Christmas Varchie Oneshots

Part 8.

No one should ever be pregnant in New York City in December.

And definitely not with twins. Because she feels like a ranch style house, wider than she is tall. A house that’s been built in Hades, because she can't heat up .

She’s never been so uncomfortable in her whole short life. The babies are cramped up inside her like a Matryoshka doll, unwilling to allow her the room to breathe normally, kicking straight into her organs, and she swears they’re purposely stepping on her bladder at all hours of the night. Archie had found her crying on the toilet the night before. Crying because she never stops having to pee.

There’s a snow storm of course , with temperatures in the low 20s for a week. Archie has been running around tirelessly drawing hot showers doing anything he can to help her, that he almost looks as tired as she feels, and he definitely looks so relieved when she calmly announces on a Tuesday night that her water has broken, standing in a small puddle in the kitchen.

The relief is replaced with terror quickly as he shifts into Go Time, running back and forth from the bedroom to the kitchen to the front door to the office, moving things, looking for bags and phones, calling the hospital in a panic, and then their parents, and all the while, Veronica sits calmly on a stool, waiting for him to be ready to go.

She assumed she’d be afraid when the time came, but she’s just so ready to get them the hell out, ready to be able to take a deep breath without them in the way, ready to meet her little creations, that the first contraction is welcomed.

———-

Relief is no longer the word on her mind as the relentless contractions batter her body, her once owe-so-tiny body, a body which seems like it must have done this before, because she certainly isn’t controlling what’s happening and it’s doing it’s own thing trying to squeeze these huge little humans out.

Her wails become Archie’s as she nearly breaks his hand, clutching it like a lifeline, and then their babies’ cries quiet them both as they arrive into this world one right after the other abruptly, taking up all the oxygen in the room.

They spend so many of the next hours just staring into their little faces, touching the little wrinkles on their hands, feeling their toes, in awe of their children.

———

They’re each five pounds of warmth and cuddles, curling up in little cannonballs in her lap like their still cocooned inside her, but now out in a very scary world full of things like cars, motorcycles, and contact sports, any and everything that could hurt her tiny sweet boys.

Twin boys.

Karma, it must be, for all the years of dresses, makeup, parties, perfume, jewelry, and designer attire. Because it’s so very un-Veronica Lodge like.

Archie can’t stop smiling. She’s asked him twice already today if his face hurt. Still stuck in the hospital two days after giving birth, An extra day for an extra baby! the nurse had explained, Veronica was chomping at the bit to go home early yesterday. She wanted her bed and her bathroom, and she’d been dreaming about laying her boys down in their cribs for months now. Not to mention Archie’s mom was coming to stay with them for a week, which meant she could maybe get more than 2 hours of consecutive sleep at a time. The hospital never slept.

“What can I get you to eat for lunch, Mommy?” He’s grinning stupidly at her from his place on his cot next to her bed.

“I swear to god, Archie, if you keep calling me that....”

“What? You’re Mommy now.”

“I’m not your Mommy.”

“I’m doing it for the boys benefit, Ronnie. I don’t want them to be confused.”

She rolls her eyes, not finding the strength to argue with him further. “Can you order me a grilled chicken salad from Mel’s, with a side of sweet potato fries.”

“Of course.”

The blue hatted baby, Freddie, Blue, Baby B, raises his little fists in the air, escaping from his blanket with a small yawn, while his green hatted brother, Henry, Green, Baby A, is tucked up all neatly, content to doze the afternoon away, already making their little separate personalities known. It’s too early to know if they’re identical or not, just a wisp of fine brunette hair on both their heads, so she’s relying on their assigned colors, and of course their little hospital bracelets, until she learns them. She’s pretty sure she can tell who’s who by the way they latch on when she feeds them but she’s still much too apprehensive to disregard her little labeling system so soon.

———-

Two months of sleepless nights. Eight weeks of diapers, spit up, and drool. Fifty-six days of whimpers, tears, and wails.

One thousand three hundred and forty four hours of walking around like a zombie at all hours of the day and night because they can’t seem to get on the same schedule.

But it’s fifty-six days of soft baby smells. Eight weeks of coos and tiny fists wrapped around fingers. Two months of pure parenthood bliss that warms them up inside that they wouldn’t trade for anything. And on that fifty-sixth night, the boys sleep a solid six hours without interruption. In the morning, Archie and Veronica feel like whole new people again.

It’s been the best fifty-six days.