When Cuddy tells you Wilson is coming back to PPTH, you laugh and tell her you've known for a week, ever since he talked to you about it. She looks shocked for a moment, but recovers nicely and tells you not to fuck it up this time.
You go with Allison to her first OB appointment. She is 9 weeks along, and you listen to the heartbeat with Allison and you hold her hand and when the nurse prints out a copy of the ultrasound, you ask for an extra one for your wallet.
You've got Blythe back, and you've seen Nathan through babyhood, but you're not going to throw away your chance to do one entirely right.
When she is 18 weeks along, you sit down with Nathan and Blythe. Blythe already knows that Allison is pregnant, but Nathan sits on your lap and listens with wide eyes as you explain to him that in five or six months, he's going to be a big brother. Allison smoothes her shirt down and they both put little hands on her tummy and giggle when the baby kicks.
You hand Blythe an envelope and ask her if she wants to find out what the baby is, or if she wants to wait until the baby is born. You want her to have an active role in this child's life, and you've made it your mission to make sure that she understands completely how loved she really is.
"In that envelope," Allison explains, "we had the doctor put the baby's ultrasound picture, and write if the baby is a boy or a girl. Daddy and I want you to decide what you want to do with it."
Allison looks like she's going to jump off the couch. She admitted to you in the car that if Blythe took off with that envelope, she might have to use force to find out. You were adamant – you played dirty and reminded her how pushed aside Robert had made Blythe had feel during her last pregnancy, and she'd conceded.
It looks like she has nothing to worry about, because Blythe is ripping into the envelope and reads the word to herself. She glances at Allison and smirks.
"I know what the baby is," your daughter announces with a smirk, and then kneels down next to Nathan to whisper in his ear.
Sometimes she is so much like you. You love it.
You rub Allison's back, because she looks like she's going to pass out. Blythe nods at Nathan and he climbs up into your lap and pats Allison's rounded tummy.
"Sister," he says solemnly, and Allison bursts into happy tears. You don't tell her, but you think she'd have been equally delighted with a boy. She just wanted to know.
Blythe and Nathan are best friends, and you're so glad. You have a hard time forgetting what Robert did, and you are glad that Blythe doesn't blame Nathan. At three, he is all boy and nothing like Blythe, but she never leaves him behind. She reads to him at night, and shows him what letters make what sounds.
You'd moved into a new house just before Blythe's sixth birthday, a four bedroom located ten minutes outside of town. You're not sure where the baby is going to go, but you'll worry about that later. Allison will want her in the bedroom for the first six months anyway, and maybe Blythe wants to share her room. Maybe you should just move…you and Allison are already crammed into the same home office, the girls will have to share a room…you might as well go for broke and get a six bedroom. And a vasectomy.
Three kids are three more than you ever thought you'd have, and you wouldn't trade them for anything.
Wilson, Emily and Gregory come over and sometimes, if you take a step back and look at your evenings together – two guys sitting back with beer, while their pregnant wives coo over belly size and three children already tearing around the living room – you think you've fallen into one of those horribly written romance novels or a Lifetime movie.
Emily is three months further along than Allison is. When Emily goes into labor, you go to the hospital to pick up Gregory for the night, and the next day you and Allison haul the brood in to see Isabel.
"Girls everywhere," you mutter at Wilson, and Allison overhears and smacks you in the back of the head, a teasing smile on her face. Emily is clinging to the baby, counting the baby's little fingers and toes and you can tell Allison wants so badly to hold Isabel but doesn't want to break the spell.
"Em, share her," you order, poking in the direction of the baby with your cane, "Or you're going to have a crying pregnant woman on your hands."
Emily smiles and gently passes the baby to Allison, who cradles her carefully and coos at her.
"Three more months," she tells you happily.
"You want a paper chain?" you ask, and she snorts, "This is the last one, Allison. I mean it. I don't want to have a baseball team."
"Baseball!" Nathan shrieks, "I want baseball, Daddy."
"We can watch baseball," you tell him, pulling him onto your good leg, "Just not have a family team."
Emily and Allison roll their eyes in such perfect unison that you think they've been practicing.
Nathan falls asleep in the car on the way home, and you scoop him up into your arms with practiced ease, carefully balancing him on your hip and shoulder while Allison and Blythe go ahead and open the door.
As you tuck in your sleeping son, all you can think everything is turning out perfect. You alternate between loving every minute of it and waiting for it all come crashing down.