I clutch Monica's hand in mine; her palm is sweaty.

Actually, I think that's me.

Waiting in the doctor's office feels worse than waiting last night, and last night was pretty horrible for a couple of minutes.

Of course, it turned pretty damn fantastic in a heartbeat.

I look down at my wife, reclined on the examining table; she looks nervous, too, as if any moment Dr. Connelly will come in and take all of this away from us.

Her hand rests on her stomach, almost as if she's trying to protect the tiny life there.

I can understand that. I fell asleep like that last night, and woke up like that this morning. If I could have managed it while we were driving here, I would have.

She took two more tests this morning as soon as she rolled out of bed; one was turning positive before she was even finished with the other one.

Eight pregnancy tests, all positive. We never thought we'd get to see one of those little pink plus signs.

Test nine will be the official one, I suppose; the doctor's already done a quick exam, drawn blood, and taken a urine sample, so all we have to do is wait for him to get back.

Which is easier said than done.

The receptionist very kindly offered to keep an eye on the twins while we were in here since daycare won't be open for another hour. I think the two of us are far too distracted by this whole thing right now to be decent parents, which is horrible. We shouldn't let the possibility of a new baby take precedence over the children we already have, and I think if the circumstances were different, if Monica and I didn't have trouble conceiving, this wouldn't be the case. The whole thing is such a shock that I think we're just trying to maintain.

I put my hand on Monica's, giving it a little squeeze, both of our hands now on her stomach. She looks up at me and smiles, but I can see the fear in her eyes.

"It's positive, right? I mean, do you think the home tests were wrong? Why is he taking so long?"

I lean down and kiss her forehead. "Isn't a false positive incredibly rare?"

"Yeah."

"Well, wouldn't eight false positives be impossible?"

"I—I guess."

"Everything's going to be okay, honey."

"But what if—"

"Hey; I was right about you being knocked up, wasn't I? I'm right about this, too."

I see a tear leak out the corner of her eye. "I'm so scared, Chandler," she whispers. "This feels too good to be true."

I wrap my arms around her and halfway sit on the examining table next to her. "I know. Just keep reminding yourself that this was a long shot, but it wasn't impossible. This baby was meant to happen, just like Jack and Erica were meant to be ours."

"What if I love this baby more than I love them?" she asks softly.

That thought crossed my mind, too; the last thing I want is for the twins to think they didn't hold the same place in my heart as this one. "Do you love the baby already?"

"So much."

"More than Jack and Erica?"

"Of course not."

"Well…"

"But I didn't get to go through this with them; what if being pregnant and getting to do all the pregnant things with this one makes me feel different?"

"Well, I love the twins equally but differently, the same as I love the new one just as much but in a whole different way. I think that's supposed to happen. They're not the same people, so how they affect us is different, but the amount of love is the same." I can tell by the look on her face that she doesn't quite believe me. "Monica, you are a good mother. The best one I've ever known. Something as simple as biology isn't going to change how much you love our kids."

"I'm sorry I'm freaking out about this. I should be beyond thrilled, and part of me is, but…"

"I know; it's still scary."

There's a tap at the door a moment before it opens, and Dr. Connelly appears before us, his expression blank. I feel Monica's shoulders tense beneath my hands; my breath catches in my throat.

"Well, I think you already know what I'm going to tell you."

"We still need to hear it," I answer quickly, my heart racing.

A smile spreads across his face. "You're pregnant. Congratulations."

Simultaneously, the tension drains out of our bodies, and Monica laughs. "Oh, my God. You're sure?"

"Completely. You had eight positive results on the home tests; I think you were pretty sure yourselves."

"Is the baby okay?" I ask.

"We'll do a sonogram so you can see for yourselves, but I don't see any reason why it won't be. I've treated a lot of women in similar situations as yours, Monica, and I've found that while many have trouble conceiving, they have very little difficulty with their pregnancies. Now, each woman is different, each pregnancy is different, but please don't think that your troubles up until now will have any bearing on the rest of your pregnancy. You're young, you're strong, and you're healthy. You're in very good shape to handle this."

I lean down and kiss the top of Monica's head, grinning widely, giving her a gentle squeeze.

"But, I am going to recommend you go on light duty at work for the next couple of weeks, just until you're out of your first trimester."

"What? Why?"

"Just as a precaution. Don't do anything too strenuous, sit down as often as possible, that sort of thing."

"But…" she looks at me, distraught. "I'm a chef. I can't just sit down while my staff is working…"

"I'm not suggesting bed rest. Please don't get upset about this; I recommend this to all women in your situation. Just explain it to your boss. I'll even write a note if I need to. I'm sure they'll understand."

Monica looks nervous; I don't feel much better. Regardless, I give her another gentle squeeze. "It's okay, honey. Like he said, just a precaution." She nods slightly, though I can feel her shoulders tense.

"I promise you, Monica; if I suspected anything was amiss, I'd let you know. If something looks off with the ultrasound, I'll let you know. I'm not going to keep anything from you. All of this is just routine. Okay?" The doctor looks back and forth between us for a moment, and I guess what he sees is good enough. "So; any strange symptoms I should know about?"

She shrugs. "I don't think so. I didn't even realize I had symptoms until Chandler started pointing them out last night. I'm tired, sometimes nauseated, often hungry, I've gotten dizzy a couple of times…pretty basic, as far as I can tell."

The doctor nods along. "Yep; you sound run-of-the-mill to me."

I look down at her and see her smiling a little. I don't think either of us has ever been so grateful to be "run-of-the-mill."

"I'm sure you know the basics by this point; no alcohol, no smoking, very easy on the caffeine, be careful with the heavy lifting. Listen to your body; if you feel exhausted, it means you're exhausted. If you're hungry, eat. The baby is going to take all of the nutrients out of your body and then some; it'll probably even take the calcium out of your teeth, so drink lots of milk."

I wrinkle my nose. "Really? It can do that?"

Dr. Connelly nods. "I've seen a lot of women wind up with a mouth full of cavities after giving birth. But for the most part, right now, you can keep doing what you've been doing. According to your calculations, you're about ten weeks along, so you're almost done with the first trimester, which is great. The risk of miscarriage lessens significantly in the second trimester. I'll give you a prescription for prenatal vitamins that I want you to start taking right away, and I'll make sure Angie gives you a list of the general dos and don'ts, and a list of books that women often find helpful during pregnancy. If you have any friends that have been pregnant, talk to them, ask them questions. I'm also going to recommend you to an OB-GYN out in your area—a colleague of mine, Dr. Natalie Rosen. She has a lot of experience with couples who've had fertility issues, and she'll be much closer than coming out here to see me all the time. But I will still be available for any questions or concerns."

All of a sudden, my head is spinning, dizzy with all the information that just got thrown at me. Monica tilts her head up to me and chuckles. "I think Chandler just go overwhelmed."

The doctor smiles sympathetically. "I know this is a lot to process at one time. This is probably going to take a few days to really sink in, and you're both probably going to be feeling lots of different things. Just try to talk it out, and deal with one thing at a time, and remember to enjoy this. You're having a baby; it's going to be fun."

"Thanks, Doc," I say, Monica nodding in agreement. It is a little overwhelming, but I feel excitement surging through me; this is really happening.

"Now, the part I'm sure you two really want to get to…Monica, are you ready for your sonogram?"

Monica squeaks in excitement as the doctor rolls the machine over to us and I feel my heart start to race. This is it. We're going to see our baby.

"Just bear with me for a second," Dr. Connelly says. "I don't do this as much anymore, but the rest of my staff won't be here for another hour."

"As long as you check the right uterus, I'm good," I say, and Monica groans.

The doctor starts squirting some goop on her stomach and Monica jumps in surprise. "Cold," she tells me. I take her hand in mine, our fingers gripping each other tightly as the doctor moves the wand around. A strange sound fills the room and our eyes immediately go to the monitor.

"Good, strong heartbeat," Dr. Connelly says.

"That's the heartbeat?" I exclaim, tears filling my eyes.

"That's the heartbeat," he confirms. "And…" he pauses, moving the wand a few more times. "There's your baby."

"Oh, my God," Monica whispers. "It's our baby."

I look down at her for a second, and I can see her cheeks are wet with tears. I rest my cheek on top of her head and stare at the screen. It's a little fuzzy and misshapen, but it's definitely a baby. A teeny, tiny, perfect little baby.

"Wow," I whisper. I wish I could express myself better; I wish I could find some way to articulate all the things I'm feeling right now, how happy I am, how scared I am, how everything I am, but "wow" is the best I can do.

Monica says nothing, but I can hear her breath hitching as she cries, her body shaking through the tears.

"This is one of the best days of my life," she says softly as we stare at the screen.

"I feel like I could watch this forever."

"I'll get some pictures printed off for you," the doctor says, and Monica and I jump, both having forgotten he was there. "When you go in for your appointment with your new doctor, you'll get to do this all over again."

"When are we going to be able to feel it move?" I ask, already eager thinking about it.

"It'll be months, and Monica will feel it long before you can."

"Women get all the good stuff," I say to her and she laughs.

"I'm gonna have to agree with you on this one."

The doctor gives us a few more minutes, letting us stare at the baby to our heart's content before clearing his throat. "I know you could stay here all day, but…"

Monica nods, and a few moments later the image of our child disappears, and I feel lost for just a moment. Dr. Connelly hands Monica a towel and she starts wiping off her stomach. "I'll meet you two at the front desk in a few minutes," he says, and leaves the room.

I help Monica off the table and pull her into my arms, and she sobs into my chest. I stroke her back, tears of my own dripping onto her head.

"It's real," she whispers. "It's really real. We did it. We made a baby."

"How am I supposed to concentrate on work for eight hours today?"

Monica groans. "Ugh. I'm supposed to work lunch today; am I even allowed to do that?"

"As long as you're careful," I tell her. "And tell your boss what's going on."

"I hate that the first person to know about this is my manager. We should be telling the whole gang, you know?"

"Well, we could call them all now."

She shakes her head vigorously. "No way. Not until the first trimester's over. I mean, I want to literally shout it from the rooftop, but I'd rather wait until the possibility of miscarriage decreases. I just hate the thought of telling everyone that we're pregnant, then having to tell them if something happens to the baby." I feel my stomach turn into a knot at that thought. "Is that okay?"

"Definitely, and I think I kind of like the idea of keeping this to ourselves for a little while. And, hey, you know what?"

"What's that?"

"We have tons of baby stuff already. One less thing to worry about."

"There's your silver lining," she says, finally pulling out of my arms to get dressed.

"Hey, can we do that thing where we take a picture of your belly every week or month or whatever it is?"

"Of course," she answers, pulling up her jeans, and for the first time I notice that she's struggling just a bit with the button.

"Can we do a family portrait of you, me, the twins and us holding the sonogram picture?"

"I have a question for you," she answers, pulling her shirt over her head. "When did you get so sappy? The Chandler Bing I married wasn't nearly this sentimental."

"We're going to have a baby; a baby we never thought we'd have. I think I'm entitled to a little bit of schmaltz."

"I didn't say you weren't entitled to it." She comes back over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her cheek against my chest. "I'm just wondering where it came from."

"I'm super, crazy, over-the-moon in love with you and our little family," I answer simply.

"Oh, is that all?" I chuckle a little and give her a squeeze. "We can take any of those cheesy, clichéd pictures you want."

We stand there for a few moments, just sort of basking in the wonder of it all, until I sigh. "I have to get to work."

"I know," she answers wistfully. "Wouldn't it be nice if the world would just stop for us for a few hours? Then we could just not worry about everything else and be together, just the five of us? Well, I guess five isn't really right—the four point two of us."

"If only. We should take a day for that, anyway. We'll play hooky, stay home with the twins, not do much of anything. The world will still be there when we decide to rejoin."

She stands on tiptoes and kisses me. "Deal. Let's get out of here. I want to spend a few minutes with the twins before we drop them off at daycare."

One of the absolute best things about my job is that they provide daycare and once the twins hit six months, we were able to get them in. I know it cuts down on Monica's stress of having to leave them with strangers when she knows that I'm just upstairs. The only downside is that they discourage people from dropping in to see their kids during the day; something about helping babies learn to depend on other people, or respond to other people, or trust them. I don't really know—all I know is that it kind of sucks being so close to them all day without being able to see them. But at least I'm close by if there's an emergency.

We walk out to the waiting room to find Dr. Connelly ready for us, the twins on the desk in their car seats, basking the attention being showered on them by the doctor and his receptionist. Angie absently hands us a packet of information, mostly paying attention to tickling Jack's chubby little cheeks. He smiles up at her happily, apparently very comfortable with this person who is willing to openly adore him.

"Thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice," Monica tells the doctor and he just smiles at us.

"It's no trouble at all. I'm glad that it was such good news. Oh, and here are the pictures." He holds out an envelope which Monica grabs excitedly. "Remember; if you need anything, just call."

"Thanks, Doc," I say absently, one of the sonogram pictures already in hand.

"Congratulations, you two," Angie tells us, tickling Erica's foot one last time before turning back to her computer screen. Monica leans down and gives each baby a kiss before we grab the carriers and head out to the parking garage.

"I'm gonna have to say," Monica says suddenly. "This is, hands down, the best Hanukah and Christmas present you ever could have given me."

"Totally planned it that way," I tell her as we strap the twins into the back seat. "Oh, hey, Mon. You probably don't want to hear this, but I think we're going to have to get a bigger car."

"Oh, God. Do we have to get a minivan?"

That thought actually makes me shudder. "I hope not. Maybe we can find something less soccer-mom, but I don't think the Porsche is going to cut it anymore."

She runs her hand over the leather seats wistfully for a moment before she sighs. "You're right. Besides, we can sell this thing, use the money to buy a brand new car, and probably still have some left over. Man, growing up sucks."

I slide into the driver's seat and start the car, Monica not far behind. "I'll make you a deal; when we hit our midlife crises, or when the kids are in high school, we'll buy another even flashier car, and make the kids drive the minivan, even if we have to buy a minivan for them to drive just so we can embarrass the hell out of them."

"Ah, yes; the father of my children."

I smile at her as I pull out into morning traffic. "And don't you forget it."