Page 80 of Knot My Type

Dr. Martinez, who's been my physician since I moved to Colorado, takes our unconventional situation in stride. She's seen enough of life to know that families come in all configurations, and her only concern is ensuring the health of both me and the baby.

"Everything looks perfect," she announces after what feels like an eternity of ultrasound wand movements and computer screen squinting. "Right on track for a mid-June delivery."

"Mid-June," I repeat, doing the math. "A summer baby."

"Born just in time for the best weather of the year," Fen observes with satisfaction.

"Let's see if we can get a better look at your little one," Dr. Martinez says, adjusting the ultrasound equipment.

And then there it is on the screen—a tiny, perfect outline that looks more like a bean than a baby but is unmistakably ours. Real, growing, already loved beyond measure.

"There's the heartbeat," the doctor points out, and suddenly the room is filled with the rapid, steady sound that represents our future.

I'm crying again, overwhelmed by the reality of this tiny life we've created. Beside me, I can see that the men are equally affected—Rhys wiping his eyes, Kael gripping my hand like an anchor, Fen staring at the screen with wonder written across his face.

"Would you like pictures?" Dr. Martinez asks kindly.

"All of them," Kael says immediately. "We want all the pictures."

We leave the appointment with a strip of ultrasound photos and hearts so full they might burst. The drive home is quiet, all of us processing what we've just experienced, the reality of becoming parents settling into our bones.

"We should call Rebecca," I say as we pull into our driveway. "And my parents. And probably start thinking about how we're going to handle the logistics of raising a child with four parents."

"One thing at a time," Rhys reminds me gently. "First, we celebrate. Then we plan."

That evening, we do exactly that. A quiet dinner, just the four of us, toasting our growing family with sparkling cider and dreams of the future. We spread the ultrasound photos across the dining table, marveling at this tiny person who's already changed everything just by existing.

"What do you think they'll be like?" I ask, running my finger over the blurry outline.

"Beautiful," Fen says immediately. "And stubborn, if genetics have anything to say about it."

"Smart," Rhys adds. "With a creative streak a mile wide."

"Loved," Kael concludes simply. "More than any child has ever been loved."

It's true, I realize. This baby is already surrounded by more love and support than most children receive in a lifetime. Four parents who will share the responsibility of raising them, teaching them, protecting them. They'll never doubt their worth, never question whether they're wanted, never lack for attention or affection.

"They're going to have an interesting answer when people ask about their family," I observe with a laugh.

"Good," Rhys says firmly. "Let them grow up knowing that families come in all shapes and sizes, that love is what matters, not convention."

The conversation continues late into the evening, touching on everything from baby names to college funds to the kind of values we want to instill. It's the beginning of what I know will be months of planning and preparation, but it feels natural, right, like we're finally stepping into the roles we were always meant to play.

Later, as we're getting ready for bed, my phone rings. Rebecca's name appears on the screen, and I realize with a start that I haven't talked to her in several days—unusual for us.

"Hey," I answer, settling onto the bed. "How's wedding planning going?"

"Good, actually. Jake and I looked at some venues today, though nothing compared to your meadow." She pauses, and I can hear something different in her voice. "Actually, I was calling because I have news. Again."

"More good news, I hope?"

"The best news," she confirms, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "We don't want to wait until spring for the wedding. We want to do it next month, right after Thanksgiving. Small and simple, just family and close friends."

"Next month?" I repeat, surprised. "That's soon. What changed?"

"Everything," she says with a laugh. "Jake got offered a position with a nonprofit in Guatemala, starting in January. It's exactly the kind of work he's always wanted to do, but it would mean being abroad for two years."

"And you're going with him?"

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