Author's Notes: Expect a lot more where this came from. Good LORD that was good TV. Oh, and I don't know where this came from.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. But guess what Jim and Pam just got!
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She's quiet for just a second, and Pam and I do the same. I say words I don't remember later. Then she cries and suddenly, she's a real baby. And that's all I'm thinking. Baby Baby Baby looking at her. A little girl. Naked and everything, screaming, beet red.
Well. There you have it. As if the world wasn't awesome enough.
It's a little weird. I'm not going to say awkward, per se. I'm hesitant to go that far, because it's Pam next to me who's holding her. And we made her and all. Plus, it's not like she's making terrible small talk or anything. But.
She's a little person. Like, she is totally this little human being. She has a little body with all these little systems inside and I have to take care of her. And when Pam holds onto her like she's still a part of her body, with her arms all around her and hands and fingers... I feel like Pam knows her already. She's being a little crazy -- we both are -- but I feel like I'm late to the party. I mean, totally without meaning to be.
I don't feel like I know her yet. I feel like I just met her. And I did. But Pam is old friends with this girl. She's nervous around her, but I can tell it's like she knows her. And even though this is the first time we've seen her -- like, for real -- I feel like Pam's a step ahead of me.
Pam's tired. Like, actual exhaustion. She spent so much time in pain, and I felt so bad for her, but it went by so quickly because, hell, I didn't know what I was doing. I would say things like, "Babe, just relax" before I knew what was coming out of my mouth. Ha, what was I thinking? How did she not punch me in the face? The only pain I'm enduring is a yellow-bruising hand. Oh, and I took a picture of that. 'Cause she'll deny it later.
And I told her that any mark that lasts for longer than twenty-four hours is abuse. She cocked an eyebrow and then a nurse stared at us.
But, anyway. She's tired. And I'm tired. The kid took her sweet time getting here. Nineteen hours (damn, Pam is a champ). And all three of us are passed out for the time being, and I'm in this little bed, curled up next to Pam as much as I can. It's obvious that no six-foot-three women ever give birth at this hospital, because I cannot fit on this damn bed.
While I'm stretching and turning a little, I catch her wriggling fists.
Oh, and they're hers for sure. No, we already... did the mix-up thing. This one's ours. I labeled her bassinet. Plus, I think she looks like me.
I ease out of the bed, trying not to wake up Pam (who am I kidding, she sleeps like a dead woman every other night that she hasn't given birth). I walk over, tripping on my feet a little and end up staring at her little face.
My very first instinct is... Well. It's the thought of her against my chest again, like she has been so much today. Because I've held lots of babies, but never one that's mine. She's warmer than the other ones, heavy and pretty and solid against me. She cries differently. I think of her crying and it sounds like she just wants me or Pam. Oh, and also? I've never held a brand new baby girl before. She's my first.
I have a daughter. I made her, she's part of me. If I wasn't with Pam, she wouldn't exist. If I didn't know Pam, this very perfect and small fraction of the world that needs to exist and that's meant to be lying in front of me -- red and confused -- just wouldn't... be. It's unbearable. I don't know much about her yet, but I know that it's already unbearable to think of her not with us.
She makes this squeaking noise. Pam and I have talked about what kind of parents we're going to be -- Jim, we can't pick her up every time she makes a little noise. That's what I imagine her saying. I smile, place my hands around the baby. Support her little head. Feel my fingers against her back. And when she flings an arm out to the side, this abrupt and awkward jerk, the comparison is involuntary. But so obvious:
Her hand. And mine? I could fit twenty of her little hands in mine.
With all of this, I scoop her up and hold her against me. I want to know her. I feel behind Pam, a little. It's just... We both loved this baby the second we saw her, you know? The second we knew about her, really. But I wonder how different it is for Pam. She's had her for a whole nine months to herself.
The baby fusses suddenly, her face just this blushing, squishy thing. I think about being completely caught off-guard, so why do I smile instead? I hold her so I can run my fingers against her, letting the tips run down her swaddled body.
She's the only perfect thing about me, this little girl. What's she going to be?
She knows me. It kind of hurts when I realize this. Because in a way, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I can read a book and know how to take care of my pregnant wife, and her crazy moods. But this baby? I'm not totally sure what's going on.
But she knows me because all I do is murmur, "hey" and her name and she whimpers and squirms and she's just a baby again. Just a quiet, resting baby. And she cried when her grandmother held her, and she cried when Michael held her, and when my parents held her. But she doesn't cry now. Or with Pam. I mean, eventually she will. But, you know.
I guess she must know me. I know her, too. Maybe I was too quick.
"What was all the kicking about, hmm?"
She doesn't answer. Her wit will come, I'm sure.
She keeps doing the fuss and quiet thing, and I know eventually I'll have to wake her up and hand her to Pam because, you know, no breasts here.
I end up leaning against the wall with the window, bathing my back in white light so it won't be in her eyes. I close mine and start to almost nod off, reasoning that I've had about three hours of sleep in the last twenty-four hours. And the hours of not sleeping have been too insane to let those three hours account for anything. I realize that about two hours ago, holding her still felt awkward. Now it just feels like my daughter.
She's so new, I wonder if I've ever had to really see anything for the first time and know that my life would never be the same. I mean, this little girl -- God willing -- is going to be in my life forever. And I'm never going to forget the first time I saw her, or the first time I spoke to her, or what she looks like right now. I'm never going to forget how much I love her right now, and I just know it's going to get... bigger and bigger and better all the time.
And, you know, that's only happened once to me before. In my entire life. Only one other time, prior to this, have I seen something that I knew from the moment I saw it, would just -- God willing -- be with my 'til I died.
And she turns over on the bed, faces away from us, and snores a little. And she's beautiful and perfect and I can almost see her gorgeous face in the baby's.
"Hey, Cecilia," I say, anxious just to say her name again. She doesn't do much. She doesn't do anything. Except she opens her mouth and she yawns so big that I don't feel how wide of a smile is on my face until she closes her mouth finally.
Yep. Yep, this is... She's doing it. You hear about how your kid is born and throws everything you know about anything out the window? And you hear that it's love at first sight and that it changes your life. All of that... That must be what this is. She never opens her eyes for me, not tonight. Her fists eventually ball and knock together -- her fingers look like an old man's, a very tiny old man's, and I make Pam laugh at that -- so I take her to her mom.
Pam. Like, my Pam? She's a mom. We're parents. We're going to buy this kid a car one day...
While Pam struggles, and the baby cries and life gets so chaotic that I forget a moment my daughter and I were sharing five minutes ago, I change a little more. My body becomes a little more worried about her, about us, about my wife. But it's an okay ache.
I have this little family now, and it's all I want to know. We're not getting any sleep tonight. Tomorrow night, either, maybe. Kinda can't wait.
Pam sleeps with her forehead under my chin, her nose against my throat.
I squeeze her a little. "One of the nurses called me Daddy."
She breathes. "Ew."
I lay my palm flat against her back. "No, not like that." My smile feels old, like wrinkled paper. I really am exhausted. Without the belly in the way, I haven't held her like this in months. We both realize this I'm sure, but neither of us say anything. "Like, she called me Daddy because, mm, I am one. I guess."
Her hand slides from between us, runs along the curve of my waist.
"You are," she says, kissing my throat when she speaks, holding her lips there. I should let her sleep. I know she's tired. "You are a daddy."
Her words lull me to sleep just like that, and I let them because -- as Pam said earlier -- who knows how often we'll get to do this? Fall asleep together with the baby quiet behind us? Plus, Pam thinks I'm a dad. Well. Because I am one. But, I mean... Does that make her stop and think as much as it makes me stop and think?
I rub my chin against her hair before I finally go. I open the one eye that can see the baby. The light's shining on her from outside, and I briefly think about tugging the bassinet out of that obnoxious ray, but I don't want to wake her up. And she looks beautiful.
I know this girl in my arms better than anyone. And I'm that one's... dad.
My heart hurts. Like a dad's. They know me, I know them. This isn't, like, some meet and greet. The one next to me is the one that I chose and the one across the room is the one I made.
Whoa. This tear slides across the bridge of my nose and past my other eye. I really need sleep. I can feel her trying to settle, still awake. I know she's sore and worn out.
Gotta hear her laugh.
"Hey, remember when you had your boob in another kid's mouth?"
She grunts. "Shut up."
I open that eye again, keeping it on Cecilia over there. Watching her little chest rise up and down. How is she so little?
If I wasn't so freaking tired, I'd be too keyed up to sleep, basically. So I'll freak out tomorrow. After I get to know her a little.
I fall asleep before I can really pencil in all that freaking out time, anyway.
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