“The doctor called it an advanced maternal pregnancy, Eamon.”
“Okay,” I say, not understanding what that means.
“It’s a geriatric pregnancy. I’m old. My womb is old.”
“Don’t cry. You’re not old, baby. It’s just medical nonsense,” I tell her.
“A baby, though.”
“A baby. Everything will be fine,” I promise her.
“I know. I know you’ll make everything better.”
“Always,” I say, leaning over to kiss her. Using my thumbs, I wipe her tears.
“This is happening,” she says, taking a calming breath, which I mirror.
A son, Edwin Neil was born nine short months later and our lives were never the same.
Fiadh always says she’s a lucky girl but I’m the lucky one for sure. I know that I am the luckiest man in the world because she’s by my side every day, making me a better m and I wouldn’t change that for a fucking thing.