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Sleep? We’ve lost the definition of that.
Yes, Sam helps and we have a nanny, but my wife refuses the notion of handing out her ‘motherhood responsibilities,’ as she calls them, to someone else.
And this was after she had one of the hardest births with those three and the labor lasted an entire night. I might have threatened to murder the doctor if he didn’t get her through it in one piece.
By the time she’d finished the exponential job of birthing three whole humans, she was exhausted, her lips were chapped, and her face had lost color, but as soon as the nurse put our babies in our arms, she was smiling and crying.
It was at that moment that I realized I have a whole family to be responsible for now. Two beautiful girls and a boy. And most importantly, their mother.
Ava calls them her stroke of luck because she won the international cello competition the day she found out she was pregnant.
She was also called to perform with one of London’s most affluent orchestras when she was pregnant with them. Three times.
If she hadn’t given birth, she’d be performing in Paris, Vienna, and Berlin by now.
But she’s choosing to focus on ‘our family,’ as she likes to remind me.
She also wants to get involved in mental health charities with her mother’s help.
My wife has a lot of ambition ever since she went on her self-imposed healing journey.
Yes, there are days when depression hits or she gets lost in her head, but those are few and far between. It took me over a year, but I’m no longer worried about her episodes, no longer dread them or the possibility that she might hurt herself.
Besides, even if she feels down, she usually calls me or comes into my office and tells me that she needs my company. She no longer hides or feels ashamed of who she is.
Ava actively seeks out Dr. Blaine and said that, if needed, she would be ready to admit herself into the institute again for our future.
Her gradual acceptance of herself has made her more beautiful and maddening. I physically can’t stay away from her for more than a day or I feel signs of violent withdrawal.
She might have been the one who experienced issues with alcoholism, but my addiction to her is far worse.
The only difference is that I don’t wish to ever become sober.
I’ve always felt like I lacked a sense of meaning. It wasn’t until this woman chaotically bulldozed her way into my heart that I realized what it means to have a purpose, a goal, and a need to protect.
With a smile, I watch her for long minutes as she snores softly while holding our daughter.
I gently remove Sierra, and Ava startles awake. “What…? I’m right here, baby…”
She blinks a few times, watching me take our girl to her crib, and then pulls up her bra and gown.
“They’re asleep?” she murmurs as she walks up to my side.
“Finally.”
My wife releases a contented sigh as she leans her head on my shoulder. “I still blame your sperm for three kids all at once.”
“I’ll make it up to you for the rest of our lives.”
“You better.” She wraps her arms around my waist and tucks herself into my side. “Fortunately, Mum and Aunt Elsa pointed out that they’ll grow up together, but, hopefully, I’ll stay in one piece while they do that.”
“They’ll have me to answer to if something happens to you.”
She chuckles, and even that sounds so joyful, so different to my wife from two years ago. “I can’t believe you’d be picking a fight with your kids.”
“You come first and they’re second. Something they’ll have to get used to. Now I understand and I agree with Dad’s behavior completely.”
“About?”
