Page 70 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
The conversation is interrupted by movement in my belly that’s strong enough to be visible through my nightgown. All six babies seem to be active at the same time, creating ripples and bumps across my expanded abdomen that look almost alien from the outside.
“They’re having a dance party in there.” I watch the movement with fascination and mild discomfort. “Dr. Kozlova says that’s normal for this stage, but it feels like they’re competing for space.”
“They’re practicing for life in a large family.” He follows the movement with his hand, and his expression is soft with wonder. “They’re learning to share space, resources, and attention.”
“What if I can’t give them everything they need?” The question has been haunting me since we learned about the sextuplets. “Six children is too many for any parent to handle properly.”
“There’s no shame in needing help.” His pragmatism is just what I need right now, calmly countering all my rational and irrational fears. “We’ll hire nannies and anyone else we need to make sure each child gets individual attention and care.”
“Money can’t solve everything.” I shift again, trying to find a position that doesn’t put pressure on my ribs where the babies are running out of room to grow. “What if they need more emotional connection than we can provide? What if we fail them by trying to love too many children at once?”
“We won’t fail them because we’re aware of the potential challenges.” Tigran helps me adjust my position. “We’ll make sure each child knows they’re valued as an individual, not just as part of a group.”
“How can you be so confident about this?” I study his face for any sign of the doubt I know he must be feeling. “How can you be so sure we’ll figure out how to be good parents to six children simultaneously?”
“I’ve watched you for months now, and I’ve seen how you handle impossible situations.” Tigran’s voice carries conviction that makes me want to believe him. “You don’t give up when things get difficult. You adapt or strategize and find ways to succeed that other people wouldn’t even consider.”
“This is different from fighting the Federoffs or learning to navigateBratvapolitics.” I gesture at my swollen body. “This is about creating and nurturing life, not just surviving threats.”
“The skills are more similar than you think.” Tigran traces patterns on my belly where the babies are still moving. “Both require patience, careful thinking, and the ability to put other people’s needs ahead of your own comfort.”
“I’ve never put anyone’s needs ahead of my own comfort before you.” The admission surprises me with its honesty. “I was selfish, independent, and focused on my own goals. I don’t know how to be selfless enough to be a good mother.”
“You’ve been putting our children’s needs ahead of your own comfort for months now.” Tigran’s observation makes me consider my recent choices differently. “You’ve followed bed rest orders that you hate, taken medications that make you nauseated, and submitted to medical procedures that make you uncomfortable, all because it’s what’s best for them.”
“That’s just basic pregnancy management.” I try to dismiss his point, but I see the truth in what he’s saying. “Any responsible pregnant woman would do the same things.”
“Not every woman would handle it with as much grace as you have.” Tigran leans down to press a gentle kiss to my belly. “Not every woman would maintain her strength and humor while dealing with the physical challenges of carrying sextuplets.”
“I don’t feel graceful.” I watch him interact with our unborn children with tenderness that still surprises me. “I feel like a beached whale who complains too much and needs help with everything.”
“You’re a woman who’s doing something extraordinary while maintaining her sense of self.” Tigran looks up at me with an expression that makes my chest pang with emotion. “I’m more in love with you every day.”
I can’t hide my skepticism. “Even when I’m enormous and cranky?”
“Especially then.” Tigran’s honesty is both touching and confusing. “You’re growing our children and sacrificing your comfort for their well-being, and there’s nothing more beautiful than watching someone you love become a mother.”
I suddenly realize that somewhere in the midst of feeling frustrated with my changing body, I’ve been pushing him away emotionally. I’ve been so focused on what I’ve lost in terms of independence and physical capability that I haven’t fully appreciated what we’ve gained. “I’m sorry I’ve been difficult. I know this isn’t easy for you either, watching me struggle and not being able to fix things.”
“You haven’t been difficult.” He moves from the chair to sit carefully on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been honest about how hard this is, which is what I need from you.”
“I feel like I’m failing at being pregnant.” The confession is embarrassing but necessary. “I should be glowing, maternal, and excited instead of frustrated, scared, and uncomfortable.”
“You’re not failing at anything.” He takes my hand. “You’re succeeding at something that’s incredibly challenging while staying true to who you are.”
“Who I am is someone who doesn’t like feeling dependent on other people.” I intertwine our fingers. “I hate admitting weakness or asking for help.”
“I know, but you’re strong enough to accept help when you need it and honest enough to admit when things are difficult.” He brings my hand to his lips. “You’re brave enough to do something terrifying because it’s what’s best for people you love.”
“I do love them already.” The admission comes with a flutter of movement that suggests the babies are responding to my emotional state. “Even though they’re making me miserable and destroying my body, I love them more than I thought possible.”
“I love them too.” Tigran’s voice is soft with wonder.
“What if something goes wrong during delivery?” The fear that’s been haunting me for weeks washes over me again. “What if bed rest isn’t enough, and they come too early? What if I can’t carry them long enough for them to be healthy?”
“I have similar fears, but at least we’re a team in this.” Tigran’s certainty is comforting even though it doesn’t answer my specific concerns. “Dr. Kozlova is optimistic we can get you to at least thirty-two weeks, which gives them excellent chances of being healthy.”
“Thirty-two weeks still means two months in the NICU.” I try to imagine visiting six premature babies in incubators while not being able to hold them or feed them normally. The NICU facility is just down the hall, waiting for six babies with all the equipment they could ever need, and Tigran has been busy hiring doctors and nurses to staff everything, wanting our plan in place well in advance.
