I'm in the nursery staring at the single crib we assembled last week with such pride. Now it looks ridiculous. Like showing up to a gunfight with one bullet.
Emma appears in the doorway, still clutching the ultrasound photos.
"We need another crib," she says.
"Already ordered. Arrives Wednesday."
"What about the car seats?"
"Ordered two. At 3 AM."
She blinks. "You were up at 3 AM ordering baby furniture?"
"I was up at 3 AM having an existential crisis about spatial logistics. Ordering furniture was therapeutic."
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"This is fatherhood."
She walks to the crib, running her hand along the rail. "Do you think they'll fit? In here? Two cribs, two car seats, two of everything?"
I pull out my phone, showing her the nursery layout I've been revising. "I measured. If we angle the cribs like this and move the changing table here, we can fit everything with approximately six inches of clearance."
"Six inches."
"It's very efficient."
"It's claustrophobic."
"It's what we have." I zoom in on the layout. "Unless you want to convert the guest room too."
"For what?"
"Storage. Supplies. A place to hide when we're overwhelmed."
She starts laughing. Not gentle laughter. The slightly hysterical kind that comes from shock and sleep deprivation and realizing your life just became exponentially more complicated.
I start laughing too, because apparently that's contagious.
We're standing in the half-painted nursery laughing like maniacs while holding ultrasound pictures of our twins.
"We're losing it," Emma manages.
"Completely lost it."
"I need food," she announces suddenly. "Comfort food. Something terrible for me."
"Pickles?"
"Besides pickles. I want pizza. With extra cheese. And maybe ice cream after."
"That's very specific."
"I'm eating for three now. I can be specific."
We order pizza—extra cheese, pepperoni, all the things Dr. Martinez would probably frown at but we're having a crisisso nutritional guidelines can wait. While we wait for delivery, Emma spreads out all the ultrasound photos on the coffee table like she's conducting an investigation.
"Look at them," she says, pointing at the grainy images. "Two tiny humans. Just hanging out in there."
