Page 110 of Babies for the Big Shot
I stare down at them until my vision swirls. And then I break.
The sob punches out of me before I can stop it, loud and ugly and impossible to control. I curl forward, pressing my forearmsto my thighs, my head hanging between my knees as the weight of it all comes crashing down on me.
I can’t do this.
Oh my god.
I can’t do this.
Not alone.
Not like this.
One baby felt impossible enough… managing the money, the doctor’s appointments, the fatigue, the fear. But three?
That’s diapers and cribs and daycare times three. That’s triple the bottles, triple the cost, triple the crying, triple the exhaustion. I don’t even own a car.
I can’t do this.
My shoulders shake, and I don’t care who sees me now. I’m crying in public, and let them stare. Let them judge.
Because I am terrified.
Not just of the physical reality of carrying three babies. Not just of the logistics. But of the emotional mountain ahead. The endless uncertainty.
Nick.
What if he doesn’t come back?
What if this, us, is already over?
What if I’m doing this alone?
I think about my mom again. How strong she was. How she never let me see how hard it must have been.
I used to believe that strength meant doing everything by yourself. That being independent meant never needing anyone.
But now?
Now I know better.
Because I need help. I need support. I need someone.
I need him.
And for the first time, I let myself admit it fully—not just in my heart, not in the privacy of my apartment, but out loud, here in the real world, in the aftermath of the biggest news of my life.
“I can’t do this alone.”
My voice cracks. No one hears. Or maybe someone does, I don’t know. I don’t care.
I press a hand to my stomach, to the faint swell that’s only just beginning, and close my eyes.
I need to figure out what comes next. How to breathe through this.
How to tell him.
Because ready or not… this is real.
