Daddy [mxm]

Epilogue

I'm all for the way my husband has started wearing his hair as of late - it's hot as hell - but I suspect it'll be in a ponytail more often than not. Keeping my curls out of our youngest's fists is a full time job. Baby Beau is stronger than he has any right to be, and once he gets his hands on something, he doesn't exactly like letting go of it.

Our toddler, Ren, is extremely hyper, giving Bret a real run for his money. Why is he like that? Bret will pant, breathless. I didn't teach him this. As a matter of fact, yes, he did. I'm burned out mentally and financially. By the end of the day, Bret is checking his pulse. And this is the baby that had such a hard start to life, so many complications requiring ventilation and tube feeding and surgery, that the entire hospital unit celebrated with us the day he came home.

Today is our first thanksgiving as a family of four. Bret's aunt and uncle are hosting. And as we shop for apple pie and flowers and gift cards, Ren screams hi from his stroller to everyone we pass. He does this thing where he'll call strangers random names that he knows, and be completely incorrect but confident about it.

Beau falls asleep in his carseat on the way to the house.

"Look at his avocado bod," I coo when Bret comes around to help me transfer him.

"What a chunky milk belly," Bret agrees. That tubby belly, twitching in his sleep, just demands raspberries blown on it. I lift him expertly from the carseat, cradling the back of his head, and pressing him to my chest in a seamless transfer that doesn't wake him. And I'm proud of that.

I'm wearing a classy cream cable-knit sweater, carrying Beau while Bret leads Ren by the hand. Bret has never looked so domestic as he does now, in a plaid sweater vest and pleated khakis.

"Attaboy," Bret's uncle claps his back at some point during the initial exchange of pleasantries. "You've got yourself a beautiful family. Grab life by the balls and give them a hearty squeeze, that's what I always say." Bret preens under the praise.

When I follow him into the family room, I'm met with so much cooing and awwing from my in-laws that Beau wakes up and starts crying.

"Oooh, sweetheart," I croon, settling his head on my shoulder and rubbing his back gently.

"Look at them, they're so precious!" Ren hides behind my pant leg while Chelsea fawns over them. "You're doing such a good job with them."

"He is," Bret affirms. His hand is comforting on my back.

"We both are," I beam at him. I haven't forgotten the early days, when we were young and stupid and had no idea what the future held, but out of our minds with excitement and hope. I can still see Bret tackling me into a hug, and hear, we're having a baby! Who can say that they saw this, us,  coming?

Everyone's here, even my mom. Apparently, grandchildren are what she needed to find her purpose in life. And now she has them galore: Ren, through adoption; Beau, biologically Bret's through surrogacy; and a third on the way, who will be her biological granddaughter, Ellie Dove Palmer.

Avery and Roger are so big; I can't look at them without tearing up.

I spot Rudy and Bret across the room, Rudy's mouth shaping around the words, I'm proud of you, son, and then they're hugging, and I know it's not as simple as letting bygones be bygones but it warms my heart to know we have the support. In Beau's ninth month, Bret spent a lot of time on the phone with Rudy, asking him all sorts of panicked questions about their genetics; Rudy laughed and told him everything would be fine.

Dinner is a pleasant affair. I bottle-feed Beau while Bret spoon-feeds Ren with one hand and me with the other. There are plenty of volunteers to relieve us, but we enjoy the duties. The kids won't be little for long, and we want to savour these moments.