We did nothing but wait and wait and wait.
And then it happens quickly. So fucking quickly.
There are people rushing around us, shoving us into scrubs, telling us that we need to stand back, keep out of the way. I’m too stunned to remind them that I don’t even want to be in here, but Otter’s got a solid grip on my hand, and I can’t even get my feet to work.
Megan’s on the bed, sitting up and hunched over her stomach, and she’s grunting, tears on her face. Marty’s at her side, whispering in her ear, throwing us a wink every now and then.
And it does go on for hours. I’m told later that altogether, we were in the room for another seven hours. But I barely move, and even though I see things that I probably won’t ever get out of my head, I don’t leave. I can’t leave.
I’m thinking, Please let everything go okay. Because Otter’s right. We’ve earned this. After everything we’ve been through. We’ve earned this.
We have lived. We have lost. We have loved with every single beat of our hearts, and we have fucking earned this.
“And here we go,” the OB says. “I can see the head. I need you to push, Megan. Can you do that for me? I need you to push.”
She cries out but does what the doctor tells her.
“There we go,” she says. “You’re doing so well. You’re doing just fine. Push, Megan.”
“You got this, baby,” Marty says. “I’m so proud of you.”
Otter and I have lost the ability to speak.
In time, Megan gives a great gasp of relief.
The room falls quiet.
And then—
A little cry.
It’s weak and shrill and oh so fucking bright, and as soon as I hear it, as soon as the first little noise fills the room, it slams into me, and I take a staggering step back, because that noise, that crazy noise is the most perfect thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
“A boy,” the OB says easily, as if it’s not the most life-changing moment in the history of the world. “A beautiful little boy.”
“Oh my god,” Otter croaks out next to me, and I can see him, his little arms, his little legs, and he’s kicking, covered in blood and slime and other things I probably have no desire to know what they are. His little foot is kicking, and he’s wailing, and I didn’t think it was possible to love someone at first sight, to love a person so completely that it makes your heart split right down the middle.
I know that it’s possible now.
They hand our son off to a nurse, who wraps him in a towel, and I want to demand they give him to us right this fucking second, but the doctor says, “You up for round two?” and for a moment, I’m confused. I’m confused, because I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about.
And then I remember that it’s not over.
There’s another one.
“Holy fucking shit,” I breathe. “We’re having twins.”
“Did you think I was joking?” Megan asks, sounding as annoyed as I’ve ever heard her.
“No! I guess I didn’t think it was real until this moment. Otter! We’re having fucking twins.”
“You can’t say fucking in front of our children,” Otter hisses at me. “What if they hear you?”
“This is their first time,” Marty tells the OB. “Aren’t they delightful?”
The OB glances back at us, eyes twinkling. “I think they’ll do just fine.”
And it starts all over again.