23. Tabby

TWENTY-THREE

TABBY

I cradled my newborn son in my arms, overwhelmed by a love deeper than any I’d known before. His tiny fingers curled around mine as he nursed, his eyelids fluttered open and closed, sleepy and comfortable with me. The past nine months of worry and anticipation had led to this perfect moment, this precious child who was wholly and completely mine.

After days of what I hadn’t realized were mild contractions, I’d waited as long as I could before I called Nate. He would have stayed home again with me, but I, quite frankly, didn’t want him around. He pecked and prodded at me, mother-henning me to utter exasperation.

And almost as if Frogger had been waiting for that exact moment, the Oh shit, these are real contractions came on immediately. Without Nate fawning over me, I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, took a bath, and tried to relax as much as I could since all the online advice said I wouldn’t be getting any rest once I went to the hospital.

When I finally did call Nate, he went off on such a long-winded tangent, he arrived home still shouting at me through his cell phone even though I was in the next room. Then he texted Gen and put me in the car.

The check-in was easy, along with the labor. Once the pain really started to kick in, Nurse Veronica told me not to be a hero and to get the epidural if I wanted to, so I did. Nate stood by the bed, petting my hair as we decided we would name the baby after my father, and then he snuggled up next to me as I took a catnap, on more good advice from Nurse Veronica.

When it finally came time to push—with all 30,000 students, interns, nurses, and residents in the room, so I was right, and there were a lot of people up in my business—it wasn’t too bad. For all the horror stories I’d read and watched and listened to, my pregnancy and labor were smooth. I felt pressure and a bit of pain, but nothing unmanageable.

Especially when the doctor placed the wiggling and wailing boy on my chest.

Born at 10:13 p.m. on July 16, George weighed in at a hefty eight pounds, eleven ounces, and was twenty-one inches long.

I hadn’t been able to really see him at first because I was crying so much, but Nate kept muttering about how perfect and beautiful he was. It took no time at all to clean up and for everyone to exit the room—at least, that was how it felt. Like I’d waited so long for my rainbow baby, nothing else mattered.

Now, the three of us sat in the quiet, learning everything about one another.

Like how George was insatiable and took to nursing like a fish to water.

“A boob man,” Nate whispered as he dragged his fingertip over George’s forehead. “Like me.”

I gave in to a quiet laugh. “I hope he takes after you for more than just that.”

Nate stilled, the meaning of my absently delivered words settling between us. He’d been leaning over the railings on the bed, but he shifted to gently sit on the mattress by my knees, facing me. He placed his hand on my thigh over the blankets. “You want him to be like me?”

“Of course I do.” I shook my head in faux annoyance. “Who else is going to teach him how to be so considerate and understanding? Who else will show him how to treat others with generosity and to love with his whole heart?”

Nate’s face flushed as his Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes glassy.

My own voice cracked. “Of course I want him to be like you. You’re the best person I know.”

He licked his lips then bent to kiss my forehead, curving his hand over the side of my face. He swept at my tears with his thumb and pressed his mouth to mine. “I love you.” Then he brushed his lips over mine again. “I love you so much.”

Only after a third kiss did he back away, allowing me enough space to gather the courage. “I love you too.”

The words had been there on my tongue for a long time, but they might as well have been glued together, locked in a box, and buried six feet under the ground for how difficult it was for me to get them out.

Nate rested his forehead on mine, his hands dragging over my head and shoulders. “Jesus, Tab, you’re everything to me. I can’t believe I’m here with you. I can’t believe we’re here together after all those years working with each other. And you…” He shifted back, his eyes red-rimmed as he took in George. “I can’t promise I’ll never let you down, but I promise I’ll try so goddamn hard not to.” He placed a reverent hand on the top of George’s head, promising him too. “I won’t let you down.”

And the next part came out much easier. “I want you on the birth certificate. As his father.”

Nate’s eyes widened slightly before a slow smile spread across his face. He reached out to curl his hand around the back of my neck, nodding. I knew how much it meant to him to be recognized as George’s dad. I also knew he wouldn’t let either of us down.

“It’s my honor and privilege,” he said eventually. “Thank you for giving it to me.”

We sat like that for a long time, long after George had finished eating and drifted off to sleep, his tiny body lax in my arms.

It was after one in the morning by the time I could take a shower and change into the pajamas I’d packed. Nate texted everyone to check in, sending pictures and the stats. With George sleeping soundly in the little cart they’d brought in for him, we turned the lights down low and tried to get some sleep. Between the diaper changes and occasional check-ins by nurses, the first night was okay. By no means a breeze, but it was okay.

But the second night in the hospital was an absolute nightmare. George cried a lot, and neither Nate nor I could calm him. I barely got a wink of sleep, and by the time the sun came up, I was ready to get the hell out of there.

After filling out forms and receiving the sign-off from the doctor, we strapped George into the car seat and left the hospital.

It was sort of surreal. That we went in as two adults and came out as a family of three.

And we were allowed to just leave.

With all the supposed knowledge and confidence to be a parent.

The drive home from the hospital was painfully slow. I sat in the back, next to the car seat, my hand on George’s socked feet beneath the blanket we’d tucked around him. Every bump and turn made me wince.

Nate kept glancing in the rearview mirror, his brows pinched together in concern. “We’re almost there. A few more minutes.”

I nodded, biting my lip against the discomfort. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck after the sleepless night. The euphoria of meeting my son had worn off, replaced now by bone-deep exhaustion and pain. My milk had come in, and it felt like I had two very large, very tender watermelons strapped to my chest.

Nate parked the car in the driveway and rushed around to help me out. He held the car seat in one hand while settling the other on my lower back to guide me into the house. Genevieve said they were going to keep Lucy for another night or two to give us some time without her peeing all over the floor in excitement, so we didn’t have to worry about taking care of her too. Especially since Nate had planned ahead and bought doggie CBD to help with the separation anxiety.

But Gen had obviously been over to the house. Multiple bouquets of flowers lined the dining room table, along with a basket of snacks. I read each of the cards with the flowers to see they were from Shannon and Nick, Nate’s mom and stepdad, Tim and Summer, Nate’s dad and stepmom. Dylan, Gen, Liam, Kennedy, Jude, and Brooke all chipped in for the third bouquet and the huge basket of foods. It was very thoughtful.

But neither one of us dug through it for anything. Instead, we went right upstairs to the nursery, where I sank into the rocking chair. Nate unbuckled George from the car seat, murmuring a quiet, “Come on, Frog. Time to see your new digs.”

He held our son in the crook of his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world and walked him around his nursery, pointing out the animals on the walls, the mobile, and the small bookcase with cardboard books. “What do you think? Hm? You like it. You do. I can tell.”

George fussed, and Nate turned to me. “Want to try to feed him?”

I opened my arms for him and unlatched the strap of my tank top, positioning George’s mouth at my nipple. He didn’t hesitate. Nate sank down to the floor, lounging at my feet, quiet yet attentive as he kept vigil over us.

I hummed softly, every once in a while singing a few words to one of my favorite songs, “You and I” by Lady Gaga. And by the time Frogger fell back to sleep, I was ready to pass out as well.

Nate scooped him up, telling me to lie down. I didn’t.

I stayed by the door, smiling to myself as Nate rocked George. After a minute, I crossed the hall to our bedroom, where I showered and changed and swallowed a few ibuprofens. And then I lay down.

Our first night home went about as well as last night at the hospital, with George crying a lot. I fed him about every two hours, with Nate taking charge of all the diaper changes. He did end up moving the changing table into our room to make it easier, and I didn’t know if it was hormones or anxiety or an overwhelming love so big for my baby that I couldn’t breathe, but I had a hard time functioning. I kept crying yet couldn’t pinpoint why.

Nate was beside himself, offering water and food and back rubs, but I didn’t want anything. Only to hold George.

So I did.

The days and nights blurred together. Our friends and family stopped by to visit in shifts, and right when I thought I had a handle on things, George would have a diaper explosion or I’d leak breast milk all over the bed. I’d start to panic, but Nate was there, his calm and collected self, reassuring me with his usual line. “Don’t worry, princess. I got it. No big deal.”

But it was a big deal. Every gesture of care and support. The way he kissed my forehead and told me I was beautiful, even as I felt the exact opposite, needing help to change my pad. He was there, kneeled on the floor, holding the gigantic postpartum underwear out for me to step into, tenderly sliding them up my legs with the cooling pads he’d prepared during that first day home. He would smile at me and kiss my still-full belly before settling the elastic at my waist then helping me back into bed. He took care of all my needs before his own, drawing me baths and bringing me tea and snacks, forgoing sleep and taking on all the responsibilities in the house.

But it was his love for George that awed me most of all. The way his eyes lit up when our son grasped his finger. How he always bent to trail his nose over Frogger’s head, inhaling that sweet baby scent like it was the most precious thing in the world.

I’d quickly given up on the bassinet. It was easier to co-sleep, and Nate said we could tell everyone to fuck off about it. And with Frog between us one night as he slept, Nate stroked his finger over the baby’s belly. “I never thought I could love someone this much.” Then he peered over at me. “It feels like sometimes I can’t do anything else because it’s so huge, the love I feel for him.”

I nodded in agreement. That was exactly what it felt like.

“But I do,” he went on. “I love him so damn much.” He reached out and skated his knuckles across my wet cheeks. “You too. I love you more than life itself.”

But that wasn’t right. Because these two boys, they were my life now. And nothing was bigger than they were.