My heart thunders in my ears. I just watched my son come into the world. It was completely gross and disgusting.
And so beautiful.
He's so tiny and so perfect. Neither of us have had a chance to hold him yet, but I'm sure Monica's arms are aching for him. I know mine are.
Of course, immediately after he came into the world, we found out that he's actually one of a set. I have no idea how this girl didn't know she was having twins. I wouldn't think it'd be possible for her not to have picked up on something one of the doctors told her, but we've all been blindsided by a second baby.
I don't think I'm capable of processing this yet other than I know that Monica's right—these are our kids. They're coming home with us. It doesn't matter if we're ready for two of them; two of them is what we're going to get.
Erica's face turns red as she pushes again and the doctor says that my daughter—my daughter. I'm getting a little girl!—is crowning. Without prompting from my wife, I immediately move back to Erica's feet to watch it happen again. All she is right now is the top of a head, but tears prickle the corners of my eyes anyway. She's a tie for the most beautiful top-of-a-head ever. My heart pounds faster.
Oh, my God, this is happening.
The doctor's voice is muffled as he talks to Erica, and I'm aware of her straining to push out my daughter, but all I can see is this tiny little person making her way into the big, scary world.
My daughter. Jesus…
How am I going to protect her?
How am I going to make sure no one ever hurts her?
Her little face pops out and my heart stops completely. A split second later the rest of her body follows and the doctor holds her up to us, grinning. Monica's fingers grip onto my arm and I hear her whisper, "Oh, my God."
"Hey, Gorgeous," I say softly, the baby blinking at me in confusion. I don't blame her. I'd be confused, too.
Hell, I am confused, but my heart feels like it's exploding with love. It's unlike anything I've ever felt before. There's so much of it in ever part of me that I think I'm going to fall over.
Our babies are here. They're absolutely perfect, and for the first time in my life I feel complete. This is what I've been searching for. This is what I'm supposed to be.
The doctor says something to us, but it's not until I feel Monica's hand on mine that he's asking if we want to cut this cord, too. I feel the strange, spongy sensation of cutting the umbilical cord again and my little girl is suddenly being whisked away. The nurse puts her near her brother, wiping her down, weighing her, and I look back to Erica. She's panting with exertion, her face sweaty and tired, and I fill with a sense of wonder. I can't believe she did this for us. She's giving us her children. She put her body through hell so that Monica and I could have a family. I can't even process how huge this is.
I reach out suddenly and grab her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. "Thank you," I tell her softly. The words aren't enough, but they're the best I can do.
She smiles at us as Monica's arm slides around my waist, her body drooped against mine as the weight of the moment hits. "You're welcome," she finally answers, her voice a little raspy and tired from yelling out in pain.
The nurse clears her throat, smiling when we finally turn to her. "We need to finish up with Erica. If you wouldn't mind giving us a few minutes…"
We both nod dumbly, pretty much willing to go wherever someone wants to direct us as this point, and shuffle toward the door when Monica comes to an abrupt halt and turns to face the twins.
"But, what about—can't we…?"
I understand exactly what she's trying to say. We've waited this long to be parents and to hold our baby; neither of us want to wait a single moment longer. "Yeah," I say, watching the two babies squirm. "Can't we…?"
Without another word, the nurse picks up one of the babies—honestly, at this point I'm not sure which is which—and brings it over to us. "Here's your son," she says quietly, looking back and forth between the two of us. I nod my head toward Monica, whose eyes immediately fill with tears as she stares at the tiny baby being placed into her waiting arms.
"Ohhh, hi," she says, sniffling, her voice thick with emotion. She looks up at me, her grin nearly splitting her face in half. "Look. It's our son."
I reach out and stroke his tiny hand, nearly falling apart at the feel of his soft skin. "Hi, little guy," I whisper. "Nice to meet you."
"And here's your daughter."
I look up, almost surprised to find the nurse in front of us again, this time with her arms extended toward me. I reach out automatically and feel the baby being gently put into my arms. I cradle her head carefully, feeling every single worry and doubt fall away. I feel overwhelmed, but wonderfully so. The baby studies me with hazy eyes, her tiny hands waving around sloppily for a moment before she settles down. My eyes fill with tears as my own grin threatens to split my face in half.
"Oh, my God, Monica, she's perfect," I whisper, looking over to my wife. She looks back at me with such adoration and contentment—this is the moment she's been waiting for her entire life. She's a mommy. It doesn't matter how these two came to be our children; all that matters is that they are.
She leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to our daughter's hand, nuzzling her for just a moment. "Hi, beautiful. I'm your mommy."
I feel a hand on my back, ushering me and Monica out into the hallway and into a neighboring room. "Someone will be in soon to fill out the birth certificates," the nurse tells us. I nod in her direction, barely tearing my eyes away from my little girl. Suddenly, we're alone, just the four of us for the first time. The room is filled with the tiny noises the twins make, both of them surprisingly quiet considering what they've both just gone through.
"I can't believe it," Monica whispers. "We're parents."
"Yeah," I answer distractedly, my newborn daughter staring me down. I sit in one of the chairs in the room and lay her across my lap, unraveling the tiny blanket from her even tinier body. She's in a diaper and nothing else at the moment, and I carefully wrap an arm around her. With the other hand, I check out her feet, counting all the toes to make sure everything's where it ought to be. Her feet are so small, so soft. I look over at Monica to find she's doing the same thing with our son, checking him over in fascination. "This is unreal."
She grins at me for a moment before turning back to the baby. "I love them so much."
"I've never loved anything like this," I answer, watching our daughter's body curl up into the fetal position, something I'm sure she's used to after all those months she spent sharing a womb with her brother. Her face scrunches up and I immediately wrap the blanket around she teeny form, pulling her closer to my chest. She relaxes a moment later and I look back to my wife, grinning crookedly. "No offense."
"None taken," she answers. "I know what you mean." She covers up our son again, and the door creaks open, a nurse who flitted in and out during the delivery peeking her head into the room.
"Mind if I come in?" she asks with a grin, pushing into the room before either of us can answer. "Sorry to disturb you, but we wanted to see if these two had names yet." She sits down on the edge of the bed, clipboard at the ready. "We have their weight and length and time of birth already, but if you know what you want to call them…"
Monica and I look at each other, shrugging. This hasn't been an easy process, despite only really circling on a couple of names over the last few months. Of course, we thought we were only going to have one, but since we didn't know what the baby was going to be, we've had names ready for both. We took into account that the names weren't set in stone; after watching Rachel try to name Emma a couple of years ago, we knew that just because we'd decided on a name, that didn't mean it was going to stick once we met our child. Naming a person feels like a lot of pressure. This is what they're going to be called for the rest of their lives.
Monica lifts an eyebrow as she tilts her head, looking at me questioningly, and I give her a little nod, trusting her to name our son. "Jack," she finally says, and we both smile at him, at Jack. That's who he is. "Jack Hemmingway."
I let out a surprised chuckle, smiling at her in amazement. "Really? I thought you were just screwing with me."
"No, I like it," she says softly, running a finger gently down the tip of his nose. "I think it works for him."
"That's a good name," the nurse answers, smiling at us. "You sure?"
"Completely," Monica answers without hesitation.
"Okay," she says, scribbling down the information. "And your daughter?"
Daughter. I can't believe how excited I am at the idea of having a daughter. I'm already wrapped around her tiny fingers, and God help us all when she can actually speak. My little girl.
Monica smiles at me encouragingly and I sigh with happiness. "Erica Josephine." Josephine was the first name we decided on. We knew we couldn't justify actually using "Joseph" or "Josephine" as a first name without seriously offending everyone else we know, but we both also know that we might not have made it this far without Joey. He covered for us for months, keeping our secret even when we'd do something completely off the wall and embarrass the hell out of him. He officiated our wedding. He's always been good to us, and we both knew we wanted to acknowledge him and his part in our lives. Despite all of his demands that we name our kid after him, I don't think he'd ever really expect this.
"That's great, too," the nurse answers, jotting down the name. "And the last name?"
Monica crinkles her forehead, shooting the nurse a confused look. "Bing. Their last name is Bing."
"Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to hyphenate it." She fills out a couple more pieces of information before smiling at us once more. "We'll need you two to sign these before you leave. They're finishing up with Erica—well, the older Erica—next door, and someone will be in soon to let you know when you can go back in. Do you need anything?" I'm sure there's about a million things we need, not the least of which is a bigger stroller and an extra carrier, plus twice as many diapers, but we both shake our heads, focusing on the twins. "All right," she says softly, hopping off the bed. "If you think of anything, just hit the call button or flag one of us down. And congratulations." She slips out of the room and I settle back against the chair, putting a finger in my daughter's tiny palm. Her own fingers grip at me, so strong, and a tear leaks out of my eye, dropping onto her tiny hat.
"Erica," I say softly. "Hi, Erica. I'm your daddy." I look over at Monica, who's holding up our son to me, grinning goofily. "Hi, Jack. I'm your daddy, too." I sigh, shaking my head in disbelief. "They're both so beautiful."
"Jack and Erica Bing," she answers softly, settling into the corner of the chair to watch our son in fascination. "I can't believe we got their names right."
"They're perfect names," I answer, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this is who they are. I'm Jack and Erica's dad. "Hey. You're Jack and Erica's mommy," I tell her, watching a couple of tears slip silently down her cheeks.
"Damn straight I am." She smiles down at Jack, looking even more content than just a few minutes ago. "I'm your mommy."
"I love the three of you so much I can't see straight," I say suddenly, feeling my breath catch in my throat.
"I know," Monica answers. "I know."
I lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to my daughter—Erica's—forehead, taking a deep breath of her newborn smell. I look over to my wife and son, both looking quite comfortable with their lot in life. At some point, I'll get my hands on Jack and feel his delicate weight in my arms. I'll get to know him and fall even more in love with him than I already am. For now, we just sit, all of us staring at each other, studying our new life with fascination. We're a family—Chandler, Monica, Jack, Erica. We're in this together.
Forever.
*A/N…I just thought they needed a quiet moment between the birth and saying goodbye to the birth mother. Never gave it much thought before, but I love the idea of Chandler holding his daughter for the first time.
People keep asking about my other stories, Where Life Leads being one of them. I would love to write more of it, but every time I try, I can't. While realistically, I know this isn't a popular opinion (or maybe not even a common opinion), but all I can think about is being told that my writing is repetitive, and that they're over my stuff (or some of my stuff) (and yes, these are things I've heard from people), and I lock up. Again, I know that some of you really enjoy what I do, so I hate that you're missing out because of one or two people who, truthfully, weren't actually rude in telling me these things. But, my self-esteem being what it is, all I can think about is how obnoxious I must be to some people, and how I can't make anything fresh or interesting, so I just lock up. Mentally, I get a couple of sentences into something, then just stop. The bad stuff is easier to believe, but I don't know why. And please, this is not me asking for positive reviews—you guys do that in spades and you're awesome. You're crazy supportive and I love you for it, so again—no pressure to review this or anything else (except "You;" it only needs a couple of reviews to hit 700, but that's just me ;) ). I just wanted to let you guys know where I am with things, and why I'm not really producing a whole lot right now.
Also, I had a guest review recently (I can't remember which story) asking me to write about Chandler and Monica's fertility struggles and such. I don't know if you've found them yet, lovely anon, but I actually do have a few of those. The story is called "Crashing," and it might be what you're looking for. I hope you read this so you'll know about it. 3