The number one woman in Jim Halpert's life completely owns him. He should probably feel bad about this; he can hear his brothers calling him pussy-whipped even now. They're idiots--no news there--and he doesn't care what they think of him. He's her utter slave and he's happy about it.
The wail shakes him awake shortly before dawn. He's only half-asleep; he has been used to shortened sleep hours for a couple of months now. He wonders how people with twins make this work. It probably involves a lot of caffeine. He has rolled out of bed and is halfway to the door before he's all the way awake. Behind him, Pam stirs in the bed and he whispers, "I'll get her."
The baby is on her back in her crib, pink toothless mouth open, sobbing as if her heart will break. The sound of it used to frighten him; now it only stirs an obscure impulse to fix something, anything. He scoops her up in one hand, blinking sleepily. She coughs and gasps a little as he puts her on his shoulder. She sobs a bit, the wail diminishing as she recognizes his touch, his smell. Her head nestles on his shoulder and he can feel her tiny breath against his neck.
God, she's tiny. He supposes that, if he had to push out a full grown baby the way Pam had, he might not think she was so tiny. But he can hold her almost in the palm of one hand. She weighs almost nothing. How can something so small, so helpless, own him so completely? She hiccups in his ear, and he knows she's about to howl again. He quickens his pace as he carries her into the bedroom.
Pam is lying on her side, facing the center of the bed. He leans over and gently deposits the baby in front of her. He sits sideways on the bed, watching as her fingers open her gown, position the snuffling baby. Her eyes meet his, she smiles faintly, and then her eyes flutter closed. The baby makes suckling noises, little desperate gasps, as if this delight might be snatched away from her.
Jim puts his hand on his wife's thigh and watches them together. Her leg is warm under his hand, as she has been ever since her fifth month of pregnancy. All winter, he curled against her like a freezing man embracing a furnace. She slept in little or nothing, which drove him crazy, but she said it was because she was hot all the time. Even after Cecelia was born, she said she was too hot on nights when he only wanted to pile on the blankets. Now he watches her sleep as the baby nurses, the two of them cocooned together in her warmth.
Sometimes it almost makes him jealous. He will never have that bond with the baby that Pam has.
On the other hand, he will never have to push out a baby.
The thought that there might be another one, another baby, dances in his head for a moment. How could he possibly love another child as much as he dotes on Cecelia? His logical side tells him that he loves his child as much as he loves Pam, so adding another won't be that much of a stretch. He's not convinced. It's impossible.
The baby whimpers and pulls away. Jim glimpses a rose pink nipple, then Pam is shifting, rolling over, half-asleep. Jim steps quickly around to the other side of the bed, but there's no need to worry. Pam has caught the baby against her and the child has already latched on to the other breast. Caught up in their own rhythm, mother and child doze and feed and cuddle. He still thinks it's the most amazing thing he's ever seen in his life.
While he waits, he puts on warm socks and finds his bathrobe. Pam may be comfortable in this cool room, but he feels a shiver steal over him. He opens the linen closet and finds one of the afghans his grandmother left him. By the time he's swung it around his shoulders and found a clean towel, the baby is sighing, relaxing. He picks her up gently, and with the other hand adjusts Pam's gown. While he enjoys watching her sleep exposed and all, he thinks it should be her choice. She wouldn't think it was respectful of him to just ogle her in her sleep.
Now comes his time, though. This is the moment he's been waiting for. Expertly, he flips the towel over his left shoulder and lays his daughter on it. He rubs...not pats...her back, like the nurse showed him at the hospital. Cecelia hiccups and turns her head. She only started doing that a week ago, and it thrills him when she moves on her own, like an independent person. It still stuns him to think that someday she will talk. He thinks it's ironic that she was born knowing how to cry, but it will fall to him to teach her how to laugh. He can't wait to hear her laugh.
He carries her into the living room, so as not to disturb Pam. Cecelia sighs, and burps gently. He's not sure she's through, so he rubs her back a little more. Like her mother, she's a little furnace, her body heat like a heating pad against his chest. He can smell her hair--shampoo, and the indefinable but unmistakable smell of her. Sure enough, as he walks back and forth, she burps again, a tiny delicate baby-burp. He smiles. Maybe he'll teach her to burp the alphabet, too. Just to keep up with her uncles. Everyone needs a party skill.
She stirs, and he lifts her off his shoulder, cradling her in his arms. So tiny, so light. It still amazes him that all those little parts work--tiny hands, tiny tummy, tiny liver and intestines. Her hands are perfect, right down to the nails. And Jim thinks that him noticing his daughter's nails has to be about the gooiest thing he's ever done, ever, with any female. Thank God they're alone.
"Hey," he says softly.
Her eyes open. They're still blue, but he thinks they might be changing color. They won't know for a while. His mom tells him that babies go through every face in the family before they settle on a combination they like, and he believes her. Last week, Cecelia bore an uncomfortable resemblance to his brother Tom, but now she's looking more like Jim's mom. Which is cool, but he really wishes Cecelia would look more like Pam. The world cannot have too much Pam.
He can't believe he's responsible for this.
He finds the rocking chair in the dark, right where it's supposed to be, near the window. He eases down into it, Cecelia still in his arms. She makes a sound somewhere between a coo and a sigh, and his heart does this little roll thing like a free-falling elevator. He shifts her in his arms, finding the right angle, and she bangs his chin with a tiny fist. He smiles.
"What'll it be tonight, sweetheart?" he says softly. "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star? Mockingbird? I'm taking requests."
She yawns, toothless and pink, and he catches a whiff of milk. Yeah, that takes some getting used to.
He begins to rock, slowly, cradling his daughter against his chest. Softly, he sings.
"Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise
Sleep, pretty baby, do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby."
You can always rely on the Beatles, he thought. Another song drifted through his memory.
"You'll like this one," he said.
"Before you cross the street
Take my hand
Life is what happens to you
While you're busy making other plans
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful girl
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful girl..."
He doesn't think John Lennon would mind a slight alteration of the lyrics.
The chair creaks as he rocks it slowly back and forth. This is his favorite time of night...well, maybe his second favorite. He thinks of Pam and unbuttonings and entwinings--okay, that is still the best part of his whole life. But this, holding this helpless sleeping infant, makes him feel taller and stronger than anything else he does. He thinks about all the things that could happen--earthquakes, fire, war. His grip tightens on her and he feels an unfamiliar emotion welling up. He's never been a violent man, but now he can easily see himself killing someone else, without a second thought, if his little girl was threatened.
"You're not a man anymore," he remembers Pam's father telling him, on the night Cecelia was born. "You're a father now. And not just any father, but the father of a little girl. It changes you, believe me."
Jim knows now what he was talking about. The thought of Cecelia dating puts him into a panic. He looks down. She's sleeping, her mouth open, a milky bubble swelling and fading with each breath. Her hands are clutched to her chest. She's utterly relaxed, trusting him to keep her safe.
Which he will. Because he's a man who lost his freedom, gladly, the night that she was born.
Story Notes:
I guess I'll join the parade of those who just can't resist a little Jam-baby fluff. Jim + Pam + baby make me all gooshy and sentimental. You have been warned.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
NeverEnoughJam is the author of 24 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 14 members. Members who liked Enslaved also liked 2233 other stories.
