Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Our gazes stay latched, even as our lips break apart, and I ask, “Who wants to hold him first?”
“Let Banks,” Akara says.
Banks nods, and I’m already handing him our baby. He cradles him with ease, already having tons of practice. Akara smiles, “He looks just like you.”
Banks shakes his head, swaying a little with our son. “He has his mom’s beauty.”
When I’m sweaty and gross and exhausted, Banks manages to make me feel like a fucking goddess. I ease back into the love and the way Akara keeps brushing my sweaty hair out of my face. The stroke and rhythm relaxing every bit of me, and Banks passes the baby to Akara.
Kits can’t stop smiling—a smile that reaches and glitters his eyes tenfold.
The doctor and nurses have left to give us more alone-time with our newborn. But I glance over at the closed door. “Can someone go get him?”
Just as I say the words, I hear loudly outside the room, “Grammie Daisy, Grampie Rykie—can I see Mommy now?”
Banks calls out, “You can let him in!”
The door cracks open, and a little boy with black hair and a big smile that reaches and glitters his eyes suddenly races one-hundred-and-fifty miles per hour, no brakes, into the hospital room. “Daddy!”
He bounds straight for Banks.
We’re all smiling as our son playfully hides behind Banks’ legs. Banks scratches his head. “Anyone seen a little champ anywhere?”
He’s giggling.
Akara is in cahoots with our son. He puts his finger to his lips, “Shhh.”
“Shhh,” our son mimics back. “Dad, I’m quiet like a mouse.” He is a lot quieter now, and then Banks spins around. He squeals into full-bodied kid laughter.
Banks lifts him up onto his shoulders.
Born on April 7th, five years ago, Seven Kitsuwon Meadows loves being up high just as much as he loves his two dads. There was never a moment, never a day, where Banks wasn’t so much a part of his life and so influential in who he’s become. Banks says he surprised himself again—how well he took to fatherhood.
Akara wasn’t surprised at all.
Neither was I.
And though I never knew Akara’s dad, I know he’d be proud to see Akara thrive as a father. Teaching Seven how to snowboard and play little kid drums and pick himself up after a fall. The kind of father that creates new legacies and keeps old ones alive.
And me, I love being a mom. More than I ever thought I would. Sometimes the public might think I’m not the best mom in the world, but to Seven, I’m the greatest mom that ever lived.
“Mommy, why do you look so tired?” Seven asks me in concern. “Dad? Daddy?” He’s scared, and I pick myself up more against the bed.
Akara tells him, “She just brought your baby brother into the world.”
“She’s alright, champ,” Banks says.
“You want to see him?” I ask.
He nods, then grows much quieter seeing the baby in Akara’s hands. He places our newborn back on my chest. Banks lets our five-year-old down.
Seven crawls onto the bed beside me, and I watch Akara go to the windows. He peeks out of the blinds, and he slips Banks a cautious glance. Guns are holstered on their waistband, right next to radios. A mic cord runs behind their necks, earpieces in.
Paparazzi must be swarming the hospital. I let them worry about how the fuck we’re leaving.
“Gentle,” I breathe to our five-year-old. “He’s very fragile. He just took his first breath not too fucking long ago, okay?”
Seven hugs onto me first. “You’re not hurt, are you, Mommy?”
My fucking heart. “I’m okay.” I kiss the top of his head.
Seven has my eye color. Those pools of green look a little more tentative, which is strange for him. He has the Meadows’ thrill-seeking, fearless gene.
Inquisitively, he eyes the newborn who stretches out his hand and yawns.
“This is Blue Meadows,” I tell him, “your baby brother.”
Seven has tears in his eyes. “He’s so small.”
“What’d I say?” Banks smacks Akara’s chest, and we all laugh.
This wasn’t an accidental pregnancy. Blue Moretti Meadows was planned. We got pregnant not too long after I came home from the Summer Games in Athens last year.
My third time at the Olympics.
Banks and Akara return to the bed. They rest their palms on my shoulder, my hands, and we watch as Seven edges closer to our newborn.
He holds Blue’s little hand, and he whispers very quietly, “I’m your big brother, Blue. I’ll always take care of you.” He talks on about showing Blue his toy cars and playing with his cousins, and how much fun they’ll have together—and there isn’t a dry eye between the three of us.
We’re all crying.
Brotherhood—it’s a powerful thing. They know that well. Banks and Akara understand the love of brothers, some formed by time and duty, some formed by blood.
I wipe my face, and Banks and Akara kiss my wet cheeks. While we watch our sons meet, I smile more and more through the deep tidal wave of emotion that swells underneath us. That carries us forward. Onward.