Page 84 of Repluse

“You say it.”

“I did, and I’m naughty, and now I’m going to give you some money to put in the sweary word jar.”

“All your dollars,” she demands.

“Fuuuuu…. Far out, kid. You sound like your mother.” Frankie saves himself as he hands her a fifty.

“I’m no like mummy. I don’t have boobies yet.”

“How ‘bout you go put that in the sweary jar?” I suggest.

She looks between us as she chews on her bottom lip. “Are you mad with mummu?” she asks with a frown.

“No, bubbu, never,” I tell her, hating that we’ve worried her with our grown-up talk.

“Why would we be mad with mummu? We love mummu,” Frankie declares.

“Coz she pegnant.”

“No, no! I’m not. My bad belly just made me say a silly thing. No one’s mad,” Mils says, forcing a smile. “Go put the money in the jar.”

Feefs continues to look between us. “What’s pegnant? I want one. Can I eat it?”

“Fuck me,” Frankie sighs, already pulling more money from his wallet.

“No, never. Not happening,” I tell FiFi.

“Go put the money in the jar, then go watch a show with the boys,” Mila orders.

Once happily loaded up with a hundred dollars, our youngest skips off to put her money in the already full sweary jar.

We all stare at each other.

During her pregnancy with Sofia, Mils suffered with Hyperemesis Gravidarum—severe morning sickness—and ended up in the hospital. Then early last year, we lost a baby in the second trimester. Both were awful, devastating, and traumatising. And at one stage, I thought we might never get our beautiful girl back, she was so depressed. When she started to brighten a little bit, the three of us had a conversation and decided maybe it was for the best if there were no more babies. Frankie and I both offered to get the snip. Mila asked us to wait and not rush into anything as she’s always wanted four kids. The plan was, she’d go back on the pill. It never happened, and we’ve all known this would one day be the outcome.

The whole experience brought the three of us, but especially Frankie and me, closer together than ever. I definitely felt a shift in our relationship. Last night was evidence of that and was a way for me to let him know how much I love and appreciate him and what we have.

I move to the sink and stand next to him as Mila unwraps the box, lifts the lid of the toilet, and sits back down to pee.

Ten minutes later, we’re all staring at the word ‘PREGNANT’ on the stick.

“Girl,” Frankie predicts

“Girl,” I agree. Mils was never sick with the boys, only with Sofia and Birdie, the baby girl we lost last year.

“Girl,” Mils says with a smile as we all move in for a kiss.

Seven months later,Frankie Ella Grace comes into the world loud, angry, and with dark brows frowning over her piercing green eyes, and a mop of dark hair on her head.

The only thing that has stopped the kid screaming since her birth three months ago is loud music and being held by me.

Once again, Mils was incredibly sick throughout her pregnancy, but this time we managed to avoid a hospital stay. Still, Frankie and I made the decision to both have a vasectomy six months ago, so she will be our last.

Our family is complete. Our life, although not conventional, is pretty much perfect. Our love for each other and our kids, boundless. They will never experience the poverty, fear, and loneliness of their mum’s childhood, but we’ve made them aware that not everyone is fortunate to live the way we do, and we give generously of our time, and financially support many local charities.

We involve the kids when we can, even if it’s something as simple as donating one of their favourite toys to Santa at Christmas time, to give to a child who might otherwise end up with nothing.

Hopefully, all of this means we’re raising good kids, who one day, will become great adults.

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