First Crush, My Forever

Chapter 136

  They keep us one more night.

  Not because anything is wrong, but because Grayson came a little early and they want to be sure he keeps doing everything right. Feeding well. Breathing steady. Holding his temperature. Blood sugar checks that make my chest tighten every time they prick his heel, even when he barely reacts.

  "He's doing great," the nurses keep saying.

  I believe them. Mostly.

  By the second morning, the room feels different. Less urgent. The door opens less often. The lights stay dim longer. The machines fade into background noise instead of commanding the space.

  Grayson sleeps in the bassinet beside my bed, bundled tight, fists tucked near his face like he is still holding onto something from before. I wake every time he moves. Every sigh pulls me halfway out of sleep, my body already reaching.

  Taytum notices.

  "He's breathing," she whispers, her hand warm on my shoulder. "Look."

  I do. Every time.

  Later that morning, a nurse helps me pump. I feel clumsy and exposed, my body sore and heavy in places I cannot quite name. The bottles fill slowly. When they are capped and labeled, Taytum looks at them like they matter more than anything else in the room.

  "You want to feed him," I say.

  She looks up fast. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes," I say. "I want you to. That's why I wanted to start pumping and to make it easier for us."

  The nurse helps position Grayson in her arms. He fusses at first, face scrunching, a small sound of complaint building in his throat. Taytum freezes for half a second. I see it, that flash of fear.

  I rest my hand on her knee. "He's okay." She nods and tries again. Slower. More certain.

  Grayson latches and Taytum exhales like she has been holding her breath for hours. "He's eating," she whispers.

  "Yes," I say. "He is."

  KK sits cross legged on the pull out chair, watching with complete focus. "It's Mama T's turn," she says quietly, like she is narrating something sacred.

  "Yes," I tell her. "It is."

  She scoots closer. "He makes funny faces."

  "He gets that from her," Taytum says as she nods towards me.

  I roll my eyes. "Excuse you."

  KK grins as there's a knock on the door. Taytum's mom come in so they can get KK and take her downstairs for some lunch.

  By early afternoon, the pediatrician comes back in. Checks Grayson again, watches him feed and looks at his chart.

  "He's strong," she says. "For thirty six weeks, he's doing beautifully." Something in my chest finally loosens.

  They tell us we can go home. Taytum texts her moms and asks them to bring KK back up so she can help take her baby brother home. When the door opens and I hear KK's voice in the hallway, my eyes burn immediately.

  She bursts in, practically vibrating. "We're taking him home."

  "Yes," Taytum says. "We are."

  KK beams like she has been given the most important job in the world.

  The discharge process is slow. Instructions. Paperwork. The car seat test that makes my stomach knot until it is done and passed. The nurse wheels us out. Taytum carries the car seat like it contains something priceless, which it does. KK walks beside us, holding my hand tight.