Chloe Bear and Livi Rabbit

It was an unseasonably cold and blustery May night. Livi was tucked deep into my arms while I fed her to the shine of the night light her grandpa installed in her nursery. Mags had called me a few hours before, breathless.

"This will be my last call. I don't want to talk to anyone. Can you send an update?"

I forwarded the message on to our girlfriends, "Mags is progressing, pain is picking up, getting epidural. Chloe should be here tonight."

I stared into the eyes of my nearly three week old as I listened to the wind push our lawn furniture around outside, "Your best friend is coming. Are you excited?"

She blinked her eyes to tell me she was and that it was about damn time.

At 7 a.m. my phone rang and I nearly crawled over Mr. J to grab it, my c-section incision forcing me back into my pillows as I winced, "Phone. Mags. Get it."

I heard a whimper as I skipped over hello, "Is she here?"

"No. It hurts so bad."

"Where's Matt?"

"Picking up my mom."

"Epidural?"

"Had it."

"Still in pain?"

"Yes, and I'm so tired and hungry. People keep calling and texting. I can't sleep between contractions. I hate this."

Mags had been in labor for 22 hours at that point and while dilating, was taking for freaking ever to push out the very lazy little girl that was holding on to her insides taking her dear sweet time. I told her I loved her and said the most supportive things I could think of, wishing I could be there with her and knowing it impossible with little Livi asleep next to me.

By 10 I was starting to worry.

Around noon I got a text with a picture of little Chloe (27 hours of labor, mind you) and felt tears slide down my cheeks as I turned the phone to Liv, who was, not surprisingly, eating, "She's here!"

And that she was, all 6 lbs and 8 oz of her, big brown eyes and her mommy's full lips, a beauty mark nestled sweetly on her chin and a bunch of people dying to meet her.

Two days later I got another call from Mags, this time she was back in the hospital in the Ped's unit, little Chloe hooked up to monitors to try and figure out why she was gagging and keep an eye on those beautiful lips that had turned blue to the big fright of her mama.

I found my girlfriend battle worn and sleep deprived when I entered Chloe's hospital room, something I was fully familiar with as Mags had just seen me through five days in the hospital. She was there when I'd get the chills, when I threw up, she helped me to the bathroom, brushed my hair, stood guard when I had my staples out and walked the halls of the Postpartum unit with me while I carted around an IV and she carted around a very large belly. The monitor kept going off, making our already rattled nerves even that more rattled as little Chloe stirred. We sat, two new mommys together and cried big tears, our new adventure sealing us, making the fabric of our friendship slightly more resilient and tightly knitted. We ate trail mix, we compared jelly bellies and agreed that the hospital socks were the best thing ever and pumping your breasts is weird.

But lastly, we agreed that our girls are going to be the best of friends because their mamas would accept nothing less.

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Little Chloe is doing well (see her "I'm Here!" pose above) and only had to stay at the hospital for 24 hours. Both she and her BFF, Livi, have matching cases of acid reflux and are being monitored by our pediatrician. Chloe is now three weeks and Liv will be six weeks on Friday. Their Aunt Amie adores them and is glad that she's done having children. She plans to spoil ours rotten and then go home and sleep 8 hours.

As for me and Mags? Well, we're exhausted, have taken to texting each other at very strange hours, are rarely seen without a pony tail, but are madly in love with our girls and their pukey little rear ends.