Page 178 of Babies for the Big Shot

And then there’s the “Baby Tux Björn,” as Evelyn insists on calling it, with a baby strapped to my chest in a carrier.

It’s probably the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn, and I’m pretty sure Lily is making an active effort to ruin my tuxedo by drooling on it, but I don’t care. This moment is bigger than any discomfort I’m feeling.

The aisle, once covered in flower petals, has now become a battlefield. One of the boys, Ethan, I think, has decided that the flowers are a delicacy, while Samuel seems more interested in creating a mess.

I don’t even know how it happened, but now we have a bouquet of crumpled petals and half-chewed flower parts.

Babies are so much easier before they start moving.

Why did no one tell me that?

And then there’s the officiant. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more out of place in their life. I don’t think he’s used to this kind of chaos at all.

I am, though.

This is every day for me.

I’m half embarrassed, half laughing, but at this point, I’m not even sure it matters.

And then, through the haze of noise, chaos, and all around pandemonium, I see her.

Sara.

She’s standing at the entrance, looking more radiant than I could have imagined, and for a brief second, I forget how to breathe.

It’s not the dress, though it’s perfect—tea length, with pockets, a bouquet of baby socks tucked into her arms as if to make some ridiculous point about the chaos that’s come to define us.

It’s not the way her hair is pinned up, with curls rebelliously escaping in a way that could only be described as effortlessly perfect.

It’s something abouther, something about this moment, that makes everything else fade into the background.

She starts walking down the aisle, and all of a sudden, the world starts moving in slow motion. Everything else falls away.

I’m a mess. I’m holding it together only because I have no other option, but every part of me is wrecked.

The babies, the wedding, the chaotic life we’ve built, it all fades into a blur of insignificance compared to her.

It’s a ridiculous scene. In fact, I think if I weren’t so in love with her, I’d probably be rolling my eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

But I can’t. Not when she looks at me with those eyes.

Not when she’s holding on to the same love and belief in us that I’m trying to hold onto, despite everything falling apart around us.

And then, just as she reaches me, my daughter decides this is the moment to express her feelings about the event.

Lily lets out a wail so loud that I’m sure it could be heard in another zip code, and before I even have a chance to react, she’s upchucked all over my tuxedo.

Sara, of course, laughs. I would have joined her if I weren’t so horrified by the mess we’ve created.

“Is it too late to elope?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she stands in front of me, all poised and perfectly chaotic.

I can’t help it. I laugh, too. Because the truth is, I wouldn’t change a single thing. The disaster, the noise, the unpredictability, it’s us. It’s real.

And somehow, despite all of it, this feels exactly the way it was always meant to be.

“No turning back now,” I tell her, pulling her closer, “You’re stuck with me.”

She smiles, and in that instant, I know.