He takes a video with one hand, sawing at the cord with the other. Legendary under-eye shadows decorate his face, from forty-eight straight hours of staring at my belly.
I don’t know if I’ve ever loved him more.
“Very small tear.” The doctor cracks a pack of sutures. “We’ll see you again in two years, Mrs. Renner-Lewis.”
From the infant warmer, Tobin grins at me. I stick out my tongue. He wouldloveto have another baby in two years. He’d be thrilled if we fielded an entire hockey team, but I’m holding him at two with the option for a third.
We’ll see how he feels when he’s changing half the diapers. Although last week I spied him practicing on a honeydew melon, callused fingers fumbling with the fastenings. As the stay-at-home parent he’ll have plenty of chances to do the real thing.
And then she’s on my chest, nude, a couple of those striped baby blankets across her frowny forehead. She’s looking right at me, her eyes big pools of eternity.
Oh, no, I’m in love. Again.
I turn to Tobin accusingly. “She looks likeyou.”
When I wake up from my post-breastfeeding nap, Tobin’s got his daughter cradled against one golden forearm, her tiny headcupped in his huge palm. She’s wrinkled and red, with a heck of a conehead; he’s looking at her like she’s simultaneously the most beautiful human ever invented and the keeper of all the secrets of the universe.
My heart doesn’t miss the chance to flip-flop in my chest at the piercing, exquisite tenderness between this man and our baby. And he was a goddamn rock during the delivery.
And during the pregnancy. About everything, and I meaneverything,from insisting on a perfect attendance record at my prenatal visits to being my safe harbor in the hormonal and emotional storm of the last nine months.
“We should pick a name,” I say, wanting to be part of his reverie.
He looks up, startled. His face is a study in unabashed adoration, softness joined by something fierce as he looks from the baby to me.
“Knock, knock,” our nurse calls, bustling in. “Time for a temperature check.” She scoops the bundled-up baby burrito away from Tobin. He trails after them with his phone to take another hundred pictures.
“Perfect. Dad, you’re keeping this baby nice and warm. Does she have a pediatrician?”
We smile and say yes to all the standard questions. When the nurse gets to the part about using precautions to avoid unplanned second pregnancies, both of us smirk.
This was only a half-plannedfirstpregnancy. It happened during the blur of leaving West by North, getting my autism diagnosis, starting my new job at Keller, and, yes, hanging out with my new work friends.
It was a strange feeling at first, moving through the same world, as the same person, with a whole different understanding of myself. I used to accommodate people by changing my face,editing my thoughts and words, dialing down my intensity. But my new colleagues insisted on accommodatingme,instead of the other way around. They invited me to every party and networking event, because I told them I liked being asked to join even though I only sometimes wanted to go.
Although I said yes to enough late nights that I messed up my routine a couple of mornings in a row. Tobin found me clutching my pill pack, counting and recounting.
“Whoops. Missed a few?” His mild tone should’ve tipped me off.
“Yeah. Whoops. We’re probably okay, but we need to use condoms for the rest of the month.”
He passed me a cup of coffee and curled his hand around mine. “Yes, and… what if we didn’t?”
Our daughter happened to us at the perfect moment. We didn’t yet know we’d reached the place where we could ask each other for something that big. But both of us felt how right it was when we did.
We’ll take it easy this summer. Tobin will hang around with McHuge part time, welcoming their first clients; Stellar’s filling in at The Love Boat (honestly, McHuge) when Tobin’s home, in between figuring out her next career move.
Tobin’s back, nestling the baby between us. She smells irresistibly new, fluffs of pale hair sticking out under the hospital-issued tube sock of a hat. I could watch her making those sleep faces all day.
“Hold that thought.” Tobin raises his phone for a selfie. He’s cute, wanting a picture of me doing silly love eyes at a sleeping baby.
“Can I send it to the baby announcement list?” He flips the phone to me.
The baby’s perfect. Tobin and I look wrecked. My smile is kindof pained, because the freezing in my stitches is wearing off. The harsh hospital light isn’t doing anyone any favors.
It’s the most beautiful photo ever.
“Send away.”
