Shopping for a CEO's Baby (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 16), стр. 77

One handed, Andrew descends the ladder with a wide-awake Charlie in his arms.

He halts.

“What if they poop in the water?” His consternation shows in the dropped brow, the frown hilarious.

“You’re just realizing that’s a possibility now?”

I get a flat look. “I had to be in the water with him to think about it.” Charlie’s legs are in, butt hanging off Andrew’s forearm, eyes blinking rapidly.

“We climb out fast and let the filter do its job. But I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Parenting two small babies means conversations like this, mostly revolving around poop. I thought Shannon was kidding when she said this.

Turns out my bestie was issuing a warning, not a joke.

Leaves in the trees over the enclosed glass solarium are a flaming mix of yellow, orange and red, a little green still dotting the lush branches. Fall in New England has a special kind of allure. Even if you've lived here your entire life, like I have, you see how special it is.

Crisp golds mingle with bright reds, the leaves falling and plastering themselves on the glass. It rained last night, leaving the air fresh, scented with dirt and woodsmoke, neighbors burning brush and wood stoves as the chill begins to hit.

We have Halloween costumes for the babies. They'll be pumpkins, of course.

Twin pumpkins.

A big smile crosses Charlie's face as Andrew goes in deeper, moving over a few feet from the ladder, holding on to the side with one hand, clutching Charlie in the other. The twins can't hold their heads up just yet, but they try, and Charlie pulls back off Andrew's shoulder for a few seconds as if looking up in wonder.

Then he settles in and kicks, just once.

“Yes!” Andrew says gently, grinning at me. “Good kick! We'll get infant swimming tutors here next month and start with you.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, my heart exploding as I watch Andrew explore the water with Charlie, my hand on the ladder's railing, ready to join them. “I don't like the videos where they dip the babies all the way under.”

“Some people start at birth,” he reminds me. “From the amniotic fluid inside straight into the pool.”

“Those were vaginal births,” I remind him. “And those babies didn't have a mama who had surgery.”

“Hey,” he says tenderly. “No judgment. And no problem. We're not racing to turn them into Olympic contenders here.”

“I know. And Mom agrees with infant swimming lessons, for safety reasons. It freaks her out that we have an indoor pool with little ones running around.”

“Actuaries know all about the calculated risks.” He doesn't say the word drowning, but I know what he means.

For the last ten weeks, since the birth, I've been a roller coaster of emotions as all the hormones needed to build the babies had to slowly leave my body so I could be just me again. My bones. My blood. My hormones.

My empty womb.

“We have locks and alarms. We're fine. But teaching them to swim is a joy. And I'll be here for every lesson.”

“You said that, but – really? Can you be here?”

“Of course. Do you doubt me?”

“I – ” A flash of the day Carol and Shannon were here runs through my mind. The day work took him away from me here in the pool.

“I mean it,” he says firmly. “I'm changing my priorities.”

“I know you are. I just worry you can't.”

“Can't?”

“Sometimes what we want, even when we want it desperately, isn't possible if the structure of life fights us the whole way.”

Andrew pulls Charlie off his shoulder, carefully putting the baby on his back in the water, Charlie's head in the crook of his elbow as he moves into the water deeper, tall enough to move easily through the water. There's a small lip on the edge, too, where I can stand if I'm unsure with Will.

“You’re ready for this?”

“I think so.”

“I'm here if you need me.”

“You always are.”

The first step down the ladder is slow, my body ultra-aware of all the ways I have to protect the baby. The second step puts my calf in the warm water, a light layer of steam beginning to form on the surface. Unaccustomed to this temperature, I let out a gasp of surprise, which makes Andrew laugh.

“It's so warm!”

Will squirms on my shoulder, my grip tightening.

“It is. And the view is fabulous,” Andrew adds.

“If by view, you mean my ass, it's extra fabulous, given all the padding.”

“The padding makes it fabulous, honey. What was already lovely is now extra lovely.”

I suppress a sarcastic hah! He means it.

And knowing he means it makes me love him even more.

When my fabulous ass hits the water, I pause, the c-section scar a source of irritation. Two weeks after the birth, half the incision opened, unfurling like a broken zipper. Infection had set in and it drew out the healing process. Andrew insisted on waiting for the twins' first swim until I could be here, and as the water covers the scar, I feel nothing.

Whew.

Salt water and open wounds don't mix well, so the lack of feeling means the doctors are right.

I'm healed.

Will wiggles as his legs hit the water, and when I am in and holding on to the wide with my right arm, I turn him to face me, his smile like sunbeams. Andrew has Charlie on his back, still in the crook of his arm, and he's saying something to him in low, soothing tones.

For the next twenty minutes, we just float.

The twins love it, little coos and sighs their only language, smiles their currency we accept eagerly. Will and Charlie are identical twins, but we can tell them apart. Charlie’s smile is crooked, the right side turning up a tinge more than the left.

Will sounds like a billy goat when he cries, and he’s an innie. Charlie’s an outie, though we’re only discovering that recently, as the umbilical cord heals.

They are carbon copies of my husband, which makes him puff up to no end, though