Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seve n

Time away from the children should be carefully planned as to not disrupt the routine.

A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)

T he day is long and exhausting, with requests for more children–three more, says Sophie–and names for the new additions tossed around. When we get home, Lucy opens the file of baby pictures we have saved on my laptop. I’ve never gotten around to putting them in the baby books that still sit pristinely in their plastic wrapping on the shelf.

Someday.

J.B. escapes to the restaurant in the middle of this, giving me an unapologetic grin and leaving me with three minds fully focused on their potential new toy. They’re like a dog with a bone–Baby! Baby! Baby!

″Kind of reminds me of you,” J.B. says with a chuckle as the kids scramble to line up for hugs as he’s leaving. “You were kind of fixated on the idea as well.”

″I wanted to be a mother, not have something new to play with,” I hiss, stepping out of the way as Sophie barrels back to the living room to gush at pictures of herself.

″Babies aren’t a toy, Momma,” Ben admonishes me.

″Of course not, Benny.”

After J.B. leaves, the kids stare at the pictures for another hour before they get bored and move on to other activities. I go through our usual Saturday late afternoon routine of play and dinner which ends with us piled on the couch watching a movie before bed.

Tonight it’s Sophie’s choice–Disney’s Moana. I let my mind drift as the kids sing along, Sophie reciting most of Maui’s lines.

Having more kids… What would it be like? It would mean a return to the sleepless nights and diapers and feedings, but once the first few months were over, what would be so different? J.B. and I are outnumbered already, and the kids would love a baby. They were too young to remember Atticus and Aiden as babies, but I’m sure they would love another one.

They’d love it when it was cute and smiling, not crying with a distinct poopy smell.

When I was a surrogate for Cooper and Emma, I went into the experience with a firm thought and a cold heart. I was carrying their children. Not mine. And for the most part, I was able to disassociate myself from the living miracles I was carrying. I loved them, but not like I loved my kids .

But there were a few times when I lay awake at night, while the boys rolled and kicked, I wished they were mine. I wished I could wake J.B. and let him feel our babies kick because he missed out on a lot of it with the triplets. When I had been pregnant, he hadn’t been lying beside me at night with his big hands cradling my belly, his eyes soft with love at the feel of little feet pushing at me.

When I decided to surrogate for Emma and Cooper, I had gone to my doctor to get checked out. She had been surprised but gave me a clean bill of health.

″You’ll have to have another Caesarian, but there’s no reason your body can’t handle a few more kids,” Dr. Morrissey had told me.

″Maybe not a few.”

″Have you thought of adding to your brood?” she had asked. “You’re doing something very special for your friends, but what about you? Want any more?”

I remember that day clearly because the kids had been two, and I had spent the night awake with Sophie and Lucy, Sophie throwing up, and Lucy crying, presumably because her sister was sick. I probably still smelled of sick when I went to the appointment.

″Not on your life,” I had said firmly.

But now after one little comment from J.B., my carefully organized life with no more kids was in complete disarray, like a jigsaw puzzle dumped onto the table.

Did I want more kids?

I smoothed Lucy’s hair and turned back to the movie, my eyes growing heavy as Moana and Maui battled the monsters from the deep.

″Casey.”

I hear my name from a distance and blink my eyes open. J.B. is standing in front of me. It takes a few moments for me to realize that I must have fallen asleep watching the movie because I’m not in bed, and there’s a weight on my chest. Lucy. I can’t see over her head to find out what–or who–the weight is on my legs.

″Hey.” I swallow to rid the dryness of my mouth. The television is still on, with a list of Netflix recommendations.

″What were you watching?” J.B. gestures to the screen. Netflix is suggesting we might enjoy Baywatch. The last thing I’m interested in is a Dwayne Johnston marathon.

″ Moana .” I struggle to sit up. “But I’m a little stuck.” After years of practice, we can speak quietly enough so the kids don’t wake up.

″I can help you with that. You know you’re missing a kid,” J.B. says with a grin.

Instantly, I’m wide awake, ready to bolt upright. J.B. realizes what he’s said. “Sorry. Sophie’s in bed.”

I exhale with a huff, and Lucy stirs. Her head is pillowed on my breasts, arms thrown out on either side of me.

″I can’t get up without waking her,” I whisper as Lucy’s breathing returns to sleep mode.

″I have to move Ben first. He’s down here.”

By craning my head around Lucy’s red curls, I see Ben’s head propped up against Lucy’s leg. “So cute.”

J.B. lifts him carefully into his arms. “I’ll be back for the next one.”

My arms instinctively encircle Lucy as I wait. My nights often end with the kids in front of the TV: a little downtime for all of us. It’s been a while since I’ve fallen asleep with them on the couch, though.

J.B. returns. “I put him in Sophie’s bed because she’s sleeping in his.” He lifts Lucy off me, who grabs at me as she’s airborne. “Daddy’s got you,” J.B. croons .

The girls share a room but more often than not, one of the girls will confiscate Ben’s room, making him sleep with his other sister. There’s never any fighting about it, and I think Ben likes the company.

I breathe deeply as her weight is lifted off me. There’s a wet spot on my chest from Lucy’s drool.

After turning off the TV and returning our empty popcorn bowl to the kitchen, I stop in the bathroom for a quick brush of my teeth before walking, zombie-like to our bedroom where J.B. is in the process of changing out of his work clothes.

My husband looks good in his slim-fitting pants that are just a little too tight around the bum, and a dark blue shirt and tie, but he looks even better when he’s out of them. He doesn’t work out as much as he used to, but weekly basketball games and bike riding with the kids, as well as being on his feet for long hours keeps him fit and trim and has delayed the inevitable middle-age paunch. I take a moment to appreciate the view.

Until he slips into a concert T-shirt long faded to gray and an old pair of boxer shorts with a rip along the seam.

Oh well.

″You looked cute on the couch like that,” J.B. says over his shoulder with an affectionate smile. “I hated to wake you.”

″I’m glad you did. That would have been a nasty way to wake up, with Lucy’s face right in mine.” I yawn without covering my mouth. “I need more sleep.”

″Case.”

His tone stops me as I’m about crawl into my side of the bed. “Do we have to do this now?”

″Do we have to what?” He sits down on the edge and I take the opportunity to slip under the covers.

″Talk about the baby thing.” Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the possibility, and I’m not happy about it.

″How do you know that’s what I want to talk about?”

I only look at him.

″Maybe I wanted to talk about how I think you should go to Las Vegas.”

″You want me to go to Las Vegas?” I stare at him blankly until an image of Brit’s face pops into my mind. “Vegas. Brit. Party. Right.” My eyes close to half-mast as my head hits my memory foam cool comfort pillow. “Why would you want to talk about that? I’ve already told Brit I’m not going.”

″I think it would do you good to go with her. Besides, she’ll never forgive you if you miss it.”

″Sometimes I wonder if that’s a bad thing. No more Brit talking about herself.” I heave a sigh as I roll over to face J.B. Maybe I should try to keep my eyes open for this conversation, as short as it’s going to be.

″You’d have fun. And Morgan wants to go.”

That got my attention. “How do you know that?”

″She texted me tonight, wondering how she could convince you to go.”

″ Morgan wants to go to Las Vegas?” Fully awake now, I sit upright. “And leave Carson behind?”

″Being a mom is tough, especially if you’re doing it alone. Being a mom of three with a husband who’s never around is even harder. I think you both need a break.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “But you’re going to have to stay home at night with the kids while I’m gone. ”

″Maybe I want to,” J.B. says with an adorable sheepish grin on his face. “I miss out on a lot, and a couple of days of daddy time might be fun.”

I don’t bother to mask my laughter.

“I talked to Cooper tonight,” J.B. continues, ignoring my derision. “He says it can work. We’re training Miles as assistant manager, and it’ll be a good test for him to be on his own for a weekend. We thought maybe Tenley could come work for Saturday in case there’s any problems. It’s only for a couple of days, right?”

″Brit wants to leave Thursday, come home Sunday night.”

″I can do that.” He meets my incredulous gaze. “I can.”

″I know you can.” I relent with a soft sigh. “And it’s not that I don’t think you could. It’s just that…“I glance down at my hands kneading the blanket. “I think I feel guilty. Thinking about how I kind of want to go makes me feel horrible! How could I want to leave the kids? They’re all I wanted for so long and to think getting on a plane without them–”

J.B.’s laughter stops my rant. “It’s not bad that you want to go away with your friends. You’re with the kids all the time. A break will do you good.”

″But it’s away .”

″Away can be good because you’d come back. It’s not like it’s forever.”

″What if it is?” I whisper, giving voice to my deepest fear. “What if something happens?”

He reaches across the bed for me. “You’re nuts,” he whispers as his strong arms wrap around me.

″But things happen,” I persist. “Things happen in Las Vegas.”

″Don’t even go there.” His voice is strong and sure and reassuring. “You’re not one to live your life in fear. Go and celebrate Brit. Drink a lot, stay away from good-looking men and have fun.”

″What about not good-looking men?” I ask as I pull away.

″What would you want with an ugly man in Vegas when you can have a good-looking man here?”

I shrug. “Fair point. Are you sure?”

″Do you want me to pack for you?”

″You wouldn’t have a clue how to begin.” I kiss him, my lips lingering against his. “You’re good for me.”

″I know. Sorry to bring up the baby thing now. Try not to think about it now. There’s no rush. We can talk about it when you’re back.”

″There’s no rush?” I flop back onto the pillows and recite from memory. “A woman’s prime period of fertility occurs between the years of twenty-two and twenty-eight, with each year decreasing the chance of a happy and healthy conception.”

J.B. grimaces. “Is that from that book you were reading when you got pregnant?”

I nod. “A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood. She wrote another one.” I show him the dog-eared book on my nightstand, A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children.

J.B. bursts out laughing. “A lot of good that book has been.”