Asia Vieira died (giving birth to six)

And then we had children. At first it was hard, strange, awkward - we were both completely unprepared for this role. But with each passing day we learned, made mistakes, laughed and continued to move forward.

Our first child was a girl, born exactly nine months after our wedding. Her birth was accompanied by a not very pleasant conversation with the doctor - a gray-haired old man with thick bushy eyebrows. He shook his head reproachfully, like a professor lecturing careless students:

"Forty-two? It's a bit late, you know... Risks..."

But Asia didn't even listen to him, and, as it turned out, she did absolutely the right thing. It was as if she knew in advance that she would cope, that everything would be fine. Her calm confidence was transmitted to me, although in those days I still doubted myself, us, our future.

When our baby cried for the first time, I stood there, stunned, as if the world had suddenly taken a sharp turn. I looked at Asia, her tired but radiant face, and I knew that everything that had come before - the doubts, the difficulties, the fears - seemed like a prelude to this moment.

One of the most famous psychiatrists in the city worked in the maternity hospital where all this was happening. He was a notable figure, almost legendary, with a reputation for always saying what he thought and never hiding his opinion. Seeing Asia with our tiny daughter in her arms, he stopped, looked at them with some kind of quiet admiration and, slightly raising an eyebrow, said:

"You really did THIS."

This was said not with reproach or surprise, but with genuine respect. He immediately understood: her husband, that is, me, was not afraid to take this step, despite all the warnings. And Asia, having decided to give birth to a child at forty-two, did what for many seemed if not impossible, then risky.

He expressed his admiration in an unusual way - he gave our daughter a gift. It was a small pendant, carved from polished wood, in the shape of a heart.

"This is for her," he said. "Let her grow up brave and strong like her mother."

That moment, so unexpected and personal, remained in my memory forever. It seemed to emphasize that our action, our decision, was not just a private story, but something more, something that inspired sincere respect in people like this doctor.

At first, fussing with the child was far from pleasant. The baby screamed, wet herself, demanded attention every minute. For Asia, who was used to a completely different life, this became a real test. Almost every night she did not get enough sleep, and during the day, exhausted by constant worries, she looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

If it weren't for the support of my friends, with whom I used to hang out at anime parties, I think it might not have held up. These guys, seemingly completely removed from the family routine, unexpectedly showed their best side.

"Well, senpai," said Ilya Silantyev, one of my old comrades, that same silent anime fan, "are we managing?"

They came, brought food with them, some small gifts for the baby - diapers with prints from favorite anime and a small figurine of a very cute Gojira (some Jap Shit), which later took its place on the shelf in the nursery.

"And you, brother, don't be shy," teased Pavel Solonin, my long-time cosplay partner. "It's like a challenge: the child is your ultimate boss!"

Asia, who at first greeted them with caution, later got used to their strange but good-natured presence. And although their jokes and manners sometimes showed childishness, their support became our salvation.

So, thanks to this unexpected help, we were able to get through the most difficult period. Asia began to cope with the role of a mother a little more confidently, and I, in turn, again felt that there are friends who are ready to help, even when life changes in the most radical way.

And who would have thought that this was only the beginning! A year ago, I couldn't even imagine that I would plunge headlong into child-making! The first child was followed by a second, then a third... It seemed that Asia and I had found our calling in this, although to say that it was easy would be a blatant lie.

When the sixth (sic!) crying baby appeared in our house, the neighbors began to look at us with such surprise that I felt like I was participating in some strange experiment.

"You guys are something else, Skovorodnikoffs!" said my neighbor Aunt Marion, watching me unload three high chairs and a box of diapers from the car. "You look like rabbits, honestly!"

I just chuckled. I could have been offended, but I wasn't. She was partly right. Asia and I had a real conveyor belt of babies, and life, which became more difficult with each one, somehow made us stronger.

Friends couldn't help but joke:

"So, bro," Ilya Silantyev said, handing me a box of diapers at another "family" gathering, "when are you going to organize your own anime club? You have more participants than we have at our festivals!"

Asia just shook her head and smiled, becoming an absolute bastion of calm in this storm.

"I don't know how you do it," I told her one evening as I put my youngest to bed. "But you're like... some kind of superpower generator."

She just shrugged:

"And I always thought that it was you who was dragging it out."

In those moments, I realized that despite the sleepless nights, chaos, and constant baby crying, we had become a real family. Life had become a chaotic symphony, and, oddly enough, this noise was the best music for us.

But alas, what had to happen soon happened. Asia and I had an age difference of seventeen years. In my youth, this seemed like something completely insignificant to me, just another trifle that was not even worth thinking about.

When I met Asia, her forty-two years seemed to me the pinnacle of maturity and beauty, and her experience a source of wisdom that cannot be overestimated. She was a woman outside of time for me, as if her age existed somewhere separate from herself. But the years passed, and it was only when I myself reached the age at which I first met her that I began to notice the changes.