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.
There is pain, so much pain, and noise, and then there is just one sound. And she feels like every part of her, every cell in her body, was on this earth just to hear this sound.
And Jim is crying, and she tastes salt, and she realizes that she is crying too. She hears words, she thinks Jim might be saying them, but everything is disjointed and kind of fuzzy and she knows that she’s still in pain, but she doesn’t care, because there is this person, and her whole body feels full.
She feels like she might burst.
“Beautiful,” she hears Jim murmur. “You…she…beautiful.”
When they take the baby to be weighed and cleaned up, Pam feels the ache of the missing weight from her arms so acutely that it actually hurts.
She’s so tired, though, fourteen hours of labor and all that primal pain is enough to make her half wish that she could close her eyes and sleep for about three hundred years. Now that her daughter is out of the room, she feels all the pain hit her at once.
“You should sleep,” Jim says softly from the seat next to her bed. The early morning sunlight begins to creep through the partially open window shades and hits his wedding ring and sends patterns on the opposite wall. Her husband. God, her family.
She nods, once, and searches for his hand, which he slips into hers and gives a squeeze.
“Love you,” she whispers, and his breath is warm on her face as he presses a kiss to her lips.
“Ditto,” he says. “You have no idea how much.”
There is so much information thrown at her. She is taking it in, without really taking it in, and she hopes that Jim is listening too. Maybe even taking notes.
All she cares about is the little girl in her arms. The healthy, beautiful little girl.
They show her how to breast feed, and how to swaddle her properly, and Pam feels this overwhelming need to be perfect at it. She has never wanted to succeed at anything as much as she wants to succeed at being this baby’s mother.
“We need a name,” Jim says when they have a rare, alone moment without nurses or either of the sets of grandparents hovering around the new family.
“I don’t think any of the names we picked out suit her,” Pam replies as she runs a finger gently down the baby’s perfectly formed nose (her nose, Jim giddily pointed out, after months of his worrying that their child would end up with his nose).
She’s too beautiful for his mother’s suggestion Millie, after Jim’s beloved grandmother. She’s too serious for Molly, which had been their front runner for the past month, as Jim has decided that her most often used facial expression looks like she’s contemplating quantum physics (Pam laughs a little, and wants to tell him she thinks that might be her going to the bathroom face, and she feels warm when she realizes that her daughter is less than a day old and she knows things about her already).
Olivia is too popular, Peaches (“Like Apple! We can be hip, Pam!”) too odd. Hannah is too alliterative, Katy and Karen too loaded.
Only when Jim is fiddling with his i-Pod as both his daughter and wife sleep is he hit with inspiration. There it is, in the Ben Folds folder, third song down, staring at him.
Pam wakes up and he’s grinning at her.
“Emaline?” He questions. And she smiles.
Granted, Pam has not been around many babies, but in her limited experience, she knows that Emaline Helene Halpert (the middle name was only debated slightly as Jim promised his mother the next daughter would have her name, and she, in a way that reminded Pam of her son, gave a knowing smile and assured them she understood), is the most well-behaved, beautiful, intelligent two day old in the history of the world.
She knows that she’s supposed to sleep when the baby sleeps, but she can’t help but sit and study tiny little fingernails, and the way her nose wrinkles up when she’s about to cry, and memorize the lines of her face.
She’s not sure how it’s possible to love someone this much. To want to drink up every moment, catalog every second, place the world on pause so that she has more time, more time to hold her and smell her and run her finger over the creamy, soft skin.
She recognizes the same awe on Jim’s face that must mirror her own. They did this. It’s incredible, really, there is just no other word that she can think of that would fit better.
Incredible.
It’s not all easy, and she knows that she’s sleep-deprived and her hormones are all over the place, and she thinks that maybe Jim deserves a medal or sainthood for putting up with her. There are moments in that first month when Emaline won’t stop crying and it’s all Pam can do to rock her in her arms and bite her lip to stop from crying herself.
Sometimes she can’t remember if she ate or not, or if she showered that day, and is so grateful when her mom or Jim’s mom pops in while Jim’s at work, and she can crawl back into bed for an hour or so of uninterrupted sleep.
But when she’s had more than fourteen minutes of sleep, and the baby is not crying as if it’s her job, Pam can recognize that this is the happiest she’s ever been. Hands down, ever.
And she’ll catch Jim’s eye and he’ll smile at her and then smile at Em.
“So,” he’ll say, “when do you want to have another?” And she laughs, but thinks, soon.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I've been lame on the whole writing thing. But I've been on a Regina Spektor kick and all of a sudden this came out. So...yeah, hope you enjoy. The name is from one of my favorite Regina songs. Plus the Ben Folds song referenced is also one of my faves.
bashert is the author of 37 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 12 members. Members who liked Us also liked 2195 other stories.
