Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong
Beautiful sight, isn't it?
And if you're surprised to see this... let me tell you, you couldn't be more surprised than Mark and I were this morning.
Mark had called the NICU to tell them that I was on my way up — Mark and I had decided to take turns visiting Aden while Hunter was home — and to get a status check on our boy. He was expecting the usual, "He slept well last night and took all his feeds..." Instead, he got a nurse happily telling us that we could pick our boy up and bring him home if we were ready.
Mark sputtered something that smacked along the lines of excuse me. I was gobsmacked myself but basically told him to tell the nurse we were on our way.
Deep down, I was thinking "Take the baby and run, before they change their minds."
In a flash, we had packed Hunter into her car seat, thrown together a makeshift diaper bag, grabbed the double stroller and jetted out of the house to the car.
A couple of hours later, we had signed all the forms we needed to sign, gotten all of Aden's stuff packed along with the freebies the nurses threw in and were out the door. Everyone we saw on the way out wished us well and people kept stopping by in the lobby of the hospital to say congratulations on the twins. Mark and I were beaming.
And then, sooner than Mark and I thought possible, we were singing along to 80s tunes as we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge in Moby with our children.
With. Our. Children.
Life is sometimes more than good. It can be downright fucking perfect.