“What’s planned for today, Papa Bear?” I ask him, stifling a yawn which Max seems to catch, opening his mouth wide as he nestles Amy in the crease of his elbow, tilting her bottle gently for her to find.
“I think we can sleep in as much as the bosses let us,” he whispers, looking down at Amy as she sucks loudly on her bottle.
“And you, Mamma Bear?” he asks in return.
“I was thinking something similar. Maybe I could sneak that hunk of a man I sometimes catch a glimpse of in the middle of the night back to my bed. Maybe have my way with him until the sun sets,” I tell him.
“Or until the baby bears need their next feed and change,” I compromise.
Max makes a low sound, like a real bear would when it senses something it wants.
“That sounds like a plan, Mama Bear,” he says in his low voice. His foot finding mine under the table and making me shiver. Not from the cold, but just from the effect of the slightest touch. The anticipation of knowing what’s to come once we grown-up bears have done all our chores and the baby bears are back in their beds.
“Oh, I forgot to put the coffee maker on,” I add, mixing some business with pleasure as Max gets up long enough to flick a switch before settling back down at the kitchen table.
“Should be ready in time for breakfast,” I mention.
Not that we have a set timetable anymore. Our babies’ nighttime ritual is a little predictable, but the daytimes are a mixed bag, with Max and me having the time and freedom to do whatever we feel like when we feel like it.
“I was thinking,” Max muses, not looking up.
“Hmmm?” I ask sleepily, feeling my own lids drooping as I watch Peter’s closing as he feeds.
“That these two look awfully lonely. Like maybe they need a brother or sister to keep them company,” he says, a matter of fact.
“Are you trying to keep me barefoot and pregnant? I ask, pretending to sound offended.
“Absolutely,” he smiles looking up and blowing me a little kiss he whispers we should maybe start trying again as soon as we can.
“Eight o’clock and then twelve last night wasn’t trying?” I remind him, cocking a brow, the memory making me smile.
“Oh yeah. That was just practice,” he says quietly, smiling to himself before we both lock eyes.
“We’ve done alright so far, haven’t we?” he asks me. His gaze wandering from me to our two perfect children than around the kitchen all quiet in its gray-blue semi-darkness.
The sounds of the countryside stirring from outside.
“Better than alright,” I agree. “We’ve done perfectly.”
“And you don’t miss the city?” he asks me, something I don’t think I’ve even thought of in two years.
No need to think it over as I shake my head. “And you?” I ask, wondering if he does miss his old life. The deals, the pressure. The excitement and pace of it all.
“I just remembered, your dad’s coming up next week. Remember?” I remind us both, hoping we don’t forget like last time.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Max fibs.
“I hope he doesn’t bring Mrs. Peterson again.” Is all I can think of.
“That was awkward.” Max chuckles, waking up Amy who starts to wail, who in turn wakes up Peter who joins her in a chorus I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing.
It means they’re healthy and have strong lungs. It also means They need burping now, and like a perfectly synchronized team, Max and I rest each one on a shoulder and rub their backs, patting them ever so gently until we hear the part of their song that means they might actually go back to sleep.
Once they settle, we creep back up the hall, laying them gently in their cribs by our own bed, and stand over them, arms around each other, watching them like we did the day they came into the world.
“They’re just so perfect,” I whisper to Max.
“Because they have the perfect Mommy,” he whispers back.
“Their Daddy’s not too shabby either,” I have to agree, taking his hand in mine and pulling him down to kiss me.
“I love you Maxwell Bear,” I tell him, never tired of hearing myself say it out loud and only hoping he knows just how much every time I do say it.
“And I you, Momma Bear. My Phoebe,” he replies, kissing me again like he did that first time. The same feeling every time he does.