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While they finish putting my wife back together, three nurses come over pushing incubators. Each takes one of the babies out. You can tell they’re pros at this and know exactly how to put all three babies with their mother. Tears stream down my face and while I know she’ll hate me for this now, I take a selfie of my wife with our children.
I sit behind, thankful for the stool on wheels, and rest my chin on her bed. “My god, Peyton, look at what we made.”
“They’re so tiny.”
“Baby A and B are three and a half pounds, which is really good when there are three. Baby girl is four and a half pounds. You did really well, Peyton,” the nurse says.
“Thank you.”
“We’re going to take these kiddos to the NICU. Dad will be able to come up and see them in about thirty minutes. Mom, we’re going to take you to recovery. Dad, you can join her after you’ve notified your family.”
I show Peyton the photo and then kiss her. “Thank you. So much.”
“You helped,” she says, smiling. “I should be the one thanking you.”
“I’m going to go see everyone and then I’ll come to you.”
She shakes her head. “Go to the babies. They need you a bit more than I do right now.”
“Peyton.”
“Please, Noah. I’ll heal faster knowing you’re with them.”
I nod and kiss her again as they start to wheel her out. I don’t bother taking off the paper gown, the hat, or the booties. I’ve seen men do this on TV so many times, I figure why the hell not. Before I go out there and share the amazing news with our families, I pause and lean against the wall, bending at the waist to try and keep my emotions in check. To no avail though because tears stream down my face. I’m over-the-moon happy but I also feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. I’m going to miss Peyton’s bump. I’m going to miss talking to my children and reading them stories. Sure, I’ll be able to talk to them while I hold or feed them, but something hits different knowing I could do that while they were growing inside of her. Like, maybe I had a part in their development, too. I know I have the daily photos, and videos of them babies moving, but pressing my hand to Peyton’s stomach and feeling them kick me is something I miss greatly.
“Are you okay?” I glance at the feet next to me and then stand tall. It’s one of the nurses from Peyton’s delivery room.
“A little overwhelmed.”
“It’s expected. Your wife is in recovery. You can see her.”
“She wants me with the babies.”
The nurse smiles. “Most of them do. I’ll take you to NICU.”
I glance at the door. “I need to tell our family first. They’re waiting.”
The nurse nods and points down the hall. “When you’re ready, I’ll be at the desk there. If I’m not, another nurse will take you. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
After another minute or so, I push my way through the double doors, praying my eyes are not red rimmed. The last thing I want to do is strike fear in Katelyn and Harrison, wondering if their daughter is okay.
My mom is the first to stand, followed by Katelyn and Elle. Slowly, everyone starts to gather.
I clear my throat. “The boys are tiny. They weigh just over three pounds. The girl is a bit bigger at four and a half. They’re in NICU, which as you know is standard.”
“And my daughter?” Katelyn asks, her voice breaking. “How’s my baby?”
“Peyton’s in recovery. She’s seen and held her babies.” I pull my phone out, bring up the photo, and hand it to Katelyn, sensing she needs confirmation of Peyton’s well-being more than anything. She covers her mouth to hold back a sob as she studies the photo.
“She looks like my girls.”
“She does.” I confirm. “I know you can’t see her hair, but it’s dark. The boys are a bit bald, but hopefully that will change soon.” I scratch the top of my head and laugh, enjoying how my hair has grown out since I shaved it in solidarity with Ben when he went through chemo.
Katelyn turns the phone to my mom. “Look at what our babies did,” she says in a hushed tone. Both grandmas start to cry and hug each other. I imagine for them this moment is pretty indescribable for them. From being best friends to now grandmas. My dad takes the phone and Harrison huddles around him. They’re heads are down but I hear sniffles. I step closer, only to have both of them look at me. I’ve only ever been afraid of Harrison a handful of times—this is one of those times.
“You’re going to be a damn good father, Noah,” Harrison says. I take this as a statement of fact. If I’m not, he’s going to hurt me. The threat is there and understood.
