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Before Violet can answer, another contraction hits. I move to her side, holding her arm as she bends at the waist, clutching her stomach and blowing out a succession of rapid hees and hoos.
When it passes, she looks up to me and Effie.
“Okay, you make a sound argument. Get me the drugs.”
After Effie administers the shot to Vi’s ass, she turns down the lights and moves to the door.
“Holler if you need anything.”
I slip into bed beside Violet, careful of the monitor wires and IV line. Her features are relaxed and relieved as the medication takes effect. She breathes easily and gazes up at me with adorably shiny eyes.
“I feel so much better.”
“I’m glad.”
“I mean, I can still feel the contractions—I think I’m having one right now! But ask me if I care, Connor. Ask me!”
I stroke her hair back, running my finger along her cheek, because I love her so much.
“Do you care that you’re having a contraction, Vi?”
“No! I can feel it, but it doesn’t bother me at all! Isn’t that great?”
“That’s super great.”
“Morphine is the best,” she sighs, blinking slow.
“That it is.”
I rest my hand on the hard, firm hill of her stomach.
After a quiet beat, Violet puts her hand over mine and asks, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking . . . how awesome it’s going to be to have two little girls around the house.”
Violet wanted to know the babies’ sex, because like she said all those months ago—she’s practical. And when you’ve got a double-decker on the way, it’s easier to get everything ready when you know what you’re having.
“I’m thinking,” I continue softly, “how I can’t wait to meet them. See what they’ll be like, what they look like.”
Vi strokes the side of my face.
“I hope they have your smile.”
“I hope they have your eyes,” I tell her. “But even if they come out with horns and tails they’re still going to be amazing . . . because they’re ours.”
“Yeah,” Violet’s mouth opens in a slow, deep yawn—then she sighs. “Ours.”
And I kiss her forehead.
“Go to sleep now, baby.”
Her eyes drag closed as she snuggles in closer.
“You’ll be here, right?”
“I’ll be right here with you the whole time. No place on earth I’d rather be.”
Fourteen hours later, the babies want to be here too. They’ve had enough of their tight living quarters—and they’re ready to get out. Quickly.
Violet opted for an epidural, that they gave her when she was seven centimeters dilated, and she’s progressed blessedly fast from there. We’re perfectly in sync: I know exactly what she needs before she says it. I’ve held her hand and counted her through the contractions, fed her ice chips. We’re a kick-ass team.
We always have been.
Vi collapses back on the pillows after the latest contraction passes, breathing hard.
“It’s ridiculous that this is so hard!” She glances down to her lap. “I mean, they don’t even have to go that far—it’s like a couple inches at most.”
I wipe her forehead with a cool damp cloth.
“You’re doing so good, Violet. They’re almost here.”
“Okay, Violet,” Natasha says from down between her legs. “Big push on this next contraction, okay? Here it comes.”
Vi nods and lifts back up, grasping one of my hands in a death grip while I use the other to hold up her leg.
And then she’s bearing down, her face focused and pinched, using all her strength to bring our children into the world.
“That’s it, Violet,” I coach her. “That’s it.”
And a moment later, a piercing cry tears through the room.
No matter how many times you hear that sound, it’s never not incredible. Miraculous.
I look down to see the squirming, wet, beautiful bundle.
Our daughter.
“She’s here, Violet!” I kiss her hair, laughing as my vision blurs. “She’s here and she’s perfect.”
Natasha places her on Violet’s stomach. We hold onto her together, my wife resting back against the pillow for just a moment, smiling down with exhausted eyes. Crying and laughing all at once.
And then another contraction builds. The nurses take the baby and I wipe the tears from Violet’s face, helping her to sit up. Two more pushes later, our second daughter comes into the world.
And she’s every bit as breathtaking as the first.
Later, after everyone has been assessed and cleaned up, Violet sits up in the bed, her arms propped on pillows, cradling both babies. I lie beside her, my arms around her, staring down at two identical sets of perfect little lips and noses, and ten tiny fingers each.
Violet raises her eyes to mine. “Look at what we did, Connor.”
“Yeah,” I say reverently. “Look at what we did.”
It always takes you off-guard—the way your heart expands, the instantaneous, overwhelming love that swallows you whole.
“So what do you think?” I ask Violet.
Because we already have two names picked out, but we wanted to wait until they were born to see which name was a better fit for which baby.
