notverywise | (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."

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They're the tiniest things Cameron's ever seen or held in his life. He's seen babies before, of course, and held them, too, but never newborns, and not like this. They're his own, and somehow that makes them all the more precious, their tiny fingers and toes and eyelashes impossibly perfect and small.

"You did this," he says, leaning down to kiss her forehead, careful as he holds onto one of his daughters. "I just held your hand. But they are perfect." He is mildly terrified by it, to be honest, frightened he'll do something to hurt them, drop one or just not be a very good father. In this moment, though, he swears to the tiny bundle in his arms that he'll do everything he can for them, give them everything he's got and more.

"Well, I did the hard part," Jenny says, hardly about to dance around the truth of that, least of all when she still feels so very tired, as if exhaustion has settled in her bones. Despite that, though, there's a part of her that's giddy, too, intimidated but thrilled. This is real, they've really managed it, and both of their daughters are healthy. It's the most she could have asked for, easing worries that it would have been impossible not to carry around with her. So many things can go wrong when giving birth, but no matter how long and painful a process, it's still gone alright. They're parents now. Somehow it feels even better than she imagined.

"But I think you had something to do with their being here, at least."

Cameron huffs out a soft laugh, brow raising. "Well, I will concede that," he says. Jenny may have done the real work, but these are still his daughters, every bit as much as their hers, and he means to make sure they get everything they could ever long for as they grow up. These sweet, tiny, frail, crying creatures — he's torn between a sense of bewildered wonder and a certainty he'd lay his life down for them if it came to it.

For now, though, he means just to enjoy the moment, gazing awestruck down at the tiny bundle in his arms and shaking his head. "They're so small. I can't get over it."

"Everything looks small to you," Jenny says, looking up at him with a sleepily teasing smile. He's not wrong, though. If anything, they seem smaller now than should be possible with all the extra weight she's been carrying around, never mind actually giving birth to them. She would have loved them no matter what, but they're so tiny, so perfect, she can hardly fathom it. "It's incredible. I can't get over it."

There's a difference, after all, between knowing something will be the case and actually seeing it firsthand, holding one of her daughters. Plenty of people may do this, but these are theirs, and that's something special in its own right.

"I don't know if we ever will," Cameron says. It's difficult to know where to look right now, torn between his wife and his daughters. Even exhausted like this, Jenny is stunning; he knows he's deeply biased, but she looks as beautiful as ever to him. And these girls are so small, so perfect, but there's no room in him now for the fear that he'll somehow ruin things for them, not measure up as a father. All he can be is relieved they're all well, happy to have them here.

"How do you get over... making lives? Something so perfect?"

"You don't, probably," Jenny says. There will be times, she has no doubt, when they'll be driven absolutely crazy. This initial reaction will wear off; the fact of their being parents will become more normal. Even so, it's hard to imagine that she'll ever be less stunned by their having brought two human beings into the world, tiny little cells that have come together to become fully formed people. "Maybe one day, but... It's hard to even think that far ahead right now."

She married him so they could have a life together, though that's never a guarantee here. Still, it's difficult to picture years or decades down the line, their children adults and not newborns. She's in no hurry to get there.

Cameron can barely envision a year from now, never mind more than that. Having not one but two babies in the house is bound to be exhausting, he knows that, but it'll be worth it, too. He's not sure he's ever felt more blessed than this, except maybe on their wedding day. Hell, there are still times he marvels at the fact she agreed to marry him. Making new life seems even more miraculous.

Carefully, he leans out of his seat to press a kiss to her forehead. "I love you," he says, and eases back into the chair. "Just felt worth mentioning."

"I love you, too," Jenny says, nothing but fond now, though she's fairly certain she got more than a little angry at him and his genetics while in labor. That mostly feels like a haze now, with how exhausted she is, which she can't say is a bad thing at all. If anything, she would rather have it stay that way. Their daughters are here now, tinier and more perfect than she could ever have imagined they would be, and there's no one she would rather be here having a family with. "And them. Even after all these months, it's... incredible, still."

"Yeah, about that," Cameron says, bouncing the bundle in his arms a little as she stretches, little mouth opening wide in a silent yawn. "Is it too late to say I have no idea what I'm doing here? Because I have no clue. We had all those months to prepare and I'm... reduced to staring at them and thinking they are so tiny." It's not entirely true — he really did do the research with her, did his best to get ready for this day — but it's not exactly false either. The whole thing feels a little like an elaborate and extremely emotional dream.

"I hope it's not too late," Jenny says, "because I have no idea, either." She expects, of course, that that's normal — that all the reading in the world couldn't prepare them for what it's like to have the babies here now, and to have to put it all into practice — but it's as if the past few months have gone right out of her head. Granted, it's been an incredibly long, painful day, and she doesn't think she's ever been so tired in her whole life, hardly capable of stopping to recall all that she's read. "I'm sure it will all come back to both of us, it's just... not there, right now."

"Yeah," Cameron says. He kind of thought that might send him into a panic, but that's not there either. He's a little nervous, yes. The last thing he wants is to do anything to hurt these precious babies in any way. But right now, there's just peace, watching the baby in his arms shift, tiny arms waving. "We can do this. People have figured it out for thousands of years." They'll find a way to do it, too.

"And with far fewer resources than we have," Jenny says. They'll be fine. She believes that. They're young, healthy, and well-off financially, putting them in a much better position than many other people who have children. If they feel a little lost, well, transitioning from reading parenting books to actually being parents is something of a big deal, and not a skill that can be learned overnight. They planned for and wanted this. Everything else will come with time. "It's worth it, anyway."