A Double Portioned Blessing

A year ago to the day I was flying home, as I find myself today. Although my trip last year was in much more haste, a rescheduled flight plan on behest of my wife. I had left home two days prior for Atlanta to attend a chicken conference, leaving a very pregnant wife. But she was still a month out and had no signs of early delivery. Sitting in my training session, surrounded by my bosses (four levels of bosses) I took a cell phone call from Amy. “I think you’d better come home…”
With luggage in tow, $40 thrust in my hand from my boss, and a short taxi ride later I was at the airport. I can’t say I was tense on my way home, sitting in the back of the plane. I knew there was little I could do, and didn’t stress about timing and the such. Plus, the request made it seem that things would not be immediate. But as I taxied back to the terminal – generally a mundane and impossibly long event – a voicemail to essentially “get my butt to the hospital,” was waiting for me.
Being at the very back of the plane, I calmly presented my dilemma to the stewardess. A quick, slightly amusing announcement to the passengers cleared a plane aisle quicker than I ever thought imaginable. As I walked the gauntlet, congrats met me from all side, “Good Luck! Congrats!” and the like. And like that I was 1st off. (The last shall be first I guess)
I suppose I should have sped to the hospital – that is gone 100 instead of 85. But I arrived shortly after they broke Amy’s water, and following her delivery of the relaxing epideural. Despite my lack of stress on the flight, and a relaxed appearance as I arrived, I admit that I was incredibly relieved. It was a combination of the feeling I always get when I come home to my wife, and the knowledge that I am finally there to support her.
And like that, hand in hand, the adventure to twins began. In a crowded delivery room (16 people) Abby was born first at 5lbs 3oz. Tears came to my eyes as I saw the product of Amy and my love. I kissed her cheek in gratitude and congratulations. Because a little, and slightly distressed Grace was waiting, I could not cut the cord. Three minutes Grace followed, a beautiful and slightly blue child at 3lbs 12oz. Her delivery has easy, but things picked up as they scurried to free her and guarantee a baby with a heart defect would be ok.

We didn’t get to hold the girls. Swiftly they were separated – Abby to the nursery and Grace to the NICU – her home for the next two months (between Robert Wood and Columbia). And like that Amy and I were alone in the room with one or two nurses. It was almost anti-climactic, but I never felt so in love. I was a father, because of my wife. A most beautiful gift. I really could only say a quick joke, kiss her lips and hold back the tears.

I held Abby for the first time that night. Cradling her tiny hands, caressing her cheeks. What a perfect creation. I could do little more than gently touch Grace before they sped her away in an ambulance to NYC. A week later we held our second daughter, in another tearful moment.

And the beginning of our new life began.
Here I am, a year later, also on a plane home. I am not in haste, but my mind races past the last year in review. I recall the births, taking Abby home, letting go of my Grace to strangers for her surgery, lots of time on my knees praying, brining a mended Grace home, and then raising twins. It’s been rough, some bad nights, realizations they are easy babies (at least taken singly), spit-on shirts, messy diapers, and lots of doctor appointment and bills. But oh how I have been blessed. Amy is the perfect mother, loving, patient and a terrific logistical planner (should have been an officer) – the things I struggle to be. I try to be a better father, worthy of what I have been given.
And as I look at my girls start to stand up and giggle and smile, I feel a warmth in my heart. And a slight pang of remorse that they are already growing too fast. If we could back to enjoy them again. But then I remember the nights laying awake with worry, the stress, long hospital visits and look at my stack of bills and wonder – how on earth did I do it the first time!
I sure am doubly blessed.
HRP