I'm Having a Royal Baby {ORIGINAL VERSION; BOOK 2}

Chapter 33: Miracles Could Be Shattered

"What's this," Ezra asked cautiously.

"Who are you," the nurse asked, nasally as she sized Ezra's frame.

Before Ezra could reply I interjected. "He's the babies' uncle. We were both wondering what this is, that's all," I said politely.

"This is an incubator," she said dismissively.

"What are her measurements," I asked, ignoring her rude demeanor.

Her face slightly softened. "Well, she's one and a half kilograms and forty-two centimeters (three point three ounces and sixteen and a half inches). She's going to need to stay in the hospital until she can learn to breathe on her own and develop the sucking reflex. For now, she'll be fed by a feeding tube that leads directly to her stomach through her mouth. She'll be fed regularly, six times a d-," she was abruptly cut off by the nurse caring for Caine.

"Hey, Margaret. This one isn't passing the hearing tests," the nurse said, raising alarms in both Ezra and myself.

"W-what," we both questioned in unison.

"Please don't be alarmed. It's common for newborns to fail their first and second hearing screens due to their constant moving and some mucus probably being in the ear," the first nurse informed.

I wasn't easily convinced. "But, how will I know he isn't suffering from hearing loss?"

"We'll have the next hearing screen when they get a bit older," she said.

"So...can we hold them...or nah," Ezra questioned.

"Unfortunately, no. They're much too fragile to be held at their delicacy. But, after a few more days, they'll be able to be held. We'll try our hardest to ensure that the babies survive," she said, her eyes on me.

"Hmm, I'm going to go check on Folashadé," Ezra said as he patted me on the shoulder before leaving.

I was staring at my son, Caine. He was so small, so fragile. He was so delicate, it seemed if the nurse made a slip during the infant checkup, he'd break. It scared me to see his tiny arms slowly experiencing the air around him.

"What are his measurements," I asked, approaching the nurse, who seemed a bit nicer.

"This little guy weighs at one kilogram and lengths up to thirty-eight centimeters (two point two pounds and fifteen inches). The little guy's a tiny soldier," she informed as she began attaching cords and wires to Caine's little body.

Watching my son being hooked up to so many machines gave me a heartache. It was too much for me. He was so little, just under the length of my forearm from what I can see.

"You can touch him, but you can't hold him, just yet. This CPAP right here is going to help them breathe since their lungs are far too immature to function," She said, gently placing a large air mask over Caine's face. It stretched all the way across his little face.

"I know it's important for a baby to have skin to skin contact with its parents, but I'm afraid that's not the case," she said, longingly staring down at Caine's resting body.

"It's fine. As long as they're both alive, all is well," I said, opening one of the circular doors on the walls of the incubator.

I stuck my index finger in and gently touched his arm. He was so fragile, I didn't want to put any pressure on him whatsoever.

"Hey, lad. It's your daddy," I cooed, smoothing my finger against his soft palms. The pad of my thumb was the width of his palm.

His hand gripped my finger and held it tightly.