We have lived. We have lived through so much.
We have made this life our own, this strange family of ours.
Because family isn’t always defined by blood.
It’s defined by those who make us whole.
Those who make us who we are.
And here, now, is a moment I never thought I’d see. That I never thought I’d get to have.
A nurse says, “Would you like to hold your children?”
And Otter’s voice breaks when he says, “Please. Yes. Yes, please.”
There’s a blue bundle in her arms that she passes to him, oh so gently. There’s a little cry that comes from it, and Otter’s eyes are wide and wet, and he’s looking down at the life in his arms, and he says, “Hi. Hello. Hello there. I am so happy to meet you. I’m your daddy. You are the best thing in this whole wide world. And I promise you, we are going to love you with everything we have.”
And then he looks up at me and just smiles.
I think I’m in shock, because I don’t know what to do.
Then I hear, “Sir?”
Everything feels hazy as I look in the direction of the voice.
Another nurse is in front of me, and she’s got a similar bundle in her arms, except this one is pink.
“Are you ready?” she asks me kindly.
No. No, I’m not. I’m not ready for any of this.
But I don’t even care. I want this so goddamn bad.
I manage to make a noise that sounds like yes, my arms coming up mechanically.
Then there’s a weight placed in my arms, a heft, and I’m devastated by it, even as the nurse adjusts my forearm a little to support her head. It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever held before, and I’m struggling to breathe, heart stumbling in my chest, as I look down and for the first time, I see her.
My daughter.
She’s… wrinkled.
Like a hairless pug.
And she’s really red.
And her face is scrunched.
But she’s got this little hand with little fingers, and it raises up and bumps against my chin, and I don’t know that I’ve ever felt anything like it before. She’s got a few dark hairs on her head, matted down under a tiny pink cap, little tufts poking out, and her eyes are squinted shut, and she’s making these weird fucking noises like she’s broken, but it’s… it’s—
The first words I ever say to my daughter are, “I’m so glad you’re not still covered in gunk. I don’t think I could have handled you looking like a Halloween decoration.”
Goddammit.
Otter snorts and comes to stand beside me, and he looks over at the kid in my arms, and I look over at the one in his, and he looks the same, this little tiny blob of wrinkled skin, but he’s gorgeous, just like his sister.
“I make the best-looking children,” I tell Otter, sounding slightly hysterical.
“You did good,” he said, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek. His face is wet, but it’s still spectacular.