Postpartum anxiety consumed me for months after they were born. My brain conjured up danger at every weird noise. Every creak of the house. I checked their breathing religiously. Melted down if they slept longer than expected.
Pregnancy drummed up a lot of old emotions. Then, suddenly, I was in charge of two small lives in the midst of shaking off shadows of my past. I kept guard over them the way no one ever kept guard over me, afraid my childhood might slip through the cracks and touch them.
Liam and I have been each other’s rocks. As I helped him navigate his relationship with Rory, he contacted my old therapist for a referral. The right drug cocktail helped. The fog has thinned. My hormones leveled out. I’m able to be present with my babies without shaking from unfounded terror.
I breathe easier now and love being a mother more than I ever dreamed possible. The mess. Their weight against my chest. Every sticky kiss.
My body on the other hand? Not so much. My curves are different. Softer. Squishier. I’m heavy in places I never expected. I can’t seem to be bothered with any sort of fitness routine.
Liam assures me he loves the way I look. Linus, when he’s home, still adores me like a religion he invented. While I’m happy they’re both still attracted to me, it’s time for me to get ready to step back into the spotlight. Even if the thought of leaving my daughters is unfathomable.
The guilt sits low and constant, wanting to be home with our girls instead of getting back to work. Liam’s chomping at the bit to be on stage again. Spends hours working on music in our makeshift recording studio after the girls areasleep. Traveled with Padraig last month to an award show and came back raring to go.
I can’t fault him for getting back into the groove. Over the past year since the twins were born, he’s been incredible. Hands-on, steady, shoulder to shoulder with me every sleepless night. We’ve been together for every bottle, every fever, every first. The rhythm of our days is shaped around their needs, their laughter, their cries.
It’s changed us.
We’re a true triad now. Linus and I had our years alone, Linus and Liam had theirs. Now, Liam and I have sealed our side of the triangle.
Today, Linus is coming home in time for the twins' first birthday. We’re so ready to have him back.
He opens the front door and lets his suitcase fall against the wall with a soft thud. The sound of his voice sends Sloane squealing across the room. Quinn freezes mid-squack, eyes wide with recognition. He’s already on the rug before I can stand, scooping them both into his lap, covering their cheeks in kisses until they’re shrieking with laughter.
Then he turns to me. Pulls me close until our foreheads touch, his breath warm against my skin. The second his hands find my waist, I feel his relief at him being home.
Also, something deeper. Hungrier.
Liam stoops down and kisses him, like he’s grounding all of us.
“We missed you.” He nuzzles his beard.
Linus’s hand finds the small of his back. “I felt it. Every minute.”
He misses us more than he lets on. I see it in the way his messages get longer the later it gets, when the hotel curtains are drawn. He longs for our quiet intimacy, laughter in the kitchen, sex in person instead of watching me and Liam fuck to get him off.
Life now is far from the steadiness of when the three of us did everything together.
The thing is, Isis Management exploded. Every artist he signs turns to gold. He’s building an empire, and it’s beautiful to watch. On the down side, Linus knows the Delta first class lounge menu by heart. Remembers which flight attendants will sneak him biscuits and what airports have the best espresso.
He sends us videos from green rooms and side-stage corridors, eyes tired, promising, “Next month will be quieter.”
It never is.
He tries. God, he tries. Overcorrects with too many gifts for the girls. Never misses a FaceTime call with them. Puts way too much pressure on himself.
Linus is always afraid of not being enough, even when he’s already everything.
Every time he comes home to us, his whole body radiates with tension. Urgency. A need to re-anchor. He’s wired. Overstimulated. Rather than rest and have some downtime with his daughters, he wants to immediately integrate into our routine.
We try to keep him involved, but he always feels disconnected from raising his kids. Our sex life. Liam’s reunion with his family. All of the day-to-day activities.
To cope, we’ve been seeing a relationship therapist to navigate this stage of our life. It’s like everything else. We hit a wall, then build a door. Slam into another, then build stairs. We’re learning by bruises and patience. Find tools to communicate before and after fights. Make commitments not to gang up on each other. Hold space for each other’s insecurities and fears.
We’re inventing the rules. There’s no manual for a life built by three hearts.
Today, we’re meeting with a colleague of my family friend, Marcella Delgado, who helped LTZ guitarist, Zane Rocks’fiancée gain full custody of her daughter in a bitter dispute and specializes in complicated family structures.
We’re finalizing all of the paperwork to legally protect each of our parental rights with the girls and with each other.
