Invisible String

54

After we cleared the table—well, after Travis cleared the table because I was officially outnumbered and Mira had started chewing on the chair leg—I got Lily dressed in her second outfit of the day. Her original sparkly tutu had a chocolate stain right in the middle, and she was very distressed about it.

“I can’t meet my guests like this,” she said solemnly, as I pulled a fresh pink dress over her curls. “They’ll think I’m just a normal girl.”

“Oh no,” I said, mock-gasping. “And here I thought the Queen of Four could do anything. Even rock syrup stains.”

She looked at herself in the mirror and then shrugged. “I guess… but this one’s better for twirling.”

Once she was satisfied with her new look and Mira had been cleaned up from her mini food fight with the table leg, we all piled into the living room. Travis set up decorations while I nursed Baylor quietly on the couch, half covered with a muslin blanket and half just not caring anymore. Breastfeeding in the wild had become a survival skill at this point.

“I’m texting Kylie,” Travis said, holding up his phone as he finished hanging a Happy Birthday banner. “Told her to swing by with the girls later if she’s up for it. Wyatt’s been begging to see Mira.”

I nodded, grateful that Kylie was slowly settling into life with baby Rhett. The idea of two newborns under one roof still made me shudder.

Lily danced around the living room like she was starring in her own ballet, and Mira crawled behind her like a clumsy backup dancer. The two of them were chaotic harmony.

And I watched them, Baylor now asleep against my chest again, and let myself take it all in.

One month ago, I was in a hospital bed, in shock. Crying every other hour. Drowning in hormones and fear and guilt for not knowing I was pregnant. Wondering how we’d survive adding another baby to our already wild world.

Now… it was still wild. Still messy and loud and exhausting.

But now it was ours.

Travis sat beside me, tossing a pacifier to Mira like he was playing shortstop. “Think she’ll remember this birthday?”

“Lily?” I asked, smirking. “Only every detail. She’s been planning it since the day after her third one.”

He laughed. “Fair. And you?”

I looked at him, then down at Baylor, then over at the girls spinning and giggling in the sunlight.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I think I’ll remember this one forever.”

And I meant it.

Because it wasn’t just Lily turning four.

It was me, too—becoming a stronger mom, finding my footing again, and remembering that love doesn’t divide when life gets harder.

It multiplies. Just like we did.

The party was winding down, and the living room looked exactly like you’d expect after a four-year-old’s dream day: wrapping paper torn to shreds in every corner, a tiara discarded on the coffee table, cupcake frosting smeared across multiple surfaces that were definitely not supposed to have frosting on them. Balloons floated low, tangled in toys and streamers, and the faint echo of kids’ music still played from someone’s tablet left on the floor.

Lily was half-asleep on the couch in her third outfit of the day—this one a princess nightgown she insisted on changing into after cake—and her face was sticky with dried icing and happiness. Mira had finally, finally conked out in her pack-and-play after being passed around all day like the honorary party mascot. And Baylor was curled against my chest, fussing softly while I rubbed his back in slow, tired circles.