Carlos didn’t think he was the kind of person who got baby fever.

He’d always liked kids, sure...he’d held his cousins at family gatherings, smiled at the occasional tiny fan shoved toward him for a photo, waved at children perched on shoulders in the grandstands. He’d even done the polite, charming thing when a sponsor wanted him to hold their baby for some promotional clip, because Carlos Sainz could make anything look natural.

But baby fever?

That felt like a dramatic phrase for people who spent too much time watching wholesome TikToks at 2 a.m. and suddenly wanted to move to the countryside and start a small farm.

Carlos had a career. Carlos had goals. Carlos had a body that already went through enough between travel, training, and stress.

Carlos had Max Verstappen, who was many things...stubborn, brilliant, intense, infuriatingly affectionate when he thought no one was watching...but who did not, in Carlos’ mind, fit into the category of “man you see holding a baby and immediately think, I want to make one with him.”