in the room as everyone preps her for the delivery of our triplets. “I know you can do this.” I raise my head over Ave’s face to Knox. I need his reinforcement right now because this is out of my control. I don’t do well without knowing I hold the control.
“Ave, baby,” my man calls over Avery’s whimpers. “Our babies are fine. They will be fine, you hear me?”
The doctor is instructing us, saying something to Knox and me, as our focus is on Avery.
“Mr. Peterson, Mr. Glacier, do you hear me?” he asks, and of course we haven’t.
I swing my attention to him. “I’m sorry, Doctor. Can you say that again?”
His kind eyes meet mine, and I’m instantly calmed for both our babies and our wife. “We will have three teams, one for each baby. They are premature at thirty-four weeks, but don’t let that alarm you.”
Alarm us? Everything about this is alarming.
Before I can answer, he’s moved toward me, and I make way for him near Avery’s face.
“Avery, my dear. I know this is scary for you, but we’re going to begin now. In a matter of minutes, you’ll be a mother.”
His demeanor calms our little toy maker, and the color returns to her face. We await the arrival of our babes. And it’s perfect, the three of us together, the three of us as equal partners to one another. I lean in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Hold on tight, because our life is about to change.” And with her, the one that has completed us, I know our life is less than perfect, but it’s the perfect life for us.
Knox
Avery has been released from recovery back to her private room in the hospital. And though the babies are in the NICU, they are breathing on their own and big enough to be allowed in our private room for a little while.
She’s not seen them because they were rushed off with each pediatric team since they were six weeks early. But weighing in at 4.0, 4.8, and 4.2, each baby is healthy and incredibly large for triplets.
“Are you sure they are okay?” she asks, tears falling down her face. She has carried these babies that belong to the three of us in her belly for eight months. Try telling a mother, especially one who carried triplets, she can’t meet her babies. It didn’t go well at all.
But through the tears, her beautiful smile is pure.
“Yes, baby, they’re fine.” Ro and I barely saw them. “And we did get a little peek of each baby enough to surmise they all have ten fingers and ten toes.”
I search Ro’s face, and his smile is as real as Ave’s at the moment. To say that these babies of ours are our Christmas miracle is an understatement. One year ago, we were just starting this life with Ave, and now, we are an instant family on Christmas Eve.
A little knock on the door pulls our attention to the first bassinet being pushed through the threshold. “Who wants to meet their precious daughter?” the nurse calls out, and a pink beanie cap covers the head of our little girl. She was the largest at 4.8 but still rather small. But it doesn’t matter because she’s already stolen both Ro’s and my heart.
The nurse swaddles our baby like a burrito in a pink blanket, then hands her to our wife. Avery doesn’t take her eyes off her. She studies every little wrinkle of her tiny red face, only to turn to Ro, on one side of her, and then to me, on the other.
“She’s perfect, absolutely perfect.” The waterworks begin to fall again, and she smiles through the tears of joy.
“Does she have a name?” I look up at Whitney, who has snuck into the room, and is standing at the foot of the bed with tears in her eyes.
“Whit, come meet your niece,” Ave commands as Whit comes toward me to peek in on the bundle in Ave’s arms. “This is Noelle,” Ave says. Knowing there was a possibility our babies would be here in time for Christmas, the name seemed appropriate.
Another knock grabs our attention as the nurse wheels another bassinet into the room. “Are you all ready to meet your son?” the same nurse says, just long enough to leave and hopefully bring back the last member of our family.
I pull him from the bassinet as Ave hands Noelle off to Ro. And the look on Ro’s