Page 67 of Because of Them

Their father.

When the world was falling to pieces around me, I became a father. I became responsible for so much more than just these two babies. I filled out admission forms and signed paperwork. I called my parents and Audrey’s family and Callum andorganised for Brendan to pick up Baxter. I told my mum exactly what kind of green blankets we needed.

But I’m scared, terrified, because with these two little babies in my arms, I have no idea what I’m doing. I just do what I’m told. Take my shirt off, hold baby one here, baby two there. Support their heads. Press this button if I need help. Keep them close together, close to you. Mum will be okay.

I want to scream that her name isn’t ‘Mum’. That her name is Audrey and she is the most important thing in my life. Only, I’m not sure that’s true anymore. The realisation hurts but feels somehow wonderful. I would do anything for these babies. But I would still do anything for Audrey. And all I can think about is what she would want.

“She wanted to try to breastfeed.” I announce as a midwife arrives with two medicine syringes of milk. The same one who was there when Audrey crashed, in her pink scrubs with her kind eyes.

She closes them with a sigh, a gentle smile and a sharp nod. “We can try to hand express some colostrum once she wakes up, but it would just be to start her supply. With the pain relief she is on, they will need this for now.”

“What is it?”

“It’s formula, only a tiny amount because their stomachs are so small. But if they don’t drink it, we might need to get them onto feeding tubes.”

More tubes, more wires, but they are already so fragile. They weigh nothing, their tiny arms and legs so thin. “How do we get them to drink it?”

She shows me, tucking the end of the syringe into one baby’s mouth and tickling under his chin until he starts to suck.

I sit up, awkwardly as I hold both babies close. For the first time in hours—maybe days, I’ve lost track—I smile. A widetoothy grin that hurts my cheeks and forces my eyes to swell. “He’s doing it.”

Once the syringe is empty the midwife steps away to write on his chart. “Does he have a name yet? Baby one?”

“Not yet.” There was only one name we’d agreed on as a definite. “I’ve been calling him Uno for now.”

She nods, her mouth still a firm, straight line. But when baby two sucks up his milk too, she cracks. A single tear drips down her cheek, her lips turn up.

“You’ve got two fighters on your hands.”

“Three.”

She looks at me, eyebrows scrunched together. The smile drops and she purses her lips, tilting her head to one side.

“Audrey. She’s a fighter too.”

The midwife doesn’t answer. Instead her face softens. “Want me to ask how she is going in recovery?”

“Please.”

I sink back into the chair, kissing each of my sons on the top of their tiny heads. As their little murmurs give way into steady breaths, a weight is lifted from my shoulders. They’ll be okay.

But dread still settles in my stomach. Because I need Audrey to be okay too.

The steady beeping of machines begins to echo as my eyes droop. My head falls slack as exhaustion wins over the panic and adrenaline. It can’t be safe to fall asleep with my babies on my chest, but it’s so hard to reach the button. I force my eyes open, sitting up taller again and twisting in the seat. My elbow finds the button and I press down hard, just to be sure.

Nothing happens. No alarm sounds, no light turns on. But the kind midwife in the pink scrubs returns and I almost feel bad for not knowing her name. ‘Sarah’ the tag on her hip says. I commit the name to memory, hoping it sticks.

“I was just coming back,” she smiles. “Audrey is starting to wake up. And it looks like these guys are starting to sleep.”

I stand, still clinging to both babies but needing to move. There’s an urge to jump, to whoop, to throw my hands in the air. Because Audrey is waking up. She’s okay.

The midwife takes baby one from my arms and places him in his tiny, heated crib. I pass her baby two, hopping on my feet while she lays him down and turns on the lights over his tiny body.

She turns to stare at me, crossing her arms with an odd look on her face.

“You gonna put a shirt on, or are you giving all the women a show on the way there?”

My cheeks burn, but I grab my tank top from the back of the chair and stretch it over my head. She scoffs, smirking.

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