Bonus Story Bean There, Birthed That #6
Returning to our bedroom, I bounced slightly, gratified that our son’s cries lessened at the motion. Then Seri’s bathroom door opened, and Zane carried her out like a bride. She looked even more exhausted now. I knew it was too soon for a shower, but she’d insisted.
“The patient has been properly dried and attired in a comfy post-delivery garment,” Zane announced as he placed our wife on our bed, arranging pillows behind her back.
Emotion flooded through me at the sight of her. My beloved, who had just performed a miracle right before my eyes.
“I see Cas has been playing nanny with the babies,” he added with a smirk, but his eyes were soft as they landed on the bundles in my arms.
“I’ve explained to our son that the swaddling technique I’ve employed is based on extensive research of both traditional methods and modern pediatric recommendations.
He seems unconvinced,” I said, unable to keep the defensive note from my voice.
“He also remains vocal in his critique about the fabric’s efficacy despite my detailed briefing of its benefits. ”
As if on cue, our son let out another impressive wail.
“I believe he finds my methodology lacking,” I admitted, looking down at his red face. “However, I assure you I’ve followed all recommended protocols to the letter, Seri!”
The truth was, for all my preparation, I felt woefully inadequate. Books and research couldn’t prepare me for the reality of these vulnerable beings who now belonged to us. I, who had spent years learning to destroy, was now tasked with something infinitely more difficult: Nurturing life.
But as Seri smiled up at me from her nest of pillows, I felt something settle in my chest. We would figure this out together.
#
Seri
Zane carried me back to our bedroom, and a burst of love flooded my chest as I saw Casimir standing there, clean and bare-chested with our newborn twins cradled against his skin, his expression a blend of terror and adoration that would have made me laugh if I’d had the energy.
“The patient has been properly dried and attired in a comfy post-delivery garment.” Zane gently deposited me on our bed.
Casimir began rambling about our son’s displeasure, the words tumbling out in a rush very unlike him, and I blinked.
“Simmy?”
“Koa has cleaned up and is now retrieving your requested snacks and Brummy. I’ve adjusted the room temperature to 71.
3 degrees Fahrenheit, which pediatric journals indicate is the best environment for newborn thermoregulation.
Maybe our son is objecting to the thirty-degree angle at which I’m holding him, although that’s the recommended position for reducing potential reflux and—”
“Simmy,” I interrupted, my heart squeezing almost painfully. “Take a breath.”
His mouth snapped shut, but his eyes remained wide and uncertain. I could practically see the manual he was mentally composing—Operational Guidelines for Infant Management: Volume I. Male Specimen with Superior Vocal Projection Capabilities—complete with diagrams and footnotes.
“Zoodle,” I turned to where he fidgeted nearby, “take your son and hold him. You haven’t had a chance yet.”
“Sorry, sugar booger. My dad superpower hasn’t activated yet.” He cast a glance at the squalling baby. “The download is still at, like, twelve percent. Seems to be lagging. I’ll wait til I get the full update.”
“What?” I was too tired to actually think right now.
“You know, dad superpower. The thing that magically makes you know how to hold a tiny human without breaking it and stuff.” He made vague gestures with his hands. “Cas obviously got the early release version.”
“Zane.” I patted the bed beside me. “Take the baby, sit next to me, and sing to him.”
“No, he’s right, beloved. We should wait.” Casimir clutched our son tighter. “The male infant is displaying signs of distress, and a transfer of caregivers might exacerbate his discomfort. I believe I’ve nearly achieved perfect positioning—”
Our son’s screams contradicted him.
“Surrender ‘the male infant’ immediately, Simmy Cimmerian.” I infused my voice with as much authority as I could while feeling like a wrung-out dishrag. “You need one-on-one time with our daughter.”
The look he gave me was one I’d seen many times before. He was weighing the odds, debating his chances. Whatever he saw in my face, however, made him relent, and he passed our son to Zane.
“Support his head. No, like this. Maintain this exact angle.”
Zane settled beside me, terror in his eyes as he looked down at our angry son.
“If he explodes, I’m blaming you,” he whispered.
“Stop stalling and sing,” I ordered and laid my head against his shoulder.
#
Zane
I stared at the red-faced, squalling bundle that Seri insisted I take and felt my joints lock up. This wasn’t like disarming a bomb or facing down a feral werewolf. Those things I knew how to handle. But this? I had no witty one-liner or chaos grenade that would diffuse this.
His face scrunched tighter, a cry building that would probably shatter glass, and panic fluttered in my chest as I moved to sit beside Seri on the bed, hoping proximity to her might buy me some credibility with this itty bitty critic.
“Stop stalling and sing,” Seri said in that ‘I will win, so stop fighting’ tone, leaning her head against my shoulder.
Closing my eyes, I began to hum, letting the notes form naturally. The sound emerged from somewhere deep in my chest, more a resonance than a melody. Swan song flowed through me like liquid silver, sweet and pure and soothing.
My son’s cries stuttered, then stopped.
I opened my eyes to see his tiny brow still furrowed as if evaluating whether I was worth listening to. Then, like clouds parting after a storm, his face relaxed and his mouth finally closed as he knocked out.
“Cruor, it worked.” Something beyond pride, maybe satisfaction at giving my boy what he needed, swelled my heart. “Look at him! He’s sleeping! I did that! Me! I’m a fucking baby whisperer now!”
“Download obviously complete.” Seri reached up to pat the top of my head. “Good job, Pops.”
I should have had a comeback ready, something witty about not being Brummy, but I was too overwhelmed with the realization that somehow, impossibly, I wasn’t screwing this up.
Not yet, anyway.
#
Koa
I balanced the bed tray carefully as I entered our bedroom, Brumous padding silently behind me.
The scene before me stopped me in my tracks: Seri propped against the pillows like a queen, Zane beside her with our son cradled against his chest, and Casimir on her other side, holding our daughter with a reverence I’d never seen on his face before.
The intensity of my love for all of them stole my breath.
“Your snacks, as requested, beloved.” I crossed to the bed and set the tray over Seri’s lap.
I’d arranged everything just as she liked: Popcorn with the perfect amount of butter, hot chocolate with whipped cream, and even a few fresh strawberries.
Small comforts for the woman who had just given us everything.
Brumous’ nose worked overtime, sniffing the air. His blue eyes were wide with curiosity, his tail beginning a hopeful wag. He’d grown physically bigger, but remained puppy-like in some ways and probably always would.
“Someone wants to say hi to you, sweet girl,” I murmured as Zane stood and moved out of the wolf’s way, carefully holding our still-sleeping son.
“Hello, my baby,” Seri crooned, holding out her hand.
Bypassing everyone else, Brummy went straight to his personal moon and climbed up on the bed to check on her. Smiling at him, Seri stroked his ears as he nuzzled his snout into her neck.
“Hey, Brum-Brum,” Zane called after a moment. “Wanna meet the newest members of our pack?”
“Minimal contact for now, Brummy.” Cas stood and carried our daughter over to join Zane. “They’re extremely delicate.”
“Yeah, no wolf slobber on ’em until they’re at least, what, a week old?” Zane added with a grin.
With a very soft woof, Brummy approached the babies. It should have been a tense moment, a predator near our newborns, but we knew the wolf would sooner tear out his own heart than harm anything Seri loved.
He started with our daughter first, sniffing all over her as Cas held her. His hard work with Foster had improved the wolf’s communication so much, we no longer needed Zane to interpret for us and could hear him loud and clear now.
Smell like warm den and old stones. Brummy’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. Dreaming pup. Gentle and heavy.
Before anyone could stop him, he licked her cheek. Just once, light as a falling snowflake.
While Cas freaked out, lunging for a tissue, the wolf went to Zane and took a sharp inhale of our son.
Smell like pine and winter moon. Brummy blinked, his ears perked. Wild pup. Sharp teeth already.
He licked our son’s cheek, too, his tail thudding faster now.
“Well?” I asked him with a smile as Zane chuckled and Cas grabbed another tissue. “Approved?”
Approve! Keep. Mine. Hana.
His tail now spinning like a propeller, Brummy licked my hand, then jumped onto the couch across from our bed, positioning himself with a clear view of all of us. Always the protector.
Then Cas approached me, face softer than ever as he looked down at our daughter.
“Would you like to hold her? I’ve conducted a thorough assessment, and she’s tactically sound in every way.”
Even as I rolled my eyes at him, my throat tightened. I’d held her briefly right after birth, but everything had been chaotic then. This would be different, our first real moment together.