(no subject)

Jenny is certain, without a doubt, that she has never been this exhausted in her life. That's no surprise, of course — she'd assumed that would be the case — but it seems no less noteworthy for the fact of that, and anyway, she still couldn't really have imagined this. The months leading up to today have been long and tiring. The last several seemingly endless hours have been infinitely more so than all of those weeks combined, labor even longer and more grueling than she's ever heard. Then again, she's always imagined that must be true of parenthood. There's only so much that stories and books can communicate on that front.

All of that, and the fact that she suspects she'll continue being tired for the foreseeable future, is worth it to be here now, though, with two healthy little girls. She's wanted this for such a long time; she doesn't think she knew just how much she wanted it until now, having her husband and her daughters with her, her smile tremulous and emotional and weary but bright and warm, too. Though she's always thought all babies looked the same, just small and wrinkly miniature people, she's never seen anything, anyone, so beautiful.

It's probably hormones or exhaustion or some bizarre instinct kicking in that's making her think so, but she doesn't particularly care. The reaction is surely not abnormal, and it's a good one. At some point, sooner rather than later, she'll get fed up and frustrated with all the work, noise, and sleep deprivation. From what she's gathered, that's normal, too. But right now, despite what it's taken to get here, in a less than ideal hospital bed under less than ideal lighting and with the family she's made for herself, everything just seems right.

"They're perfect," she says, utterly fond, then glances over at Cameron. "We did this."