29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Noah
Six months have passed since we brought our babies home, and I can’t believe how much has changed.
The apartment is full of baby gear, diapers, clothes, toys scattered across the floor, and baby monitors constantly humming in the background. There’s always something to be done, always a baby that needs to be fed, a diaper to be changed.
It’s chaotic, yeah, but it’s also beautiful chaos. It’s ours.
Blossom and I have spent so much time learning how to juggle everything. The first month was rough.
Tanya came to stay with us for a while to help out, and I’m not sure how we would’ve made it through without her. She took charge when we were exhausted, making sure Blossom healed and keeping up with the babies. Her calm presence in the house helped me stay sane.
Now, six months later, things feel a little more stable, but I’m not sure I’ll ever fully get used to the exhaustion.
The babies are growing fast, and while it’s still hard, we’re finding our rhythm. Blossom’s body is recovering, though she still talks about not feeling like herself. I’m proud of her for everything she’s done. She’s been amazing through all of this, and I wouldn’t trade our little family for anything.
But when I see Ruby, Jackson, and Theo, I know everything we’ve been through was worth it. They’re perfect. And no matter how crazy the days get, every moment with them feels like a gift.
Mornings in our house operate like a well-oiled machine these days, but are no less exhausting than when the babies first came home from the hospital.
Blossom and I are partners in every sense of the word. We tag-team everything. Today, she’s nursing Ruby and Jackson, while I’m holding Theo, trying to feed him. Getting all three babies fed at once is nothing short of an Olympic event, but honestly, we’re both getting pretty good at it.
“You’re amazing,” I say, watching her work.
She laughs, clearly enjoying the praise.
“Just like a cow in a milking parlor,” she jokes as she continues the feeding cycle.
Before I can respond, my phone rings. It’s Miguel from the kitchen, sounding frantic.
“Noah, the order’s missing half of it. Where is the rest of it?” He’s clearly stressed, and I’m barely able to focus on the conversation. I don’t want to leave Blossom with the babies for too long, but it’s work, and I can’t ignore it.
I forward the call to one of the other employees, telling them to sort it out. But what surprises me, even more than my own calm, is how focused I am on Blossom and the babies.
Before, I’d have dropped everything for a work issue, but now, my priorities have shifted. The babies come first. And I feel a sense of peace in that.
I’m finally getting Theo settled when I hear the unmistakable sound of a blowout. It’s loud and unmistakable, and I freeze. Then I see Theo, wide-eyed, with everything covering him. My jaw drops, and before I can say anything, Blossom bursts into laughter.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask, holding Theo out like he’s radioactive. I try to keep my voice steady, but I can’t stop laughing too. “This is the third one today!”
Blossom rushes over to help me, still chuckling. “Theo’s got a gift for this.”
“Great gift,” I mutter, shaking my head as I try to figure out how to deal with the situation. I lift Theo out of his soiled onesie, and Blossom quickly grabs a clean set of clothes for him.
I kiss Theo on the cheek, trying to make light of it even though I’m completely covered in his mess. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, buddy,” I say, but honestly, it’s hard to stay mad when you’re holding your son in your arms, even like this.
After getting him cleaned up, I toss his clothes into the washing machine and return to the living room. “Well, that’s one way to start the morning,” I say, still laughing.
Blossom looks at me, amusement in her eyes.
“At least we can laugh about it,” I say, brushing my hands off, and Blossom just shakes her head, still smiling.
By the time the babies are fed, changed, and ready for bed, I’m feeling the exhaustion starting to hit me. I take a quick shower while Blossom settles the babies into their cribs for the night. When I come out, I see her on the couch, curled up with her eyes half-closed. She’s tired, but she looks content.
I join her on the couch, letting out a long sigh as I sit beside her. We’ve made it through another day. Somehow.
“I don’t know how we’re doing it,” Blossom murmurs, leaning her head against my shoulder.
I wrap my arm around her and pull her close. “Because we’re in it together. We’re a team.”
She closes her eyes, her exhaustion catching up with her. “I can’t wait to do this all over again tomorrow,” she jokes, her voice soft and sleepy.
I chuckle softly, kissing her forehead. “I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”
We sit there in the silence, the house calm for the first time all day. The weight of everything, the babies, the sleepless nights, the chaos, seems to lift just a little. It’s just us here, in this moment. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
“Everything we’ve been through,” I say quietly, “it’s worth it, Blossom. Every bit of it.”
She smiles up at me, a little tired but full of love. “I know,” she says, resting her head back on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else either.”
And I realize, in that moment, that I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
We’re sitting on the couch, the room lit only by the soft glow of the TV. Blossom’s leaning against me, her head resting on my shoulder, her soft breaths relaxing against my chest.
It’s quiet, and for once, I feel like we have a second to just breathe. We’ve been so busy, so focused on the babies and everything else, but tonight—tonight, we’re just us.
Blossom shifts a little, her fingers lightly brushing my arm. “Hey,” she says softly, breaking the silence. “How about we get some food delivered from the hotel restaurant? I’m starving, and I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”
I smile, already pulling out my phone. “Good idea,” I say, unlocking the screen and opening the restaurant’s delivery menu. I place an order for a few of our usuals: pasta for me, sushi for her, and a couple of sides.
As I hit “order”, Blossom relaxes further, her eyelids drooping as she settles deeper into the couch, curling up against me. I gently rest my arm around her, letting her lean into me as the warm comfort of the moment settles in.
We’ve been through a lot: three babies, sleepless nights, endless feedings, but right now, it’s just us. Just Noah and Blossom, watching TV and waiting for food.
She drifts off to sleep against me, the quiet rhythm of her breathing making everything feel still. I close my eyes too, savoring this rare moment of peace.
Twenty minutes later, the sound of a knock at the door jolts me awake, and I feel Blossom stir beside me. I blink, half-asleep, but immediately reach for her, making sure she’s still comfortably nestled against me.
She stirs, her eyes slowly opening. “Food?” she asks, her voice sleepy.
I nod and get up carefully, trying not to disturb her. I move quietly toward the door, my heart racing slightly in anticipation of the delivery. The last thing I want is for the babies to wake up—especially now that they’ve all been so quiet.
I open the door, greeting the younger staff member with a smile. “Hey, thanks,” I say, taking the bags of food from him. I tip him well, making sure the transaction is quick and quiet. As I close the door, I pause, listening for the sound of crying.
There’s nothing. Silence.
I hold my breath for a moment, a little too eager to believe that we’ve somehow avoided waking them.
I look at the bags in my hands and then back at the nursery door. Blossom’s right behind me now, a soft smile on her face as she watches me, her eyes full of appreciation.
“Shh,” I whisper, holding up my finger to my lips as we both stand still, waiting to hear anything from the nursery.
But all we hear is silence, and it makes me grin.
We finally head back to the couch with our food, trying to be quiet as we settle in. I sit beside Blossom, and we both dig into our meals. There’s something comforting about the simple act of sharing food together like this.
No rush. No interruptions.
Just a moment for the two of us.
Blossom giggles between bites, her hand brushing mine as we chat casually. “I really appreciate you, you know?” she says, glancing up at me. Her eyes are soft, her smile genuine. “For everything. You’ve been incredible through all this, especially with the babies. You’ve made it so much easier for me.”
My heart swells at her words. I lean in closer, brushing a lock of her hair away from her face. “I appreciate you too, Blossom,” I reply, my voice low. “I couldn’t do any of this without you. You’re the reason everything feels like it’s falling into place. I’m lucky. We’re lucky.”
She smiles, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks. I kiss her forehead, gently pulling her closer. She rests her head against my shoulder again, and I find myself gazing down at her, thinking how incredible it is that I get to share this life with her. We’ve built something beautiful together, and I’m not going to take a single moment of it for granted.
We kiss, the warmth of her lips sending a surge of happiness through me, and for a brief second, everything else fades away.
Just as we finish eating, a loud cry breaks through the silence, followed by another, and then another. My stomach drops, and I see the same exhaustion on Blossom’s face as she looks at me, her expression one of resigned amusement.
"Looks like our peace and quiet is over," she says with a tired laugh, getting up from the couch. I can already feel the weight of the situation, but we both stand up and exchange a knowing look. It’s not even a question anymore. It’s just part of our routine.
We shuffle toward the nursery, our steps synchronized, the exhaustion of new parenthood creeping into our bones. As we reach the door, the sound of the babies crying intensifies. It’s chaos, but it’s our chaos, and somehow, even after everything, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Blossom and I stand in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in: the noise, the mess, the whirlwind that is now our life. Then, we march forward together, ready to handle whatever comes next. Because we’re in this together, always.
“We’ve got this,” I whisper to her, and she nods, her tired smile softening the weight of the moment.
And somehow, in the midst of the chaos, I know we do.