Four Years Ago
This one is though:
My ob/gyn walks on water to get to her office. She sets all the stars in the sky every night when she’s not keeping unborn babies and moms intact.
When I told everyone in the hospital I felt good, that I could keep going another week, when I insisted that I would go another week, she was the one who took my hand and explained to me that my babies would be fine, but the preeclampsia would kill me.
She told me I could stop fighting now. Because I had won.
And she was right.
Jack was born first. He sang – from the minute he was born until they wheeled me into recovery, I listened to him sing out little breaths like a bird. Declan was born five minutes later. When he cried, I told them I could tell their voices apart. My anesthesiologist laughed and said, “Only the mother!” But my ob/gyn jumped in with, “Hey! I can tell them apart too!” After which we both gave him a good ribbing until I turned my head and lost the nothing that was in my stomach.
I swear, he turned up the morphine on purpose.
I held Declan first, before I got sick. I couldn’t believe he was real, was mine. My little Frick.
I didn’t see Jack, my little Frack, until hours later, after the ‘recovery’. I’d thought they were in the NICU. I was sure there was something wrong, there was a reason why the woman in the bed next to mine was allowed to have her baby, and mine were not there. But they were fine, their lungs fully developed thanks to the steroids.
Someone set Jack down next to me. And as I looked at him, I had the vertigo feeling that I was not looking at my baby but at myself. I was in two places at once, on both sides of a mirror that linked thirty-one years.
They turn four on the 17th. But I wanted to post this early, while I have the chance. They keep my busy, the little darlings. There isn’t much I accomplish in a timely fashion anymore.
That’s ok. The last time I was early, I won.