“Leo,” I hear quietly, and I turn to find my mom standing at the door. Without a word, I stalk toward her, and she opens her arms. I cling to her for a moment, needing the support more than I realized. “I know. It’s going to be okay. Don’t let your brain get ahead of your heart.”
“I’m scared,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper.
“That is a very acceptable feeling to have right now. Put your trust in Doctor Morales. We’ve trusted her with so many of our family members, and she’s yet to let us down,” Mom says softly, her voice soothing me perfectly.
“It’s hard for me to trust others when it involves my heart,” I blurt out. Throughout the entirety of Ella’s pregnancy, I’ve consistently worked with my therapist to combat the negative self-talk I’d gotten into using as a defense mechanism. Ella attended quite a few sessions with me, to work on our communication, and to bring as much closure as possible for our breakup from years ago. I feel stronger today than I ever have, and I think it’s a combination of Josh’s therapy and Ella’s love that have made me the man that I am. Do I still feel a sense of guilt over the soldiers I lost in Afghanistan? Absolutely. That’ll probably never go away. But consistent therapy, as well as connecting with other veterans in Sebastian’s Rocky Mountain Range Riders Motorcycle Club, have allowed me to find some semblance of peace. The guys at RMRRMC have helped me to see that my guys in Afghanistan wouldn’t have held me accountable for what happened. They encouraged me to reach out to every surviving soldier, and I did. Each man confirmed that what happened wasn’t my fault. I’ll still grieve the lives lost, and feel pain for the families that had a part of their hearts die off that day. But I no longer allow it to control my life.
“I’m so proud of you,polpettino,” she whispers. Yes, on occasion, my mother calls me her little meatball. She has given all of my siblings nicknames. She calls Gianna herpatatina, which means little potato. Most of the others got cute nicknames, whereas we are basically what she craved during pregnancy.
“Leo? You can come back now. Doctor Morales is ready to make the first incision,” the nurse calls from the hallway.
“Go,” Mom says, squeezing my arms. “I’ll be right here. Give Ella a kiss from me. And for what it’s worth, I think it’s a girl.”
I nod, then dash after the nurse. She takes me first to a sink,having me scrub from my fingertips to my elbows, then I’m putting on a mask, and escorted to Ella’s side. She turns her head once I’m seated, a peaceful smile on her face. “They gave me more drugs.”
“That’s good, baby.” I chuckle. Her eyes lose focus as her head turns to stare at the ceiling, but I’m laser focused on everything going on around us. An anesthesiologist monitors Ella’s vitals from behind her head, while two nurses get a warming station ready. Before I know it, Doctor Morales announces she’s about to cut into the amniotic sac.
“Any last guesses on gender and weight?” she asks.
“I said boy and eight pounds even,” Ella murmurs.
Another nurse says nine pounds, while the anesthesiologist says eight and a half pounds and boy. I’d told Ella all along I thought it was a boy, but I change my answer. “Girl, seven pounds, twelve ounces.”
Absolutely no clue where I get those numbers. I don’t even know what the average weight is for a baby at forty-one weeks. Maybe I’m too low? Who knows.
An ear-piercing and shrill cry fills the air, and it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Doctor Morales looks over the sheet at me. “Well, Dad? Want to come and cut your daughter’s cord?”
Holy shit. I have another daughter. I nod, unable to speak, and stand on shaky legs as I step toward the obstetrician. I’m given a set of scissors, told to expect it to feel more rubbery than I think it will, and then I’m cutting through it. I watch as the nurse whisks my daughter away to the warming table, where she’s suctioned, wiped off, and officially weighed.
“What’s the weight?” Doctor Morales calls out, and I find I’m still standing next to the table.
“I don’t know how he did it, but Dad was spot on. Seven pounds, twelve ounces,” a nurse replies.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Doctor Morales says with a laugh, as she works on Ella’s abdomen. “You missed your calling, Leo.”
I turn to Ella, dropping back into my seat, then pull my mask down so I can kiss her. “It’s a girl, baby. We have another daughter.”
“I’m so happy,” she sighs. “Penises scare me.”
Honestly, that’s fair. Every single one of my nephews has peed on me more than once.
“Dad?” A nurse motions for me. “Want to come hold your daughter?”
I eagerly go to where my girl is bundled up in a blanket, hat with a big pink bow on her head, and gingerly scoop her up. Wow. “This is surreal.”
“Come on,” the nurse says, grabbing me by the arm. “Go introduce her to her momma.”
Once I’m seated by Ella again, I hold our daughter by Ella’s face. Ella whispers to the baby, but I don’t lean forward. I want this moment to be about them. When Ella’s gaze meets mine, I smile. “What shall we name her?”
“I was thinking since we already have a Violet, that we name her Rose,” Ella says softly, her eyes darting down at the beauty in my arms. “And if it’s okay with you, I’d like her middle name to be Twyla. After my mom.”
“I think Rose Twyla is perfect,” I say hoarsely, my eyes shining with emotion. As if she knows we’re talking about her, Rose opens her eyes. “Hello, my sweet Rose. Mypiccolacoccinella.”
“What is that?” Ella asks.
I gaze adoringly at the love of my life. “It means my little ladybug.”
“Ba-ba,” Violet says, pointing atRose.
