Rosanna
Lifegivesnofucksabout who it fucks over. At any given moment in the world, there’s both someone drowning in the deepest sorrow imaginable and someone whose heart is about to burst open from happiness.
I’ve had my share of kicks from life, but when Connor and I arrived for our scheduled delivery date and my sweet, innocent babies were placed in my arms a few hours later, I decided life wasn’t that bad at all.
It couldn’t be. Not when it brought me my husband, Ana, and Eli.
Chapter twenty-one
Rosanna
Criesthatcutoffinto snorts wake me up from a light sleep. Connor installed cameras in our room and the other room for when the babies get a little older, but I don’t need to pull up the app to see which one is crying because the noise is right in my ear. Much noisier than the sound machine to help us all sleep. Blearily, I switch on the lamp and turn to the bassinets to see if I guessed right.
And I did. It’s Elijah. He’s like a squirmy caterpillar as he wiggles around, tongue following suit as it searches for a nipple. Pure feistiness from the day he was born. Ana’s quiet as a mouse, her little nose upturned as she sleeps in her own bassinet.
“I’ll get him,” Connor mutters sleepily as he helps me arrange the nursing pillow underneath me. The nighttime feedings are taking a toll on us, but we’re slowly getting the hang of it after four weeks of doing this on our own.
I move a hand to the front of my easy-access tank top and sigh when it comes away wet. Engorged breasts that leak when babies cry is one thing I knew to be expecting but still wasn’t totally prepared for when it actually happened. Or the fact that merely thinking about my babies could cause it, too.
And let’s not even mention the bladder issues and everything else that comes along with childbirth.
Things have changed in our room, too. Two bassinets, two bouncers, and a glider.
“Shh, Eli. Daddy’s got you, baby. Momma’s gonna feed you and then you’re gonna sleep really good for us, aren’t you?” Wearing only his boxer briefs, my husband croons nonsense to the baby boy cradled in his strong arms. “Here you go,” he says softly as he gives me our son. “I’ll go get a bottle for Ana.”
Because if we feed one, we need to feed the other. Schedules are so freaking important with twins.
I wince a little as Eli latches on in a frenzy, but when his mouth relaxes, so do I. “Sounds good, babe,” I yawn, lightly tracing Eli’s soft cheek. Ana’s a bit smaller than him and never could latch on well. I’d cried and cried when we gave her a bottle that first time, feeling like a terrible mother because I couldn’t even feed her from my body, but the lactation specialist is right: fed is best.
It doesn’t change the fact that it still stings, but at least she’s drinking my milk. Even if it’s from a bottle.
Everything works out, though, with it like that. I’ll feed Eli and get good skin-to-skin contact while Connor feeds Ana her bottle. It’s important for him to be included, too. Then we’ll switch so I can still hold her close to me and bond with her.
Connor comes back to bed with bottle in hand and Ana to his chest. I swear, I haven’t had the energy to feel sexy, but seeing our baby girl’s face smushed against my muscular husband’s tattooed chest is enough to send a flare of interest to my core.
The fact that I’m too tired to fully appreciate it truly is a shame, because the man is a sight to behold in the lamplight as he stretches out beside me against the headboard, long legs spanning the length of the mattress and a tiny human in his arms.
“Hungry, princess?” he croons to her as she fusses. “I know, Ana. I know. Daddy’s hurrying. There you go, sweet girl.”
I switch Eli to the other side and lightly stroke his feet to get him to wake up and eat. His mouth moves again, sucking down his nourishment. Little grunts and gulps fill the room from the both of them.
Another thing that I wasn’t prepared for was just how noisy babies are even when they’re not crying.
Connor rests his sleepy stare on me. “Look at you, little mama, and these sweet babies you made. You did good.”
“I did, didn’t I?” These tiny little humans came from me. From my body. Imadethem. I wonder if this is how Corina feels when she sees Amos and Connor all these years later. A tear tracks down my face, and I give a little sniffle, my happiness melting away into a pool of sadness.
“Rosanna? What’s the matter?”
I glance between Eli’s chubby cheeks and Ana’s headful of hair and burst into tears. “I don’t want them to grow up and move away with their families yet. They’re still mine because I just got them and I love them so much!” I blubber, jarring Eli’s mouth loose as I sit him up to burp him. He didn’t drink as much from this side as he did the other, so I’m feeling a bit lopsided.
“Oh, kitten, I love them, too.” Connor leans closer and kisses my messy hair, not even a hint of laughter on his face. “And that’s not going to happen for a while yet. We’ll have lots of years with them, I promise. Do you believe me?”
My tears slow at his words. He always knows just what to say. “I do,” I sniff. Damn postpartum hormones. “Here. Eli’s done. You burped her, right?”
“Shit,” he murmurs. “Not yet. Hold on.” Fumbling a bit, he folds her over so her scrunched-up face rests in his cloth-covered palm. “Huh,” he chuckles. “She’s like a little bulldog with those cheeks hanging over like that.”
“Connor!” I scold tearily, even as I bite my lip in amusement. She kinda does look like one, though, with her perpetual scowl. But she’s absolutely beautiful with her long lashes and rosebud mouth. Eli, too. My beautiful babies.
