Expectation—fall pregnant after a year of marriage, carry baby, and give birth vaginally.
Reality—falls pregnant after two months, expects twins, and now lying here on an operating table being sliced open because my stupid body can’t do anything right.
I stare at the ceiling, the bright lights blurring my vision the more I try to focus. I’m surrounded by a team of nurses, doctors, and other people who introduce themselves during my confused and exhausted state.
There’s a lot of talking, but I’m not listening. Even though I’m numb from the waist down, I can feel them tugging on my stomach. It’s not painful, just a lot of pressure, and it’s odd—an out-of-body experience.
Beside me, Drew is fixating on what’s going on behind the curtain. This scenario isn’t out of the ordinary for him. He’s in his element. But despite all that, he is biting his bottom lip, sweat building up on his forehead. I’m absolutely freezing in this room. The more I begin to think about how cold it is, the realization sets in that my body is shivering uncontrollably.
A nurse lays a blanket on top of me, covering my shoulders and tucking it in nicely. I barely manage to smile or thank her, relishing in the warmth. My body relaxes, and just as I’m about to close my eyes, I hear it—a staggering cry.
“It’s a boy!”
They lift him above the curtain, and all I see is this beautiful baby boy covered in something slimy with a slight cone head. He’s screaming his lungs out and so tiny for such a loud voice.
“A b-boy,” I stutter, shocked at this surreal moment and disappointed when they pull him down from above the curtain. “And the other baby?”
“A boy. I have a son,” Drew whispers, kissing my forehead with a proud grin. He raises his head, eyes meeting mine with a loving gaze. “It’s coming, okay?”
Reassuring me that everything is okay, he anxiously resumes his post focusing on the activity behind the curtain. No one says a word, only adding to my worry. My throat is dry, and although my head is begging to ask who took our son, I can’t seem to communicate it loud enough.
Time is of the essence but feels like it’s dragging on. I brace myself for the bad news and wait the longest three minutes of my life until another raspy cry graces the room, and a loud cheer erupts from everyone behind the curtain.
“Another boy!”
Drew squeezes my hand, a tear falling down his cheek. “Two sons. We have… two sons.”
It’s over.
The babies are out.
They’re safe.
They lift son number two above the curtain, and just like son number one, he looks exactly the same—this beautiful little baby with a full set of lungs.
The nurse hands one of the babies to Drew while the other is left behind under the incubator. Drew brings him over to me, placing his soft little face against my cheek. I begin to cry, tears of joy and shock.
This little tiny baby is my son.
“Don’t forget this little guy,” the nurse calls, walking over to us and handing son number two to Drew. He does the same, lowering him so our faces can meet. He smells just like the other baby, and in the space of five minutes, I never could have ever imagined the love I feel for our children. Nothing, no textbooks or advice from anyone can prepare me for this.
And as for Drew, his paternal instincts have already kicked in. Watching your husband hold your babies for the first time is a moment I will always cherish. My heart is so full that I’m afraid it’ll burst with happiness.
“We need names,” Drew reminds me, rocking them slowly. “How about Oliver? I’ve always loved that name.”
“Oliver,” I repeat, barely able to keep my eyes open, the exhaustion becoming a battle. “And Henry…”
“Henry.” Drew beams, staring proudly at his sons. “Oliver an
d Henry Baldwin. I think it’s perfect.”
“Perfect…”
The sounds of the voices become faint, further in the distance, and the struggle to keep my eyes open is too much.
“Zoey… Zoey,” someone yells.
“She’s hemorrhaging!”