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She hasn’t seen it before, and she doesn’t know much about football, but it’s impossible not to love Ted, and soon we’re both laughing at the antics of him and his team.
It’s the perfect thing to watch, and I know Angela’s right, and I’m going to cherish these last few hours alone with my wife. It’s like Christmas Eve. I feel excited, and I have butterflies, and I kinda do and don’t want Christmas Day to come.
Over the course of the next few hours, her contractions become more regular and closer together, between about six and ten minutes. The first few times, I pause the TV, but after that she waves a hand and said, “Nah, keep it going,” and even giggles halfway through the contraction.
It’s now after ten, and eventually she says she might try to doze for a bit. I leave her on the sofa and take the chair, and unsurprisingly it’s not long before I crash out.
I jerk awake sometime later, and discover I’m sitting across the chair, my head on the arm and my legs over the side, and Catie is leaning over me upside down, smiling. She kisses me, long and sweet, and I sigh and lift a hand to hold her there.
“What’s the time?” I ask eventually.
“Nearly one a.m.”
“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s good you got some sleep. I dozed for a bit, in between the contractions. But they’re lasting around forty-five seconds now and they’re five minutes apart, so I think maybe it’s time to get going.”
I stare at her, and slowly get up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Excited. Nervous. Petrified. Thrilled.” She laughs and hugs me. “Come on, Daddy.”
We change, check the bag that’s sitting by the door, and then head out to the Aston at around 1:30. She’s worried her waters might break in the car and insists on covering the seat with a rubbish bag and then a couple of towels. I let her fuss around, hoping it might relax her, and we finally head off to the hospital.
*
Dad rings me just after six a.m., with Mum listening in on the extension. Giving Catie a kiss, I walk out of the room and stroll down to the waiting room.
“How’s she doing?” he says.
I look out of the window. The sun’s not up yet, but the horizon is filled with a beautiful blush. “She’s in transition, nearly fully dilated. She’s had pethidine and nitrous oxide, but she’s managing without an epidural. I don’t know how women do it, Dad. She’s fucking amazing.”
“And are you all right?”
“I don’t know why everyone keeps asking me that. It’s not like I have to go through anything like what she’s going through.”
“Of course not, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t tough for guys. You feel so powerless to help. All you can do is hold her hand and dab her brow, and you feel so useless. But you’re not.”
“You’ve done so much for her,” Mum says. “Knowing you’re there with her will mean so much to her, Saxon. She knows she’s not alone. That’s more valuable than gold to her.”
“Thank you,” I say softly. “I’d better get back now. I’ll call you as soon as I have any news.”
“Take care and give her our love,” Dad says, and I end the call.
*
The next hour passes like a dream. I’ve hardly slept and I’m high on adrenaline. I get texts from Kip and Damon, from Titus, Huxley, Elizabeth, and Mack. Catie’s coping amazingly with her contractions, holding my hand, and not yelling at me once, even though I tell her to if it makes her feel better.
And then eventually, as the first rays of the sun flood the room, she begins to push.
*
The first twin is born thirty minutes later. And the second one follows twenty minutes after that. Both are a healthy weight and perfectly formed. And both have Catie’s beautiful red hair, and my mother’s startling blue eyes.
I have two sons. And a happy, exultant, wonderful, knackered, beautiful wife who I love with all my heart.
*
Catie
