Page 124 of A Really Bad Idea

“His favorite uncle,” he says with his hands in the air and body walking to the side.

I roll my eyes and move alongside him in unison. “His only uncle.”

“Nuance,” he teases, getting his fourth star and securing his win in the game.

I’m breathless as I hand the controller to Aiden and motion toward Christian, who didn’t break a sweat. “Think you can best him?”

“I’m only eight, and he’s a hundred. Of course I can kick his butt.” My nephew is smug as he takes a spot in front of the television and looks for a hip-hop song. He knows it’s Christian’s least favorite, and therefore, it’s Aiden’s best shot of winning.

Footsteps on the stairwell have me looking in that direction as Beth comes down with a baby monitor in her hand. She shakes her head as she sees the four of us in the basement, playing games, as usual.

Looking at the screen, she sees Christian won the game. “You could let her win every once in a while.”

His full lips creep into a wicked smile. “And miss out on this pout?” He grabs my chin and pulls me in for a kiss.

Dylan and Aiden let out noises of disgust, making me smile into his kiss.

“Never.”

Beth holds up her cashmere-clad arm and gives Christian the baby monitor. “Enjoy your sweet moment because your daughter is up.”

“Which one?” we ask in unison and then look at each other with a laugh.

We still can’t believe we have twin girls.

“Lucy,” she says.

Christian looks at the monitor and hits the button to look into the other crib. His face lights up with a gleaming smile. “Looks like her sister is up, too.”

“Let’s go get our girls,” I say.

Christian and I walk upstairs to the second floor of Beth and Brian’s house.

When my brother finally convinced his wife not to have a third child, Christian and I had just found out we were expecting two of our own. Beth immediately turned her fourth bedroom into a nursery for her nieces, ensuring Christian and me that the girls would have a place to feel at home.

“Hey, sweet girl,” I say as I pick up little Lucy from where she’s lying in her crib, babbling at her mobile of stars.

She has blue eyes and the tiniest smattering of blonde hair. When I pick her up, her head falls to my shoulder, and she starts sucking on my neck.

“Someone’s hungry.”

“I think this little bean is, too.” Christian is holding Abigail with his pinkie against her lips as she sucks sweetly. Like her sister, she has blue eyes, but she has a full head of brown hair.

Our fraternal miracles came to us just four months ago, and they’ve been an absolute blessing.

After a few months of trying on our own, Christian and I had a visit with Dr. Abbot. Turns out, Christian has decreased sperm mobility, and his boys needed a little help. He’s not embarrassed, as I would have thought he’d be. In fact, my lover-of-all-things-medical husband was fascinated by the process and even asked if he could watch the embryo transfer. He was there for every sonogram and appointment, even delivering the girls himself in the hospital room—with the assistant of an actual OB, of course.

Baby A was born at seven fifty-two in the morning. Five pounds, five ounces and eighteen inches long. Lucy Beth Gallagher is named after Christian’s mom, Lucille, with a nod to my sister-in-law. She looks like me with light eyes and her daddy’s dimples.

Baby B came three minutes later and two ounces less. Abigail Duvane Gallagher is named after my mom. She gives me grief about not naming her Gail, but I liked Abigail so much more. She looks like me, too, without the dimples and has her dad’s hair. A lot of it, too.

“I’ll nurse Lucy, and you can give Abigail a bottle.” I kiss my husband.

Then, I sit in the rocker with my baby girl in my arms and nurse her. I wanted to exclusively breastfeed my girls for the first year, but I found it wasn’t the right fit for our family.

I was relieved when Christian asked me last month why I wasn’t using formula. He had walked in at four in the morning after coming home from an emergency call to the hospital. I was in our room with both girls and a mess of tears. I was tired and felt like a total failure because I just wanted to sleep, and Lucy was hungry.

He suggested alternating between breast and formula, and it was like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I’ve enjoyed the small bit of freedom, and he’s been loving the one-on-one time when he gets to feed them.