You Stayed With Us

We're Finally Home

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It was 2:47 a.m. when I woke up to a noise that was part cry, part angry goose.

I blinked at the ceiling, disoriented. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. Until—

"Lisa."

There it was. Jennie's whisper. Soft, half-asleep, but carrying the urgency of someone trying not to wake a third world war.

"Lisa. Baby A is upset."

"Noah?" I croaked, rolling over. My entire body ached, even though I was pretty sure I hadn't moved since we collapsed on the bed three hours ago. Jennie and I had wedged the bassinet right next to us, one on each side. Noah on hers. Nathan on mine. A strategic plan. Very flawed.

Jennie sat up carefully, her hair in a messy bun, looking way too graceful for a sleep-deprived human. I, on the other hand, looked like I had been hit by three buses and then dipped in baby formula.

"Maybe he's hungry again," she whispered.

I turned over to peek at Nathan—still out cold, swaddled like a burrito with a pacifier glued to his tiny mouth. No movement. Not even a twitch.

"Should we change him first?" I yawned, sitting up.

Jennie winced. "I think so. He's... ripe."

"Oh god."

Thus began Operation: Midnight Diaper Change—a mission destined to fail from the start.

We moved to the nursery in slow motion, like zombies. The nightlight cast a warm, golden glow across the room, and Cooper was already curled up just outside the door like he knew things were about to get real. Ella was passed out in her room, snoring softly with her arms around her stuffed bear, completely unaware of the war zone we were walking into.

I gently laid Noah down on the changing table while Jennie handed me a clean diaper and wipes. She looked concerned, like she was preparing to defuse a bomb.

"You sure you want to do this side?" she asked.

"I've changed diapers before," I said confidently.

"You've changed Ella's diapers. That was one baby. One angle."

"...Fair."

I peeled back Noah's diaper.

I paused.

Jennie paused.

"...What in the actual fu—"

There are no words for what we saw. Only that I understood, in that moment, why some parents consider just throwing out the whole baby and starting over.

"He EXPLODED," I whispered.

Jennie was wheezing. "How did that even happen?! It's on his socks—Lisa, how did it get on his SOCKS?!"

"I don't know! I didn't do this to him!"

And then—

He peed. Straight up. Like a tiny water fountain from hell. It hit me square in the face. My hair. My mouth.

"HE SHOT ME!"

Jennie collapsed to the floor, laughing so hard she actually wheezed. "I told you! You didn't listen!"

I stood there dripping, arms in the air, eyes wide. "He marked me like territory!"

Jennie reached for her phone to take a picture. I lunged. "NO PROOF!"

Eventually, after tag-teaming the diaper change (her cleaning, me running for backup clothes and a towel for my pride), we got Noah into a fresh onesie. He yawned like nothing happened. Like he hadn't just declared war on my soul.

Nathan woke up just as we were settling back down.

"Round two," I groaned, flopping on the bed.

Jennie giggled. "I'll do this one. You already look like you've been through battle."

"I have. I'm a veteran now."

By 3:30 a.m., both babies were finally back to sleep. Jennie curled up next to me, her hand slipping into mine. Our bedroom was quiet again, save for the occasional baby grunt and the soft snores from Cooper on the floor.

"Are we doing okay?" I whispered, eyes closed.

Jennie gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "I think we're doing great."

I smiled even though I felt like roadkill. "We make good parents."

"We make good babies."

"Same thing."

And we laid there, soaking in the weight of everything. The smell of baby lotion. The dim light. The ridiculous memory of being baptized by my son. And still—somehow—it all felt... perfect.

This was our new normal.

Loud. Sticky. Sleep-deprived. Wonderful.

Welcome to the circus.

And we wouldn't change a thing.