Since TWIFIC FANDOM AWARD nominations are anonymous, I have NO CLUE who nominated Resurfacing for All-Time Favorite Fic, Boomerang Fic, Snuggle Fic and Undiscovered Gem Fic categories. So, here is my thank you.

I return from the grocery store to the sound of squeals, growls and other assorted animal noises coming from the living room. My boys. The three of you are wrestling on the floor. Or rather, you are tickling Logan while Barkley does his level best to get a lick in every time you drop your guard.

Logan's giggles and squeals make me smile. His personality has really blossomed these last few weeks. I can't believe he's only ten months old. He's huge! With your crazy hair and my brown eyes, he's owned my heart since the moment they laid him in my arms.

You hear me come in and sit up, face flushed and grinning, cradling our boy in your arms. He's batting at your face, begging for more. Barkley is practicing yoga moves, stretching out his back in anticipation of round two.

"Lasagna okay?" I ask, setting the oven to preheat while I unwrap the frozen entree and shove the rest of the groceries into the fridge wherever they will fit. With a baby, a dog and both of us working full time, niceties like made-from-scratch meals take a back seat to convenience.

"Food is food. You want to join the fray? Two against two to make it fair?"

I decline with a secret smile.

"Fine then. Okay boys, may the best man win!" And you fly Logan through the air to land on Barkley's back. He growls and rolls over, his ears narrowly avoiding being ensnared by Logan's grasping hands.

I toss the foil tray in the oven, set the timer and give a sharp whistle. Barkley perks up immediately. This is our time. After work, before dinner, just the two of us. . . well, sort of. He sits back on his haunches by the door while I dig out a couple of doggy treats and slip my feet into my water- and poop-proof boots.

"Come on, boy. Last one to the fence is a rotten egg!"

He charges out the door ahead of me, zips across the yard to the back fence, then rears up on his hind paws to turn and race back. I meet him halfway, feeling the twinge in my hips that never went away after Logan was born. Now it probably never will.

"Hey, buddy. You are such a good boy. Thanks for taking care of the little man," I say, feeding Barkley his favorite beef sticks in little chunks.

When the treats are gone, he leans roughly into my knee, his tail wagging furiously.

"Nope. All gone. And no begging Daddy to sneak you extra treats after I go to bed."

His answering grunt rumbles deep in his chest and I laugh.

"Things are gonna get kind of crowded around here. I hope you don't mind. I know you didn't really trust Logan when he was just a squirmy, stinky baby, but look how much fun you have now!" I say, trying to reassure myself as much as him. "Just remember, there's no need to be jealous. No matter how busy I get, I loved you first."

I grab his silky black head and lean my forehead against his. His big brown eyes stare back, and I tell myself that he understands. And he's okay with it.

"You loved him first, huh?" you ask, standing on the back porch with your hands in your pockets. Through the window I see Logan sitting in his playpen, playing with a light-up toy.

"Out of all my kids. I loved him first," I repeat, waiting for you to catch on.

"What's that supposed to mean? All your. . ." Your eyes dip down to my belly, up to my boobs, then back down again.

No, I'm not showing. Yet. But in another eight months. . . we're gonna need a bigger car.

"Nice. . ." you say with that cocky smile I adore. "And I wasn't even trying this time. Damn, I'm good."

Uh. Yeah. You are.