"How do you do this?"

I said:

"You do it because they need you."

He looked at me.

Then nodded.

Something about that night stayed with him.

The next morning, he didn't complain.

He got up.

Changed both diapers.

Prepared bottles.

Folded laundry.

Then sat beside me.

"How are you feeling?"

I stared at him.

It was the first time he'd asked since coming home.

"Still sore."

He nodded.

"I'm sorry."

I didn't respond.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"No. I really am."

"I know."

He looked down.

"I thought I was entitled to one last break."

"You were."

He looked surprised.

"You were entitled to rest," I said.

"But?"

"But not at the expense of everyone else."

He nodded.

"I understand."

The First Time He Held Both Babies

A week later, something unexpected happened.

I woke up in the middle of the night.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

I walked carefully toward the nursery.

Then stopped.

Trevor was sitting in the rocking chair.

One baby was sleeping against his chest.

The other was tucked carefully against his arm.

He looked exhausted.

His head had fallen against the chair.

He was completely asleep.

For several seconds, I just watched him.

This was the image I had imagined before our babies were born.

Not the beach.

Not the vacation.

Not the perfect family.

Just this.

A tired father holding his children.

I quietly walked away.

I didn't wake him.

But the Real Problem Wasn't the Vacation

A few weeks passed.

Things improved.

Trevor became more involved.