My nipples were raw too.
And Heather loved every minute of it and I did too. She never complained about how pregnant she was, not once, not even when her stomach was so far out there that she couldn’t walk because she was too heavy in the middle.
It’s why she was on bedrest for six months of her pregnancy.
Scariest fucking moment of my life when they said she was high risk at every fucking thing that could happen to a pregnant woman. Miscarriage, or miscarrying two or three, yet keeping two. Pre-eclampsia, eclampsia, birth defects, everything was heightened so they recommended that we abort two.
Heather slapped the doctor in the face and asked for a new doctor. At first, we had a fight because I didn’t want to lose her and I wanted her to listen to the doctors, but all she said was ‘I can do this. Trust me. I have a good feeling.’
She didn’t even make it eight months. She went into labor at seven months and fuck the kids were all so small. They were hooked up to all of these machines and in these incubators. Danielle, the smallest, she had to be on this machine that shook her little body. I forgot what it was called, but I balled like a baby every time I had to watch her grow through that. I couldn’t fix her.
Then there was Zeke, yes we named our child Zeke after the craziest Uncle they have, and his lungs were underdeveloped. Logan, our other son, he had a tumor in his heart.
Cassandra was the healthiest one. She was the one that needed less treatment, but then there was Nathan. The medical mystery. For no reason, he kept declining, even after weeks of treatment, but then the doctor put him in the same incubator with Cassandra, and he started to thrive.
It was the scariest two months of my life until we got to take them home.
And then the first thing I did was go and get my fertile self clipped because I was not about to get her pregnant with ten babies on the next round. She said I was being dramatic, but with our luck, she would have been knocked up in no time.
She got her tubes tied too.
Five kids is enough for us. We didn’t want to chance it. Plus, t
he high risks, the scares, it was enough to age me fifteen years.
“Hey! One through freaking four, stop throwing sand at number five!” I call out to them, catching them red freaking handed.
“They have names you know,” Heather giggles, laying back on the towel to catch some sun. She still looks fucking beautiful, by the way. She has stretch marks on her stomach that she was self-conscious about for a long time, but I loved them. She carried five children at once and what is more beautiful than that. They are scars, they are beauty marks.
“Yeah, but that’s too much to remember,” I wave my hand in the hair, dismissing what she has to say, jokingly.
“Hey, look who is here, Uh!” Uncle Zeke’s boisterous voice comes from behind us on the staircase. “I brought gift for all of my favorite spawns.” His thick New York accent gains the attention of the hoard and they all come running like wild animals.
Uncle Zeke holds out his arms and the kids tackle him to the ground. I would have never thought Zeke liked kids, but damn, he is a natural. “Okay, okay, let me up. I have to get you your gifts.”
Uncle Howard holds out a twenty-dollar bill to each of them and calls it a day, which the kids also love, but Zeke always brings the most inappropriate stuff.
“Hey, check it out. You know how your Uncle Zeke is always smoking a Cuban cigar? Well, I got one for each of ya little heathens. Pink for ladies, blue for men, purple if you’re into the kind of shit, you know?”
“Language, Zeke,” Quinn laughs, sipping on a glass of wine. The day is hot and everyone ,is sweating, but even through the heat, we make time for the family.
“And they are too young to smoke,” Jolie scolds.
“Hey, it’s just bumble-gum. It ain’t the real deal, beautiful. I promise,” Uncle Zeke says. “And whoever can blow the biggest bubble gets a hundred bucks!” he adds, and the kids go crazy, shoving the cigar’s in their mouths and chewing like little maniacs.
“I got you something too,” Heather says in my ear while the kids are busy. “Close your eyes,” she says.
Oh, I like where this is going.
“Open.”
It’s a muffin, drizzled in chocolate and has a Hershey kiss on top. “For me?” I gasp, snagging it from her and biting into it instantly, moaning when the fluffy goodness hits my mouth. “So good,” I mumble around the mouthful.
“If you’re good, there will be a certain muffin in store for you later…if you know what I mean.” She nips the shell of my ear.
I fucking love muffins. They are always so damn good to me.
And so is this life.