When Roland transferred him into my arms, I once again teared up. With one eye open, he eyeballed me almost suspiciously. “Hi there, sweetheart.”
His response was to poke his tongue out at me. “You know, your arrival today has set the bar pretty high for future Christmas presents.” I grinned down at him. “But I can imagine you’re going to be the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you?”
“Have you guys decided on a name yet?” Keira tentatively asked.
I glanced back at Rhys, and he nodded. “Samuel Rhys, and we’re going to call him Sam.”
Keira smiled. “I like that.”
“Yeah, I think it suits him,” Roland added.
“What about you? Do you like your name?” Sam responded by letting out a giant yawn. “I’ll take that as an undecided.”
Cradling Sam to my chest, I closed my eyes as I felt Rhys at my side. In that moment, we were truly a family. It was the most amazing Christmas gift I’d ever receive.
Rhys
With a contented sigh, I watched as the first amber rays of sun streaked across the sky. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a sunrise. I’d sure as hell never considered myself a morning person, especially in the last decade as a member of a touring band. As far as seeing the sunrise on Christmas morning, the last time that had happened was when I was a kid and couldn’t contain my excitement of seeing what Santa had brought.
A slight whimper from the bassinet had me whirling around and crossing the room. Gazing down at my sleeping son sent a sense of peace spreading through me that I’d never known existed. I’d spent the last two hours just staring at him, trying to memorize every aspect of his tiny features. After Allison had taken the first part of the night with him, I’d volunteered for the second shift.
Shortly after one this morning, we’d commandeered the hospital’s VIP suite. It was tucked away in a somewhat private alcove at the far end of the maternity ward. It was vaguely familiar to me since Mia had given birth there too.
I’d felt a pang of regret when we’d left Keira and Roland. Although she continuously reassured us that it was fine and the right thing to do, I felt like a bastard when we took Sam away. He was barely an hour old, and even though Allison was to be his mother, it still felt wrong tearing him away from Keira. Adoption guilt was a real bitch. It was a subject that had been broached to us when we did pre-birth counseling. Of course, it was one thing to hear about something and then an entirely different thing to experience it.
As Allison snored faintly, I hunkered down in the rocking chair beside the bassinet. While Sam continued snoozing in dreamland, I began texting the guys the news, along with a slew of pictures. Considering they all had young children, I knew in spite of how early it was, they were probably involved in Christmas hoopla at their houses. As their congratulations started rolling in, I’m pretty sure I had the goofiest smile on my face.
At a grunt and then snuffle from Sam, I slid my phone into my pocket. Peering over the side of the bassinet, I watched as he flailed his tiny fists and stretched out his legs. Just before he could let loose with a wail that might wake Allison, I scooped him up and nestled him against my chest. “What is it, Little Man? Are you hungry?”
In yet another act of absolute selflessness, Keira had pumped a few ounces of breastmilk sometime during the night. A nurse had brought it in just after Allison had gone to sleep. After fielding the bottle from the mini-fridge, I sat back down in the rocker. I debated waking Allison up since I knew she would probably want to give him his first bottle. But considering how peaceful she looked, I decided to let her get her rest.
As I rocked Sam, I couldn’t help feeling amazed at how much I felt bonded to him. It certainly was surprising considering how much I’d worried about my ability to be a father. But I felt absolutely in sync with Sam. When I shifted him to my shoulder to try to burp him, my mind went to my own father. While last night and this morning had been filled with calls and texts to everyone else in our lives, I had yet to call my parents.
After easing Sam back into the crook of my arm, I dug my phone out of my pocket. I probably stared at the screen for five minutes before I lifted the phone and took a picture of Sam in my arms. Then I sent a message to both my parents’ phones:
Samuel Rhys McGowan
8lbs, 9oz
21 inches
December 25th
Once the text had been sent, I started to put my phone back into my pocket when it dinged. Fully expecting it to be one of the guys, I did a double take when the response was from my father. Congratulations on your beautiful, healthy son. Merry Christmas, Father. Hope to see him in Savannah soon.
For a moment, I fought to breathe. I hadn’t expected a response. I’d wanted to be the bigger person by messaging them. Of course, they wouldn’t drop their plans to make the trip up to see their new grandson. But the fact they wanted to see him period was a development. I didn’t hold out hope they would magically become better people—that somehow by becoming grandparents it would erase the pain of the past. They still preferred to keep Ellie in a group home, rather than allowing her to live with them. That would always wound me regardless of how they moved forward in our relationship.
The next two hours were a flurry of activity with the nurses coming in to do vital signs as well as the pediatrician on call coming in. Somehow through all the craziness, Allison continued sleeping soundly. I was glad she was getting good rest. She was going to need it. We both were.
When she started stirring just before eleven, I climbed into the bed with her. “Merry Christmas, Mama,” I whispered into Allison’s ear.
With a drowsy smile on her face, she replied, “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
I grinned down at her. “You know what I was just thinking?”
“That even though you didn’t actually give birth, you can physically feel like you were hit by a bus?” she questioned.
I laughed. “No. I was thinking that never in a million years would we have thought last year that we’d be parents this Christmas.”