“He looked so disappointed, Mom,” Sky added, pushing her lips out in an exaggerated pout. “Like a golden retriever who’d been told there would be no walkies.”
“Well, other than when she was a newborn, your sister’s never been much of a morning person. God help any man who gets in the way of her sleep.”
Addie clinked her mug against mine in agreement. “Hear, hear.”
“Speaking of newborns…” Sky tapped her phone screen before sighing. “Come on, baby Riggs. We’d like to go to sleep sometime tonight.”
Dane had texted just after seven o’clock to let us know that Piper’s water had broken in the middle of Christmas Eve dinner and that they were on their way to the hospital.
I scrolled through the updates, checking the timestamps to gauge her progress. “Let’s see. She was dilated to a six a couple of hours ago, so it could be any time now. Second babies don’t typically take as long as first ones.”
“Or could be hours still,” Addie said, ever the practical one.
“Poor Piper,” Sky murmured, wincing. “I can’t even imagine.”
“It’s totally worth it, though,” I said automatically, before pausing to reconsider.
Because was it? The question felt blasphemous, the kind of thing Good Mothers weren’t supposed to think, let alone say out loud.
The girls both looked at me, waiting for me to finish the thought.
“I mean, obviously it’s worth it,” I added. “But the process itself? Labor and delivery, and the complete destruction of your pelvic floor? That part’s awful, and anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something.”
“Yeah, no thanks. I like my coochie intact,” Sky said with the kind of dramatic disdain only a twenty-two-year-old could muster.
“And that’s why you’ve gotta avoid those golden retriever ski bum mountain gods,” I deadpanned, causing her to spit out her hot chocolate in shock.
“Jesus, Mom! Warn a girl next time!”
Addie passed her a handful of napkins with a snort.
This was new territory for us—this easy banter, this comfort with saying things that weren’t perfectly curated.
Before, I would have given them the sanitized version. Would have told them that every moment of pain had been transcendent, that I’d never felt more connected to the universe than when I was pushing a human being out of my body.
Which was utter bullshit.
I’d felt connected to an epidural and a very sincere desire never to do it again.
“How did Dad do when you were in labor?” Addie asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
I laughed, remembering Teddy pacing the hospital room like a caged animal. “With your birth, he lost his shit when the anesthesiologist had trouble with the epidural and almost got himself thrown out for creatively describing exactly how he’d end him if he didn’t get it on the second try. Your grandfather had to physically remove him from the room.”
Sky snorted at the visual before squirting a mountain of whipped cream directlyinto her mouth.
“Took Poppy and three of the guys from the club to convince him that threatening medical staff wasn’t gonna make the process go any faster.” I smiled at the memory, remembering how mature we thought we were at twenty-six and twenty-eight and how completely unprepared we were for what parenthood would mean.
“But he came back, right?” Addie asked with a concerned expression.
A soft smile tugged at my lips. “Didn’t leave my side after that. Held my hand and told me I was doing great, even when I was definitely not doing great.”
We fell into comfortable silence, the only sounds the occasional notification from their phones and the steady thump of Teddy splitting logs out back for the fire.
Sky finished sending a text before leaning back in her chair. “So, what’s the plan, Mom?”
I finished swallowing the boozy chocolate in my mouth before asking, “For what, Christmas Day?”
“No, with you moving in with Dad,” Addie answered.
