Rachel is what you'd call a controllist.

Rachel nods, starting to make up a fruit salad for Santana too. Her choppy slows a bit as she watches Santana with their son, though. He's basically her spitting image, all pitch black hair and dimples. It's looking like he has her nose and her smile too, and the only thing they've been able to pick out from his "father" so far is his eyes. They're the prettiest shade of hazel, almost brown but not quite, little flecks of green and blue and such. He reaches out for the spoon, chubby baby fingers curling around Santana's.