Fic: 2 Years In
Title: 2 Years In
Rating: PG
Pairings: Ten/Rose, Baby
Disclaimer: They ain't mine
Genre: Fluff
A/N: Again, thank you thank you thank you for all the feedback. It's awesome, and I appreciate it a lot.
Summary: What has happened to my vocabulary? “big-person bed? Big-person potty?” What happened to just “bed” and “the loo?”
Under the cut
Dear Sally,
You turned two a couple of days ago, and for your birthday, we got you a big person bed.
And by “we” I mean we walked into your room to put you in your crib one night, and the TARDIS had replaced it with a big person bed. We were thinking of getting you a toddler bed, but she beat us to it, and there was this real big-person bed.
You were not thrilled by this.
In fact, you’ve been sleeping in our room in protest.
Another interesting point of contention as of late has been your stern refusal to learn to use the big person potty.
What has happened to my vocabulary? “big-person bed? Big-person potty?” What happened to just “bed” and “the loo?”
This is all your fault.
Anyways, you’re potty training has been slow. You just don’t want to excrete into a toilet like the rest of the universe. Let me tell you something, little miss. I am tired of changing dirty nappies. You will learn to do your business in a restroom. You will.
And you’ll sleep in that big-person bed because Mummy and Da need their alone time. Desperately.
Right, you didn’t need to know that.
Still. Things have got to change. I know change can be very scary but it’s necessary. The day you stop changing is the day you- No hold on. That’s X-Men. Sorry.
You’ll get the hang of things. Or I’ll die trying to get you to get the hang of things. Good thing I’ve still got a few regenerations left.
That’s a conversation for another time. When you’re older. Much, much, much, much older.
Going back to the topic of vocabulary, yours has been flourishing. You can name body parts, and I can understand nearly everything you say. The other night, we were in the study, you, me and mummy, and you grabbed mummy’s big toe and you said “Toe!” It was brilliant.
When we’re on earth, you and Tessa still play together. It’s very nice (domestic), and Auntie Shareen just had a baby, and her name is Eve, so once she’s old enough, you’ll have another little playmate, no doubt.
Good lord. It’s the terrible trio of women all over again. Rassilon help us all.
Right. Let’s lay down a few future rules for nights out with your co-conspirators. Because that’s what they’ll be when you’re older: .
1. Minimal amount of make-up. And absolutely no eyeliner.
2. No hair dye. I don’t care what Granny Jackie says.
3. No blind dates set up by Eve. Your mother used to go on blind dates set up by your Auntie Shareen, and these did not go well. At all. Ever. No, I’m not jealous. Time Lords don’t get jealous.
4. No drinking. Human alcohol + Gallifreyan physiology don’t mix. Okay, I’m lying. Gallifreyans can hold human alcohol to a certain extent, but drink too much and it’ll turn your skin bright green. No that’s not a joke.
I think that should do it. We’ll go over those rules again when you’re older.
Alright. I’m resolved. Tonight, you’re sleeping in your own bed. I don’t care how much you cry. Sometimes it’s good to have a cry. I cry. Okay, not really. Well, once in this body. Maybe twice. Okay three times. Well…anyways, crying isn’t a negative thing sometimes. Maybe you’ve just got to get it out of your system.
And you won’t hate us for making you sleep in your new bed.
Right?
It’s not so bad. Beds are brilliant things, really. Sheets and blankets and pillows and The Teddy and The Duckie will be right there with you. And we’ll put in a nightlight. You’ll be alright.
And won’t hate us.
Please don’t hate us.
Your Dad,
The Doctor
Rating: PG
Pairings: Ten/Rose, Baby
Disclaimer: They ain't mine
Genre: Fluff
A/N: Again, thank you thank you thank you for all the feedback. It's awesome, and I appreciate it a lot.
Summary: What has happened to my vocabulary? “big-person bed? Big-person potty?” What happened to just “bed” and “the loo?”
Under the cut
Dear Sally,
You turned two a couple of days ago, and for your birthday, we got you a big person bed.
And by “we” I mean we walked into your room to put you in your crib one night, and the TARDIS had replaced it with a big person bed. We were thinking of getting you a toddler bed, but she beat us to it, and there was this real big-person bed.
You were not thrilled by this.
In fact, you’ve been sleeping in our room in protest.
Another interesting point of contention as of late has been your stern refusal to learn to use the big person potty.
What has happened to my vocabulary? “big-person bed? Big-person potty?” What happened to just “bed” and “the loo?”
This is all your fault.
Anyways, you’re potty training has been slow. You just don’t want to excrete into a toilet like the rest of the universe. Let me tell you something, little miss. I am tired of changing dirty nappies. You will learn to do your business in a restroom. You will.
And you’ll sleep in that big-person bed because Mummy and Da need their alone time. Desperately.
Right, you didn’t need to know that.
Still. Things have got to change. I know change can be very scary but it’s necessary. The day you stop changing is the day you- No hold on. That’s X-Men. Sorry.
You’ll get the hang of things. Or I’ll die trying to get you to get the hang of things. Good thing I’ve still got a few regenerations left.
That’s a conversation for another time. When you’re older. Much, much, much, much older.
Going back to the topic of vocabulary, yours has been flourishing. You can name body parts, and I can understand nearly everything you say. The other night, we were in the study, you, me and mummy, and you grabbed mummy’s big toe and you said “Toe!” It was brilliant.
When we’re on earth, you and Tessa still play together. It’s very nice (domestic), and Auntie Shareen just had a baby, and her name is Eve, so once she’s old enough, you’ll have another little playmate, no doubt.
Good lord. It’s the terrible trio of women all over again. Rassilon help us all.
Right. Let’s lay down a few future rules for nights out with your co-conspirators. Because that’s what they’ll be when you’re older: .
1. Minimal amount of make-up. And absolutely no eyeliner.
2. No hair dye. I don’t care what Granny Jackie says.
3. No blind dates set up by Eve. Your mother used to go on blind dates set up by your Auntie Shareen, and these did not go well. At all. Ever. No, I’m not jealous. Time Lords don’t get jealous.
4. No drinking. Human alcohol + Gallifreyan physiology don’t mix. Okay, I’m lying. Gallifreyans can hold human alcohol to a certain extent, but drink too much and it’ll turn your skin bright green. No that’s not a joke.
I think that should do it. We’ll go over those rules again when you’re older.
Alright. I’m resolved. Tonight, you’re sleeping in your own bed. I don’t care how much you cry. Sometimes it’s good to have a cry. I cry. Okay, not really. Well, once in this body. Maybe twice. Okay three times. Well…anyways, crying isn’t a negative thing sometimes. Maybe you’ve just got to get it out of your system.
And you won’t hate us for making you sleep in your new bed.
Right?
It’s not so bad. Beds are brilliant things, really. Sheets and blankets and pillows and The Teddy and The Duckie will be right there with you. And we’ll put in a nightlight. You’ll be alright.
And won’t hate us.
Please don’t hate us.
Your Dad,
The Doctor