"I promise to give them love," I say, my voice firm and saturated with emotion I don’t intend to hide.
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We stay in the hospital for a full day. The doctors thoroughly examine the babies and say they’re both full-term. They’re a bit smaller since they’re twins, but completely healthy and cleared to go home.
There’s this one very particular, important moment when it’s time to feed them. Theo doesn’t offer to nurse them himself, he’s tactful about it, completely respecting that I want to be the one feeding the boys.
He does pump some colostrum though, and the hospital gives us a little feeding kit, a small flat bottle with two thin tubes coming out of it. With the help of a lactation specialist who shows us what to do, we place the babies on my chest while gently sliding the tiny tubes into the corners of their mouths. That way, along with a little bit of my milk, they also get Theo’s colostrum, which is so important for building their first immunity.
Theo promises that for the next few months, he’ll pump milk every day so I can feed the babies with both what I produce and what he provides, giving them an extra boost of calories.
It means a lot to me that Theo doesn’t try to take part in the experience directly. He doesn’t hold the babies, he doesn’t offer to change their diapers, doesn’t suggest what I should do. From the moment of their birth, I’m the only one handling them, and he gives me full space to bond. It’s strangely empowering, like my own birth into real parenthood.
About an hour after the delivery, Lake shows up at the hospital. He’s the same, never pushy, always gentle with his advice.
His guidance turns out to be essential during feeding. At first, I struggle a bit. The babies’ tiny mouths can’t latch deeplyenough, but Lake shows me a trick: he tells me to gently pinch and flatten the tip of my nipple before offering it to them. That way, they can latch much deeper, and feeding becomes completely painless.
Using the hospital’s precise scale, Snow and I even run a little experiment to see how much milk I’m actually producing. We weigh the babies before and after each feeding, and to my surprise, I’m making about 10 milliliters per breast, nearly half of a newborn’s daily portion on the very first day.
The realization hits me so hard it feels almost ecstatic. When Snow tells me the number, I can’t help but tear up. He sits down beside me and squeezes my hand firmly.
"You’re incredible, you know that?" he says softly. "I don’t think many omegas would go this far. You have my full respect, Summer. I know this isn’t easy for you."
I sniff, trying to steady my voice.
"It’s not, I won’t pretend it is. But it’s worth it. They’re worth it. Someone once told me babies are small for such a short time, and life is so long. On that scale, the sacrifice doesn’t seem that huge… actually, I don’t even see it as a sacrifice. It’s an investment."
Later that same day, we take care of all the formalities. Theo and Tim officially give up their parental rights and sign the necessary papers. Soon after, Snow and I are ready to take our babies home.
Lake, of course, helps us through everything, and Aiden and Jordan come too.
There’s this small moment when Lake hands Aiden the babies to hold, and I see strong emotion on the patriarch’s face. He’s usually in the background, living in the shadow of the bright star that Lake is in their home, with his quiet but supportive presence, yet right now his own feelings come through as he welcomes his grandchildren. Aiden’s a man wholoves family life, big families especially—well, he wouldn’t have eight kids otherwise—and he obviously truly cherishes every new addition. I can tell it won’t just be Lake spending time with the little ones. Aiden looks just as happy to have babies filling their house again.
In the meantime, I’m a bundle of nerves as we all pile into the car. I really feel like a brand-new parent, and I guess I am. That thought finally starts to sink in.
At home, during the first few days, I can’t take my eyes off the babies. I constantly want to be near them, to hold them, to watch them. I sometimes wake up in the night just to check if they are breathing! And of course, I nurse them often to stimulate milk production.
Jordan becomes our courier, bringing fresh milk from Theo every day.
Feeling like a broody hen, I build a big, soft nest where we all sleep together, and I notice that my usually restless sleep has calmed down completely. It’s like my body knows the babies are close and doesn’t want to move.
Wind and Wave are surprisingly peaceful.
I always imagined new parents getting completely wrecked in those first days, but that’s not true for us, probably because I don’t have to recover from childbirth myself, my body unharmed. I can focus fully on caring for the twins, and of course, I’m not doing it alone.
From dawn till night, Lake, Snow, Aiden, and Jordan are with me, always around, always ready to help with changing, bathing, or rocking them to sleep. The responsibilities are shared fairly, and I never once feel overwhelmed.
I can tell Snow is especially focused on making sure I rest properly, that I get moments to just sit quietly or swim in the pool and relax.
Feeding goes better and better every day. My milk supply keeps growing, and the babies are stimulating the glands effectively. After a while, I’m able to cover about two-thirds of their needs myself, with only one-third coming from Theo.
Dr. Nolan-Carter, who visits often to check the twins’ weight, calls it a realmiracle. He says that if I had just one baby, I’d be able to produce a full portion of milk for them, and that, in his words, is quite an achievement.
Snow constantly tells me how proud he is of me, and I know it’s not just to make me feel better.
Sometimes I catch him looking deeply touched, his eyes even seeming slightly glassy as he watches me nursing both babies.
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