I look over the drape and see her—tiny, so tiny she doesn’t look real. She’s got dark hair, splotchy skin covered in a mess of bodily fluids, screaming. Tears sting the backs of my eyes.
Megan’s crying, full-on sobbing, when she sees her. “Aww! Is she okay?”
“She looks great,” a nurse says.
They carry her to one of the tables with a light overhead and I watch as they clean her up, check her over.
Less than two minutes later there’s another cry, louder than the first.
“And here’s baby number two!” Dr. Harmon laughs. “Two fourteen a.m.”
And I can’t breathe. Can’t wrap my head around it. That just like that, they’re here.
Megan’s sobbing harder now, and I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers.
“They’re here,” I whisper. “They’re both here.”
“Go with them,” she says, voice shaking.
“You sure?”
She nods, tears streaming into her hair. “Yeah. Go.”
I kiss her forehead quickly and stand, moving toward the warming tables where both our daughters are being weighed, measured, checked.
The nurse looks up at me. “You want to hold one?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. She wraps the first baby in a pink blanket and places her in my arms.
She’s so small. So warm. Her little face is scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in protest.
I look down at her, and my chest cracks wide open.
“Hey,” I whisper, bringing her close. “Hi, Peanut.”
She keeps crying.
The nurse smiles. “She’s five pounds, three ounces. Perfectly healthy.”
I can’t stop staring at her.
Can’t stop the tears running down my face behind the mask.
“Dad, you want to bring her over to Mom?” another nurse asks gently.
I nod and walk carefully back to Megan, cradling the baby like she’s made of glass.
Megan’s eyes light up when she sees us. “Oh my gosh.”
I lean down so she can see her, pressing her cheek against Megan’s.
“She’s perfect,” Megan breathes. “Mason, she’s perfect.”
“I know.”
The other nurse brings the second baby over, wrapped and starting to calm, and places her in my other arm.
Both of them start to settle and I relax slightly. Megan and I look at the both of them, tears in our eyes, just staring from one little face to the other. Like we can’t believe there were actually two babies in there.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I whisper in Megan’s ear, and kiss her cheek.
She laughs through her tears. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Dr. Harmon’s voice sounds from behind the drape. “We’re almost done here, Megan. You’re doing great.”
But I barely hear her. Because I’m looking at my wife. And our two daughters. And realizing that everything just changed.
Nothing crazy. Just the life we prayed for…showing up all at once.
