Page 90 of Triplet Babies
The next few minutes feel like hours as Dr. Ranick works to safely deliver our children. I can’t see anything, but I feel the tugging and pressure as she maneuvers each baby free. Then I hear a sharp, indignant cry that fills the operating room with the sound of new life.
“Baby A is here!” Dr. Ranick announces. “It’s a boy, and he’s got quite a set of lungs on him.”
I start crying before I can help myself, overwhelmed by the realization our son is finally here and breathing and making his displeasure known to everyone in the room.
“He’s beautiful,” Yarik whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Sarah, he’s absolutely perfect.”
A minute later, a softer cry joins the first as Dr. Ranick delivers our second child. “Baby B is a girl, and she seems much calmer than her brother.”
“Two down, one to go,” I say through my tears. “Come on, little one.”
The third cry is the loudest of all, startled and strong, as our youngest daughter makes her entrance. “And Baby C is here. Another girl, and she’s definitely got a temper. All three babies are healthy and breathing well,” she says a moment later. “Apgar scores are excellent across the board.”
I hear our children crying, but I can’t see them yet as the nurses clean and examine each baby. Yarik keeps hold of my hand, describing everything he can see while tears stream down his cheeks.
“They’re so small,” he says, sounding somewhere between shocked and in awe, “But they’re perfect. All three of them are absolutely perfect.”
Finally, the nurses bring our children to us, each baby swaddled in soft blankets and wearing tiny knit caps. Yarik holds our son and one daughter while a nurse helps me cradle the other daughter against my chest.
“Are you crying?” I ask Yarik, noting the tears on his face as he looks down at our children.
He doesn’t even try to deny it. “This is the only legacy I’ll ever care about.”
“It’s okay to cry.” I’m crying too, overwhelmed by love for these tiny humans we created together. “They’re so beautiful.”
Our son has dark hair like Yarik and serious eyes that seem to take in everything around him. One daughter has lighter hair and delicate features, while the other looks like a perfect blend of both of us.
“What should we call them?” he asks softly, adjusting his hold on the babies so they’re both comfortable.
We discussed names for months but never made final decisions. Now, looking at our children for the first time, the choices feel obvious. “Mikhail,” I say, looking at our son. “After your father.”
Yarik’s eyes fill with fresh tears at the suggestion. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, and Elena for your mother.” I touch the cheek of the daughter in my arms. “This little one can be Katrina, after my mother Katherine.”
“Mikhail, Elena, and Katrina Barinov.” Yarik tests the names, his voice full of wonder. “Our family.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but they need to go to the NICU now,” says the doctor, looking regretful. “If they continue to do as well as they are at the moment, I don’t anticipate they’ll be with us more than two or three weeks.”
I sniffle as two nurses collect the babies, and a third positions each in an incubator. Yarik goes with them to the NICU while Dr. Ranick returns to the afterwork following birth. Three weeks in the NICU sounds like a lot, but it’s better than the six weeks we’d been preparing ourselves to endure. “Hold on, little ones,” I whisper, longing to hold them again already.
Hours later,after my own stint in recovery, Yarik wheels me in a wheelchair into the NICU. We go through the stages to sterilize ourselves before finally entering a NICU room with soft lighting and comfortable chairs for visitors. All the babies are inside this room, arranged in a loose triangle. We already have visitors, and they seem like they’ve been here for a while.
Nina sits in the corner, holding Elena while Valentin stands awkwardly by the window, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but somehow unable to leave. “You can hold her, you know,” I tell Valentin, noting how his gaze keeps drifting to the baby in Nina’s arms. “She won’t break.”
“I don’t know anything about babies.” He clasps his hands behind his back, maintaining his professional distance even in this intimate moment.
“None of us knew anything about babies six hours ago,” Yarik says as he gently takes Mikhail from the incubator, ensuring he’s still attached to his monitors and oxygen before carefully placing him in my arms. “But we’re all learning.” He pulls down my gown somewhat so the baby can nuzzle against me. “Skin to skin is best.”
I grin up at him. “Look at you, already a NICU nurse.”
He flushes but grins. “I like to know everything about a situation.”
I chuckle as Nina convinces Valentin to hold Elena. “After all, you went through all the process to get into the NICU, so why waste that gorgeous blue gown,” she teases, making him frownat her, but he sits down in the chair by Elena’s incubator and takes the baby, though without skin-to-skin contact. That would probably push him too far. I watch in amazement as the man who’s spent his entire adult life managing violence and criminal enterprises becomes completely entranced by a four-pound baby girl.
“She’s so small,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “How does something this small survive?”
“Very carefully, with lots of help.” I pause as Mikhail shifts slightly, letting out a small sigh. “You’re going to be Uncle Valentin, whether you like it or not.”
