Page 68 of The Holiday Games

Mostly…

As soon as Caroline and I turn off the lights that night, we hear the rustling of branches in the other room, as Greg launchesinto battle with his holiday nemesis. But he keeps the chaos to a respectable level.

We laugh and turn up the instrumental holiday music on our bedroom speaker, then make love to an extended cut of Carol of the Bells. I come buried deep inside my wife just as the track fades into a jazz version of HereComesSanta Claus.

Being a comedy writer, I’m obliged to make a joke about this fact. Caroline rewards me with a round of giggles that become a cackle of laughter as the tree crashes to the ground in the other room, followed by outraged squalling from Greg.

I hop out of bed, pulling on my pajama pants to check on our furry troublemaker. By the time I bring Greg to bed for a special holiday sleepover—our only chance of keeping our tree in one piece until morning—Caroline is in flannel pajama pants and one of my sweatshirts.

We snuggle with the cat between us, watching the snow fall outside, and once again, I’m hit with a wave of gratitude that takes my breath away.

In that moment, I truly don’t believe I could love her more.

Then, just three days later, she delivers Bump, a precious baby boy with her blue eyes and my stubborn chin, and my love grows so large it leaks out of my eyes and all over my father-in-law’s shoulder as he wraps me up in a big hug in the delivery room.

I’m glad he’s there, after all. I’m glad all the people we love are there, bringing gifts and flowers and well wishes to our suite as Caroline recovers from the thankfully relatively easy birth.

Two years ago, I was at my personal rock bottom.

Now, I’m a husband, co-creator of a hit show, and most amazingly, a father.

We take Bump—Noah Bartholomew Fenton, named after both our fathers—home two days later. Greg falls instantly, profoundly in love and spends the next eighteen months bringing Noah dead bugs as signs of his affection. When Natalie Kayla Fenton is born just days after Caroline’s June birthday, our now elderly cat showers her with the same beastly adoration, and all our hearts grow a little bigger with every passing day.

We love our life in the city and lazy summer days visiting Caroline’s parents in the mountains, but the holiday season will always hold a special place in our hearts.

It’s when we fell in love, when we said “I do,” and when our first kiddo was born.

Another eighteen months later, it’s also when we welcome our last child, a baby girl we name Joy in honor of the season and the happiness she brings to our family. Our nanny brings Noah and Natalie to visit us in the hospital, and we open little sixth night of Hanukkah presents between visits from the nurses checking on Caroline and Joy, who is two weeks premature.

But both mama and baby do so well that we’re able to head home just five days later.

We live on the Upper East Side now, in a large apartment more suited to our growing family, but we never miss the Union Square holiday market and find an excuse to wander by my old apartment at least once a month. We’ve rented it out to Ainsley and Trevor for now, but plan to move back there someday, when we’re finished raising kids and have more time and energy to hit the comedy clubs nearby.

But we’re in no rush. Even with the chaos of three kids under four years old, Greg, a new kitten, and two hamsters that became seven hamsters when we neglected to realize that Willy was actually a Wilhemina, I’ve never been happier.

Every day is a gift. Every celebration is all the more special because I get to share it with Caroline and our family.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks from the couch on Christmas morning, where Joy is sleeping on her chest, while Noah and Natalie watch a cartoon on the carpet, surrounded by all their new toys.

But I just smile and say, “You know.”

She does, a fact she proves by mouthing, “Love you, too.”

Greg yawns on the cushion beside her and rolls his eyes, muttering,You two are as disgusting as ever,but I know he doesn’t mean it. He loves us, adores the kids, and tolerates Poppy the kitten, who is currently chewing on his tail.

It’s a good life.

The best, some might say.

I certainly would.

The End

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