Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Noah.” My voice is hoarse. My throat is dry from the meds. I clear away the roughness and say his name again. I’m about to say it for a third time when I stop myself. He’s sleeping and whomever he’s holding, is sleeping as well. The book says never to wake a sleeping baby unless you’re trying to get them onto a different schedule.
I press the arrow on the control and raise the head portion of my bed. The noise doesn’t wake him and while I am thankful, I’m sort of not. I want to hold the baby and bond with my child. My options are limited. I can’t get out of bed without help and I don’t want to yell. So, I stare at my husband and wait for him to wake.
And I wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
Finally, he stirs and that’s when I see it—the pink hat. My heart zings and races while my throat tightens with emotions. I yearn for her, to see and touch her. To have her with me. I want to nurse and develop a connection with her. The boys as well, but it’ll be days before I can hold them. It should’ve been days before Noah could hold her.
“Noah,” I say again, but this time louder. He opens his eyes and a slow, sexy grin spreads across his face.
“Hey, babe.” He stands and his gray sweatpants sag a bit. I’m thankful it’s just us in the room. He comes toward me, his large hand holding our daughter to his chest. She’s so tiny compared to him. He’ll have no problem holding all three babies at the same time, where I know I’m going to struggle. Tears spill over, wetting my cheeks. Noah by my side instantly.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Noah sits in the chair next to my bed. I want him next to me, on this same mattress but I can’t move, not without assistance at least.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “So many emotions.” I wave my hands in front of my face, trying to quell the tears.
“Do you want to hold her?”
I nod furiously and hold my hands out for her. Noah sets our daughter in my arms, and he works to cover her up. “Hi,” I say quietly as my mind works through a barrage of emotions. She’s . . . everything. I choke back a sob as I take in her dark hair, button nose, and puffy cheeks. Her fingers are itty bitty and she’s light as a feather. My finger trails down the side of her face and I swear her cheek lifts in a smile. It’s probably my imagination, but I’m going to let it run and believe my daughter smiled at me.
“We were doing the skin-on-skin bonding,” Noah says as he stands next to me. “You should do it.”
I nod and he unsnaps my nightgown, exposing me. His hands guide her to my chest. At first, I shiver and then it’s like a flood of heat and energy washes through me and into her. Another wave of emotion washes over me when I feel her heart thump against my chest. It’s hard to describe and I can only liken it to fulfillment. I’m meant to be a mother. I feel that deep in my bones.
“She’s so tiny.”
“She’s strong and mighty,” Noah says. “Very strong. Already breathing on her own.”
“The boys?”
“They’re thriving. They’re with our dads right now. Our parents are taking shifts.”
“Are they going to be okay?”
“They’re already perfect, Peyton. Nothing out of the ordinary. The steroid shot worked. Their lungs are fully developed. You did your job as their mama. Now the staff here will do theirs.”
“I want to hold them.”
“You can, in the morning,” he tells me. “We’ll go down to the unit and spend the morning with our babies, as a family.”
“We need to name them,” I say as I nuzzle my daughter’s head.
“I know. I brought our list.”
I look at Noah. He leans down and kisses me. “We’re parents.”
“I know,” he says with a smile. “Of three. We definitely don’t do things the easy way.”
“Easy is boring.”
There’s a light knock on the door and a nurse comes in. “Hi,” she says quietly. “I’ve come to take baby girl Westbury back to her brothers.”
“Oh?” I don’t move a muscle to let my daughter go.
“Only for monitoring and bonding. We like to keep multiples together. They flourish better,” she says.
I look at Noah, with unshed tears. “Just until the morning,” he says as he takes her from me. He sets our daughter into the cradle and the nurse closes the top. I sob quietly as she takes her out of the room.
“It’s for her well-being,” Noah says as he sits next to me. “They’ll feed and change her and put her back in the incubator with her brothers. And in the morning, we’ll have breakfast and then spend the morning with them.”