"If I change keys here, go up a few steps, and then…ooo, no. That gives the sopranos a high F in the refrain, and I know most of them can't hit it… " Adam erases some notes, and jots down others. He relocates a quarter rest, then changes his mind and puts it back. He flips pages, comparing the transposition he's working on with the original score, eager to get the parts figured out for the new mashup his choir's doing on Monday.

It's already Sunday afternoon.

Urrrggghhhh…

Adam sits up, massaging out a sharp, throbbing kink in his lower back with his left hand while thumbing through the soprano pages with his right, trying to find an elusive three bar time signature switch that's been evading him most of the afternoon.

Adam didn't realize how much harder sussing out parts for a group of fourteen- through seventeen-year-olds would be compared to working with college students. The talent's all there at this age, and the egos - relatively enormous. It should be the same, but somehow it's harder.

Adam misses the Apples. He misses New York. He misses being able to get a decent pizza. But coming back home to Essex is something he's wanted for a while, and now was the perfect time. Besides, he lucked out. Even though he had gotten his Masters in Theatrical Performance, he had always felt that conducting show choir was his calling, and working with teenagers, doubly so. So getting a job conducting show choir at his old secondary school was a dream come true in many respects.

Above all, it's nice to have a job that his husband understands, that he supports wholeheartedly. Kurt understands his obstacles, his goals, his stresses. He lends a shoulder, an ear, and a helping hand whenever he has time to spare it.

If only he could have Kurt's help with this transposition, but the man has his hands full at the moment.

"Adam!"

Ah, Adam thinks, a smile automatically forming on his lips at the sound of his husband's voice. There's Prince Charming, summoning me from above.

"Yes, darling?"

"Uh…I have a situation!"

"Kurt, sweetheart," Adam calls up the stairs from his desk in the living room to where Kurt is handling baby matters in the nursery one floor up, "what's wrong?"

"Adam, I need you upstairs now!"

"For a little afternoon delight, maybe?" Adam jokes, laughing when he hears his husband gasp.

"No!"

"I'm kind of busy at the moment, love," Adam says. "Can you be more specific?"

"I was changing the baby's diaper," Kurt calls back, and Adam starts shaking his head, "and…"

"Kurt," Adam cuts in, "what did I tell you about odd colored poop?"

Kurt sighs, causing Adam to stifle a chuckle at the frustration of his adorable papa hen. (Technically, that's not the correct terminology, Adam's sure, but it works in Kurt's case.)

"Autumn colors are fine," Kurt recites, "I know. But this isn't about the baby's poop."

"And rashes," Adam reminds him. "We talked about rashes."

Adam's from a large family – four brothers, eight sisters. With him being the third eldest, there was always a baby in the house, always a diaper that needed to be changed, or vomit that needed to be cleaned up. But Kurt's an only child with no extended family. Kurt admitted when they started the adoption process that he'd never babysat, never held a baby, wasn't all that fond of children. But he wanted a child with Adam, so badly. He wanted to start a family. And then, all at once it seemed, everything fell into place. Adam got the job in England, Kurt was invited to freelance for British Vogue, they closed escrow on a house, and they found little Wallace.

It was something of a culture shock for Kurt, changing lifestyles, time zones, and sides of the road, but he took to it like a real trooper. In no time, he became a true Anglophile. His only angst left had to do with handling their new baby boy.

Adam knew that Kurt facing first time parenting woes would be trying for him.

He just never realized how funny it would be.

"I know!" Kurt groans, sounding a trifle more exasperated. "We talked about rashes. You showed me all those" - Kurt pauses to gulp, trying not to lose his lunch – "vivid pictures on WebMD. But this isn't a rash."

"Then what's going on then?" Adam asks, enjoying this game of Twenty Questions far too much to venture upstairs and stop now.

"Well, it's…it's…it's hard to explain," Kurt says, and Adam can picture Kurt running his hands through his hair – both most likely, which will make him look adorably disheveled and incredibly sexy by the time Adam finally goes upstairs. Now, if they can just get the baby to take a nap... "You just have to see it."

"Alright, alright," Adam says in a teasingly condescending tone. He abandons his score and heads for the stairs, not all too quickly though. "Let's go over the checklist, though, shall we? Is he turning blue?"

"No, he's not turning blue," Kurt answers snappishly. He knows what his husband's doing, and he's not amused.

"Is he barking like a seal?" Adam slows up a bit, enjoying taunting his husband, which will make Kurt somewhat put out and lead to…well, other things later on.

"No," Kurt says, "he's not barking."

"Is he crying? Burping? Choking? Vomiting?"

"No, no, no, and no," Kurt answers, more and more irritated as the questions arrive before his husband.

"Then I don't think there's really anything you need to worry about."

Adam walks in to the nursery and finds Kurt, his arms crossed over his chest, tapping his foot, half-glaring at Adam, half-looking towards the ceiling. Adam's first instinct is to check the baby's crib, but he can't help following Kurt's eyes up and gasps, his heart dropping clear into his stomach when he sees their infant son, naked as the day he was born, giggling to no end…and floating an inch away from his Winnie the Pooh ceiling fan.

"What the…" Adam says, walking carefully around the baby's crib, careful not to make too much noise and startle the baby into falling out of the air. "Holy…"

"So…Adam," Kurt says, tapping his foot faster and brushing his bangs from his face, "can I worry now, you pretentious ass?"

"I…I, uh…" Adam stares, mouth open wide, nothing left in his arsenal of Child Care 101 to help with this one. "I…I don't…"

"Well, thanks a lot, Super Nanny," Kurt says, pulling out his iPhone to Google how to deal with levitating infants. "I knew we shouldn't have left New York for frickin' England," Kurt mutters. "There's no Harry Potter on Broadway…"