On February 16, 2017, I sat in a small office chair and watched everyone go through their morning routines. Some discussed the news from the night before, others commented on sports scores. Finishing up their morning coffee, they prepared to cut into my wife and take out some of her organs. I sat there nervously sweating in anticipation. I was about to be the father of twin girls. I was nervous, but I was ready.
My wife, Coley, and I had done everything right. We had a house, a dog and a yard. We had a nursery decorated in little woodland creatures. We had accumulated a library of Children's books (I even wrote a few). We even had a fucking mini van.
We were ready. Or at least we thought we were.
I remember noticing how nonchalant everyone around me was acting at the hospital that day, as I sat there waiting for the most significant event of my life. They called me in when it was time to begin the C-Section. I sat down beside Coley and readied my camera like I was waiting for some endangered creature to come out of its habitat.
Coley is the strongest person I know. The procedure didn't seem to phase her.
Laurel and Juniper, were born at 8:30 and 8:31, respectively. I refer to this moment as the splice. There are few times in one's life where life completely changes in the span of one second. A moment when you are forever intertwined with something else, from that moment forward. The birth of your child/children is one of those times.
I caught some pictures of them with their asses in the air and told Coley I'd share those with their first boyfriends to embarrass them.
Once they found their way into the atmosphere and most of the vernix was polished off, the techs let me over to see them. They were beautiful. All of their parts and pieces were there. Honestly, they looked like tiny little old men that got in a fist fight. But to me, they were beautiful. I noticed that Juniper didn't cry much and that worried me, but otherwise everything seemed to be in its right place.