“Duh.”
“Thought so.” Luke smiles as Parker swoops Calliope into his arms.
Rosemary stirs in mine, so I rock her gently. With a sweet baby smile, she stretches out one chubby hand to reach for her daddy.
“I think they’re ready to trade again,” I murmur.
“You’re right.” He jiggles Laurel against his chest. “She wants the parent with lunch in her bra.”
As I stifle a giggle, we seamlessly swap who’s holding which baby. Luke holds up Rose, covertly sniffing her backside. “I’m sensing a diaper change in the very near future.”
“Again?” Our little girl lets out a flatulent burst that cues up the recessional march.
Our daughters might look identical, but in the six months since their birth, we’ve realized these twins are polar opposites. When Rosemary wants sleep, Laurel’s ready to eat. When she wants to be rocked, Rose would prefer to be still.
But the girls love each other, and sleep nestled on opposite ends of the same crib. We tried starting them out in their own beds but discovered they wail like sirens when separated.
“It’s safe for them to share at this stage,” Molly assured me when I asked. She checked to make sure their crib mattresses were sufficiently firm and their bedding arranged to eliminate smothering risk. “Some babies just feel happier knowing someone they love is close by.”
Now, as I glance at my husband, I get it.
That’s right—husband.
We staged our wedding the same day Luke proposed, not wanting to wait to make it official. While we legally couldn’t tie the knot until we went to the courthouse and filed for the license, I’ll always think of that sweet little hospital chapel as the spot we officially got married.
We’re not very graceful as we get to our feet and start making our exit. Juggling blankets and babies and burp cloths, we watch the wedding party file to the front of the church. The beaming bride and groom sail past, with their own baby snug in an antique buggy decked out in sea green and salmon pink streamers. We trade smiles with Parker and Callie, then with Jake and Cassidy two rows behind us. Their little girl rests snug in a baby Bjorn strapped to her proud daddy’s chest.
And there’s Peter and Lucy beside them. She’s not showing yet, but the first round of IVF worked in their favor. Peter beams proudly, resting a hand at the small of her back as Harper applauds by his side. “Way to go, Uncle Parker,” she shouts as the bride and groom pass. “Hi, Aunt Callie!”
Laughing, Calliope high fives her niece as they march down the aisle with Cal on their heels. He’s Parker’s best man, and he’s beaming at Zoe, who stands at the end of an aisle. Her medical issues meant biological babies weren’t in the cards for them, but they’ve just been approved to foster a three-year-old boy.
Kaleb and Brooke—parked at the edge of the next row—have decided to hold off on starting a family for now. And there’s Mason and Erika, smiling and happy and not even sure if they want kids at all. Maybe just the four-legged kind.
There’s room for all sorts of families in our orbit.
“Need any help, Hazel?” Newly fifteen, Harper hustles over with the hope of a kid saving to buy her first car. “I can change diapers if you want.”
“That’d be great.” Luke hands over Rosemary. “Hang on—might as well check both of them.”
As my husband unfolds our portable stroller, Harper coos at her sweet little cousin. “Hi, baby. I’m not sure which one you are, but I’ll know in a second when I see if you have a little pink birthmark on your butt.”
Laughing, I load Laurel into the stroller. “Thanks, Harper. Please add this to our tally.”
“Obviously.” Blowing a kiss, she wheels our twin girls toward the room that’s been set up for all manner of baby needs.
Harper’s been given a generous stipend for serving as a parental helper on this long wedding weekend. With help from her ex-lawyer stepdad, she negotiated terms that secured her a bonus for each diaper she changes.
“Smart kid,” Luke murmurs as she wheels them away. “They probably don’t even need changing. She’ll just do it for the extra cash.”
“Money well spent.” Looping my arm through his, I let Luke lead us toward the reception hall. “Before I forget, Dad wants to switch your next chess game to Thursday. I told him I’d ask you.”
“That should work.” Luke checks his watch. “It’s too late to call and request a visitation change. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“No rush.” I just love that my father and husband have become prison pals. It took some grudging concessions from both men at first. Luke’s still not a fan of the crimes my father committed to land behind bars. My father may never believe any man’s good enough for his little girl.
But one thing they agree on is the merit of second chances.
“If you had to get married,” Dad grumbled when I told him, “I’m glad you didn’t end up with some pansy-ass pretty boy who’s never done an honest day’s work.”
