Page 115 of No Greater Love
"He's perfect," Tasha said, shifting carefully so Paige could get a better view. "Come meet your little brother."
I watched Paige approach the bed with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious experiences. When she got her first good look at Oliver, her face went through approximately seventeen different expressions before settling on pure wonder.
"He's so tiny," she breathed. "Look at his fingers! They're like little sausages!"
"Attractive little sausages," I corrected.
"The most attractive little sausages ever," Paige agreed seriously. Then, to Oliver: "Hi, Little Brother. I'm Paige. I'm going to teach you everything I know, which is a lot, so you better be ready to learn."
Oliver chose that moment to open his eyes; dark blue like all newborns, but something about the shape already reminded me of Tasha. He blinked owlishly at Paige, and I swear his expression suggested he was already resigned to whatever his big sister had planned for him.
"I think he likes me," Paige said with satisfaction.
"He'd better," Tasha said. "You're going to be his favorite person in about a year when he realizes you're the one who'll sneak him extra cookies."
"I would never," Paige said with mock indignation, then immediately added, "Okay, I totally would."
Mrs. Swanson stepped forward with the blue-bordered blanket she'd knitted, the one she'd hinted about at the baby shower. Up close, I could see tiny embroidered sailboats along the edges, a nod to my Navy service that made my throat tight.
"For Master Oliver," she said formally, then broke into a grin. "Though I suspect he's going to be running the household within a week."
"He's a Crawford," Sophia observed from the doorway. "Of course he's going to be running things."
The next few hours passed in a blur of visitors and phone calls and the surreal adjustment to being a family of four instead of three. My mother-in-law (and wasn't that still a strange and wonderful phrase!) arrived with enough flowers to stock a florist shop. Maria showed up with coffee and gossip from the ER. Even Drs. Lee and Ward made a brief appearance, the former looking slightly uncomfortable and the latter ecstatic, both offering genuine congratulations.
But it was the quiet moments I treasured most. Watching Tasha nurse Oliver for the first time, both of them figuring it out together. Seeing Paige hold her brother with the careful concentration of someone entrusted with the most precious cargo in the world. The way Oliver's tiny hand wrapped around my finger like he was already claiming me as his dad.
"No second thoughts?" Tasha asked during one of the rare moments when it was just the four of us.
"About what?"
"Going from one kid to two. Losing all pretense of having your life together."
I looked around the hospital room, at our son sleeping peacefully in his bassinet, at Paige curled up in the chair reading a book about baby development she'd checked out from the library, at the woman who'd turned my carefully controlled world upside down in the best possible way.
"Not a single one," I said honestly. "This is exactly where I'm supposed to be."
"Even when he's screaming at 3 AM and Paige has a science project due the next day and I'm covered in spit-up and questioning all our life choices?"
"Especially then."
She smiled, the soft, tired smile of a woman who'd just brought life into the world. "Good answer."
Three days later, we brought Oliver home to a house that had been transformed by Paige's enthusiastic preparations. She'd made a "Welcome Home, Little Brother" banner that covered most of the living room wall. The nursery was perfectly organized, every outfit sorted by size, every book arranged by reading level for when he was older.
"I've prepared a schedule," Paige announced, producing a color-coded chart that would have impressed a Marine drill instructor. "Feeding times, nap times, tummy time, reading time?—"
"Paige," I interrupted gently, "babies don't really follow schedules for the first few months."
She looked genuinely confused. "But how will he know what he's supposed to be doing?"
"He'll figure it out," Tasha said, settling into the rocking chair with Oliver. "Trust me, he'll let us know what he needs."
As if to prove her point, Oliver chose that moment to start fussing. Paige immediately sprang into action, consulting her chart.
"According to my calculations, he's not due for feeding for another hour, but maybe he needs a diaper change? Or tummy time? Oh! Maybe he wants me to read to him!"
"Maybe he just wants to complain about being evicted from his warm, cozy apartment," I suggested.
