Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Nope,” he says as he shakes his head. “As long as we call them something one, two, and three, we’ll be okay.”
“It’s Thing One,” I tell him.
“Nah, I’m sure that’s trademarked or something. We need to come up with our own moniker for them.”
“Elle says boy A is going to be a drummer.”
“He can be whatever he wants as long as he’s healthy.”
“They’re healthy,” I tell him. He wasn’t in town when I had to get the steroid shots to help their lungs develop before today. “Dr. Harmon is convinced they’re done cooking.”
“She would know, right?”
“She would.”
I’m so busy focusing on Noah, I don’t realize until I hear the sound of rushing horses echoing in the room.
“Those are some strong heartbeats,” Dr. Harmon says. “What do you say we go meet these three?”
Noah and I nod as my bed is pulled away from the wall and heading toward the door. I expect to see our immediate family, including Nick and the kids. But when I see Quinn, I start to cry. Elle told me not to expect him because of the tour.
“Quinn,” I cry out as I reach for him.
“Hey, kiddo. You didn’t think I’d miss your big moment, did you?”
“Elle said—”
“Sometimes I like to keep you in suspense.” Elle interrupts. “Now go have those babies because someone has to get back for his show tomorrow.”
Quinn rolls his eyes. “I’ll be here when you’re out. I’m not leaving until I’ve met my niece and nephews.”
“We’ll be back soon,” Noah says.
We continue down the hall. I’m taken into one room, while Noah follows a nurse into another. I look around in a panic and pause when I see three cradles in the corner, each with three nurses. They’re waiting for my babies. I close my eyes, afraid I’m about to hyperventilate if I watch what everyone is doing around me.
I smell Noah before I hear him. “Open your eyes,” he says.
He’s sitting next to me, dressed in a blue gown, but with a pink hat. “They had both colors. I couldn’t pick.”
“Are you ready for this?”
He nods.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything since I said I do.”
“Peyton, we’re going to start now,” Dr. Harmon says. I give her a nod and keep my eyes on my husband as he takes my hand and squeezes it.
30
NOAH
There’s a board or a wall of some type blocking Peyton’s view, which is a good thing. She doesn’t need to see what they’re doing to her body, and frankly, neither do I. When it’s time for me to cut the cord, I will, but I won’t be the father who will tell his children later in life that he watched their birth. I saw what a c-section looks like during some parenting class we took—that was more than enough for me.
I want to touch my wife, but I can’t. I spent five minutes with the nurse, scrubbing up so I could be in this room, I’m not about to jeopardize anything, especially with them cutting Peyton open.
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” she says right back.
C-sections are safe. I know this. I did the research, but there are instances where things can go wrong. To say I’m worried about Peyton would be an understatement. Her body has been through a lot, and I’m honestly surprised she was able to carry the triplets for as long as she has. She was diligent though and worked her ass off to protect them, to keep them growing inside of her as long as possible. Her moving to Beaumont was the smartest thing she could’ve done and I’m forever grateful to my parents for being there for her.
“Okay, Peyton,” Dr. Harmon says.
The next sound we hear is music to our ears. Crying fills the room and everyone seems happy to hear it.
“Baby boy A is out. Dad, do you want to do the honors?”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell my wife, longing to kiss her or squeeze her hand.
I move behind the screen, where Peyton can no longer see. The baby is tiny and won’t even take up the length of my arm. I do my best to keep my worries buried. We knew they’d be small, but knowing something and seeing it firsthand are entirely different. I want to hold him but the staff is busy making sure he’s perfect. I think he is because he’s my son. I look him over as if I’m the inspector general or something. Ten fingers and toes. Knobby knees, puffy cheeks, and kissable lips. He stretches, his tiny fists closed as the team wipe him down.
My throat seizes as tears stream down my face. I have a son. We have a son. We created a life and while I know there are two more coming, this guy is my first and will always hold a special place in my heart.