I look down at my son, who stares back in me, concentrating as he works at his bottle, his little hands gripping the sides determinedly. Now that he knows how to, he loves holding on to pretty much anything he can grab.
I smooth my hand over his head, his fine hairs silky soft. He makes quiet noises, shifting a little in my arms.
This little dude is a year old.
How is that possible?
It feels like Monica and I were just panicking over her going into labor, wondering about the little person we were going to meet.
He's more amazing than either of us ever could have imagined.
He's so beautiful; Monica has been telling me for a year that he looks like me, and I guess I can see it, but I've never been this perfect. There's a lot of his mother in him, and I think that's what does it for me—when he smiles, I see her.
There's a lot of Monica in all them, truthfully.
Jack gives me the same disbelieving look when I do something stupid that his mother does, and Erica has her laugh. It's completely amazing, especially considering we don't share DNA. But I love that I can look at our kids and see my wife.
I stroke the back of William's hand and it twitches against the bottle; he frowns at me, probably wondering why I'm disturbing his bedtime ritual.
We do this sometimes—spend some time together in the evenings. Monica does this a lot in the early mornings. She likes to take time to talk to them, sometimes as a group, sometimes one on one. I'm not usually privy to the topics of conversation, but I'm sure, in some way, she's imparting wisdom, teaching them the ways of the world and such.
So I started taking the evening shift. Not all the time—we like to put them to bed together as often as possible—but when one of them has a hard time getting to sleep or when Monica has to work late, I take that as my cue.
She was exhausted tonight, though—our baby's first birthday made her an emotional wreck. The twins' first birthday was about the same. So was their second birthday.
She warned me today that this could be a "thing" with her. I think it's sweet, though. I'm sure the kids won't be fond of it as they get older, but I can understand why it's so tough. We're watching our children grow up. They're becoming little people. Every day, the twins say something new, or do something unexpected. They're starting to use longer sentences, at least from time to time. They're looking less like babies and more like little kids.
And William…he really is a wildcard. He started off life so cranky, so grumpy, but became one of the happiest little babies anyone could hope to meet. He's walking, and it's a lot steadier than either of the twins were a year ago. He uses words correctly—not many of them, but the ones he knows, he knows with gusto. He can recognize objects when we point them out to him. He's amazing.
The bottle drops out of his hands, landing on the floor with a thud. He smacks his lips a few times, his body going taut as he stretches before yawning. I shift so I'm propped up against the arm of the couch and bend my knees, laying William out against my legs. I rub his belly gently and he smiles sleepily, yawning again.
He's absolutely incredible and fascinating.
I stroke his hand again and this time his tiny fingers wrap around mine, and I sigh contentedly.
The fascination I have with William isn't greater than the fascination with Jack or Erica—it's just different. He's the baby Monica and I thought we'd never have, and it's his first birthday. I'd say that's definitely cause for introspection.
He's a miracle. I have no idea how we managed to pull him off other than we simply stopped thinking about it. We tried for so long to have a baby, and on top of our fertility troubles, I'm sure the fact that we were hyper aware of every ovulation, every period, temperatures, all of it, made conceiving even more difficult. We wouldn't be the first couple to have stress be an obstacle. Of course, a lot of that time, I was living in Tulsa, too, which I'm sure didn't help in any way.
I don't know what I would have done if Monica had gotten pregnant while I was still in Oklahoma. Hopefully, I would have quit sooner. I'd like to believe that my boss would have been sympathetic and let me come home earlier, but most likely…I would have just quit.
One of the best things I've ever done, outside of being Monica's husband and a father.
William squawks a little, but his eyes are shut, his lips curled up in a tiny, milk-drunk smile. I run my fingers over his belly again, still in awe. How did I help make something so beautiful? I can't even fathom it. It hurts to look at him, but all I want to do half the time is stare.
That's not exclusive to my biological child, though—Monica and I have spent a good amount of time just watching the twins, too. For a long time, it was hard to believe they were ours. I think we kept expecting them to disappear, or for their birth mother to take them back. Truthfully, that's still a fear of ours even though we haven't heard from her in over a year. I don't know if that will ever go away.
They're all miracles, though, when it comes down to it—the twins showed up just when we needed them, even though we didn't know we needed twins. It was almost like the world was apologizing for not letting us get pregnant, so it gave us two babies instead of one. They're the best little kids anyone could ask for, and every day I want to break down in tears because I'm so grateful they're in my life.
"William," I say softly; he smacks his lips and scoots down against my thighs, his legs curling up like when he was brand new and still used to being all condensed inside Monica. I gently lift him up and cuddle him against my chest. His tiny first grabs onto my t-shirt, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.
I never knew I could love like this.
One day they might understand the heart-breaking, gut-wrenching love I have for them; it's eternal, and it's like nothing I've ever felt before. It's not like the love I feel for Monica, which is also unending, and also makes me ache, but in a whole different way. It just fills me with so much purpose; my job in life now is to take care of them, to make sure they're happy and healthy, and have everything they need. It's not easy—sometimes, depending on the day and the baby and how inconsolable they are, it feels downright impossible—but it's not a job I would ever give up. I would never go back. This little niche we've carved out for ourselves in the suburbs is perfect, and it's not something I'd give up without a fight.
I kiss the top of William's head; he smells like sweet, clean baby. Up until about an hour ago, he was sticky and smelled mostly like frosting, which is charming in its own way, but I much prefer him like this.
He sighs against my neck and I close my eyes for a moment, the blind faith my kids have in me overwhelming most of the time. They trust me to keep them safe; it's a huge responsibility. All they know is that Daddy's there for them. Here's there to hug and kiss and dry their eyes and even wipe their little butts, and that's all that matters to them. Their lives are so simple, and I wish I could keep it that way forever.
I grab the throw off the back of the couch and drape it over the two of us, tucking it around my son, keeping him warm and safe. "Don't grow up too fast, William. I know you're a year old now and probably think you're a big shot—and you are, don't get me wrong—but you have your whole life to be a grown up. You're going to have years and years of work and responsibilities and all that boring stuff that comes with being an adult, but you only have a little bit of time to be a baby. Just enjoy it. I know you want to keep up with Jack and Erica and you're afraid you'll get left behind, but they'll always come back for you. Just take your time being little for a while. It's okay if you don't know all the words yet or still have trouble holding a spoon. Your brother and sister are still learning these things, too. Learning is part of the fun."
Half of what I say never even makes sense to me—I don't know how I expect my tiny son to grasp it. Sometimes, there's just so much I need to tell him that I can't get it out coherently.
"Just…slow down, baby boy. Okay? Your mommy can't handle you growing up so much, and honestly, neither can your daddy."
He flips violently in his sleep, but I take it in stride. Erica used to do that, too, when she was itty bitty and it would freak me out. I was always scared I'd lose control and drop her. What the hell did I know, though? I was brand new to parenting, and even though I'd spent time with Ben and Emma when they were babies, it in no way prepared me for my own. How was I supposed to know that someone so small without a real grasp of their motor skills yet could, while sound asleep, twist and turn and contort themselves? It was a little horrifying.
Honestly, there's still that brief moment of panic when it happens, but I've learned how to hold a wiggly baby without being as worried about it breaking free.
I'm not entirely useless at this whole parenthood thing.
Hell, I can even successfully change diapers without looking.
It's sort of a life skill you pick up when you have three tiny people living in your house.
"You are so loved, William," I whisper against his tiny bald head. "I know we tell you that all the time, but I need you to remember that. I don't know what sort of jerks you'll run into as you get older, but all you need to know is that Mommy and Daddy love you so very much. You were unexpected but in no way unwanted. Maybe one day we'll explain it all to you, if you can stand to hear about your parents like that. And please don't ever rub it in Jack and Erica's faces that you're biological and they're adopted. I don't think you ever would, but just in case. I don't know when we'll get around to telling them about that, but when it happens, you need to just love them, and remember that they're your family. That's the only part that matters.
"Family isn't always about who you're related to, big guy. It's about the people who are there for you when you need them, the ones who see what a mess you are and love you anyway. The ones who won't let you push them away because they know that's when you need them the most. They're hard to find and can be even harder to hold on to, but they're the most special people in the world. You guys are so lucky—you have so many people like that around you. Some of the best people in your lives are the ones that are here by choice. But remember that, please—remember that Jack and Erica are your brother and sister, no matter how any of you came into this world."
I sigh against his head, trying to collect my thoughts. Fortunately, he sleeps on, undisturbed by my ramblings.
"One day, if you're really lucky, you'll all be friends. You and Jack might backpack across Europe, or maybe Erica'll take you to a school dance because you're the most fun to hang out with. Who knows? I think it's all going to get very messy before you get to that point, but your brother and sister are going to be so important to you. You're going to stick up for each other and keep each other's secrets and make up games together and all those silly things that siblings do that I just don't understand."
He sneezes suddenly, soaking my neck with his baby snot, before he smacks his lips again for a few moments. I pause for a second before shrugging, wiping off my neck with the back of my hand. Just one more thing I've become an expert at dealing with—gross baby fluids. If he were awake right now, he'd probably be laughing himself silly because he got his boogers all over Daddy.
My kids can be just a little bit gross sometimes.
The rest of the time, they're a lot gross.
I swing my feet over the side of the couch and grab the baby's discarded bottle from the floor. I stretch as I stand, heading into the kitchen. I drop off the empty bottle and grab a paper towel, washing the snot off my neck.
I'm sure my wife will appreciate that.
Aside from starting to snore softly, William never flinches as I carry him through the house, turning off lights and checking doors. Our kids are pretty good sleepers, at least when they're already asleep. We're able to carry on conversations at normal levels around them when they're sleeping without it bothering them in the slightest. I've even seen Monica vacuum under their cribs during their afternoon naps without it bothering them, so I think we've done something right there.
Sometimes getting them to go to sleep can be trickier, but at least they'll sleep soundly while they're out.
I put William in his crib without incident, running a finger gently down his tiny little nose. He scrunches his face in his sleep and kicks for a moment before settling down again. I give his belly another gentle rub, reluctant to look away, knowing I could stare all night.
I sigh and make sure his monitor is turned on before heading into the twins' room to check on them, too.
We try not to check on all of them obsessively, but it's tough. It's an odd parenting game we've discovered—"Let's Make Sure The Baby's Still Breathing." It's horribly morbid, but not something I can see either of us growing out of for a while, if ever.
I walk over to Jack; not surprisingly, he's facedown in his crib. The fact that he sleeps so deeply has always been a source of worry for Monica and me. I give his side a gentle poke and he twitches, his eyes opening just a tiny bit for a few moments before he turns over, curling into a ball. He's managed to tug his blanket free yet again, his tiny naked feet hanging out. I carefully stroke the bottom of his foot, watching with amusement as his toes spread out. I pull the blanket down, covering him up, and rub his back gently for a few minutes. I watch his body relax as he settles deeper into sleep, soothed, as usual, by someone rubbing his back.
They're almost too big for cribs. Monica and I have known this for some time, but that doesn't make it easier. We know at some point they'll move on to big-kid beds, but it's hard to accept. Fortunately, we had the foresight to buy convertible cribs; when they're ready, and when we're ready, all we have to do is readjust a few pieces here and there, and they'll be good to go. Hopefully, it'll make the transition easier for them, too, because we've heard that can be rough.
With a sigh I walk over to my daughter; her arms are flung open as usual, one foot propped up against the railing of her crib, her blanket smooshed into a corner, and I can't help but marvel at how she manages to do this in her sleep.
I have to be a little more careful with this one—comparatively, she's our lightest sleeper. She's able to become fully alert in about half a second, even in the middle of the night sometimes. Usually, she's okay with someone rearranging her blanket or adjusting her tiny body into a position that has to be more comfortable, but sometimes she'll pop awake for a few minutes. Most of the time, she just watches us silently, observing us as well, before nodding off again. This time I barely grab her blanket before her eyes fly open; she looks startled for a moment before a big sleepy smile spreads across her face.
"Hi Daddy," she says; my insides turn to goo.
"Shhh. It's night-night time," I tell her, pulling the blanket over her slight form.
Naturally, she ignores me, maneuvering herself into a standing position. "Hug, Daddy," she yawns, holding out her arms for me. I think I'm somehow supposed to be able to resist that, but I don't know how. I wrap my arms around her, kissing the top of her head. I try to let her go but she makes a little whiny noise, her arms trying to tighten around me, so I pick her up for few moments, her head automatically going into the crook of my neck.
Daddy's little girl. Monica called it; she could see it even when the twins were a day old. I don't know what it is about my daughter that's different from my sons other than my instinct to try to keep her safe. I know what kind of people are out there—I know what boys are like, and I know that I don't want them anywhere near my girl. Not a single one of them will ever be good enough for her. It's just nice to know that, at least for now, I'm her main guy.
I'm just completely wrapped around her tiny fingers. Not that the other two can't very easily make me bend to their will, but Erica's just different. I couldn't always picture myself with kids, but it when I did, it was always with a daughter.
She snores against my neck and I chuckle softly, easing her back into her crib, tugging the blanket gently into place once more. I make sure their monitor is working, too, before backing out of their room, watching them for as long as I can.
Loving your kids really is heartbreaking.
I walk into our bathroom and brush my teeth, sighing heavily. Today was hard for both of us. Hopefully, Saturday will be easier.
Probably not, but one can hope.
I walk quietly into our room and slide carefully into bed next to Monica. She turns instantly, her leg draping over mine, her hand coming to rest on my chest, and I automatically feel a little better. Something about my wife is always comforting, and I love that her instinct is to curl up against me.
"They're growing up too fast," she whispers. I take her hand in mine, playing with her fingers.
"I know. But they're happy and they're healthy. I don't know that we could ask for anything better than that."
"I know," she answers, her voice resigned.
"I don't know if it's any consolation, but I think they're turning into pretty amazing little people. We're going to have so much fun with them."
"I know that, too. It's just so hard watching them grow up. I wish I'd realized that before we became parents."
I tighten my arms around her. "Would that have made a difference? Wouldn't you still have wanted kids?"
She's quiet for a few moments. "No. I wouldn't change a thing. I'd rather live with the ache of knowing my babies won't be babies forever than never have them."
"Me, too. I think all we can do is roll with it, hon. They're gonna grow up and we can't stop it. We just have to try to take a few moments here and there every so often to stop and pay attention to the little things, because I think the little parts of parenthood are what make all of this so much fun."
She sighs against my neck, her body burrowing into my side a little closer. "Okay," she says finally. "You're going to have to help me."
"Gladly. We'll help each other."
She nods and I stroke her back. "Always."
I know it'll be a while before either of us are able to get to sleep, but at least we have each other to hold on to.