a figure of speech, buddy. She wouldn’t actually rip out her hair.”

“That’s a dumb thing to say.”

“It means she was frustrated.” Serves her right, if you ask me. She’s the one who begged us to give her all the grandbabies.

Paige and Payton are Bennett and Poppy’s two-year-old twin girls. After trying to conceive naturally for three years with no luck, they ended up going through IVF, which resulted in twins. And as much as I adore my nieces, those two are fucking hellions. Payton’s definitely the instigator, but Paige usually follows her sister’s lead.

Sunday dinners are still our weekly family get-together, but once the kids started coming along, Mum decided Fridays should be reserved for date night. She offered to have all the kids stay over, so my brother and I can take our wives out.

I’ll be the first to admit that five kids, six and under, is a handful, but isn’t this what she wanted?

I enter the kitchen, and the second Emmy-Lou sees me, she throws her arms in the air and screams, “Daddy!” She’s our secondborn, and almost four.

I squat and open my arms as she squirms off the chair and runs towards me. “Morning, baby girl,” I say, burying my lips in her chubby cheek.

When I pull back and meet her eyes, she pouts her bottom lip. “I be sick.” Fuck, I love this sweet girl. She’s a mini version of her mother, with the same big brown eyes that melt my damn heart.

Zander is our third child and the baby of the family. He’s ten months old, and Mum swears he’s the spitting image of me at that age.

I stand to full height, prop Emmy-Lou on my hip, and when my eyes meet Mum’s, I press my lips together to hide my grin. She doesn’t look like the perfectly put-together socialite she usually is. She’s a frazzled mess, still dressed in her pyjamas, and her blonde hair is sticking up all over the place.

“Oh, hi, darling.”

“You okay, Mum?” I ask as she pastes on a fake smile and pats down her hair.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m surrounded by all my grandbabies …”

“You’re looking a little … flustered.”

“I’m great,” she lies, her voice rising an octave or two.

I lean down and press a kiss to the top of her head. “You sure? Because if having all five kids at once is too much …”

“I help, Gigi, Dad,” Jonah says.

Mum wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in to kiss his forehead. “You do, sweetheart. You’re Gigi’s favourite helper.”

I know my Mum adores all her grandkids, but she and Jonah have always had a special relationship. He had her all to himself for the first three years of his life. It makes me wonder if that’s why Bennett and Granny were as close as they were.

“Where’s Daisy?” Mum asks.

I raise a brow. “I kept her up half the night, if you get my drift, so I thought I’d give her a well-earned sleep-in.”

My wife and I make the most of date night because it’s the one time we can guarantee none of our kids are going to climb into bed beside us in the middle of the night.

“I didn’t need to hear that,” she chides, reaching out and whacking my arm. I just shrug it off. It’s okay for my Mum to scar me with stories of her and Dad, so I don’t see why I can’t do the same. “I hope you’re not trying for number four already. That poor girl is still breastfeeding Zander.”

“Is it Daisy you’re actually worried about, or is it the extra kid to look after on Friday night that has you quietly terrified?”

Her eyes widen for a moment, but she manages to school her features quickly. “I love my special time with my babies.”

“Well, in that case, you’ll be pleased to know that Bennett and Poppy are talking about using the embryos they have frozen.” I glance over at my nieces who are sitting at the table eating their breakfast. They look like Angels with their blonde hair and big blue eyes, but looks can definitely be deceiving. “Who knows, you might get triplets this time.”

The colour drains from my Mum’s face as she whispers, “Triplets? Dear God.” When she does the sign of the cross, I crack up.

“Think back to all those times you relentlessly pestered Bennett and me for grandkids. It’s what you wished for, Mum.”