Chapter 31 Nicolas
nicolas
You’re doing so good,” I told my wife, pressing my lips against her sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, and he’ll be here.”
The nurses nodded as I put another ice chip up to her lips, encouraging her to suck on it.
“I can’t do it,” Zofia cried. “I’m so tired, Nic. I just want to rest.”
Her labor had hit her hard and fast, surprising all of us. By the time we’d gotten to the hospital, there had been no time for an epidural, much to Zo’s disappointment.
She was a fucking superwoman, going through all of this. I suddenly understood the concept of push presents, and didn’t understand why any man didn’t praise his woman for giving birth. She deserved to be doted on, hand and foot.
Which was why I was currently behind her, letting her rest her back against me, supporting her every step of the way. Her hand gripped mine tighter as another contraction hit, and I didn’t even care if she broke it. I was here for her in any way she needed me.
“Just a few more pushes, Zofia. You’re doing great, love. Give us another big one.”
“You can do it,” I murmured in her ear. “You heard her. Just a few more, and our son will be in your arms, and then you can rest.”
Zo let out a strangled cry as she pushed. She shook her head, tears streaming from her eyes. “I can’t believe you did this to me,” she said, exasperated.
“I’m sorry,” I told her as she squeezed my hands. “If I could take your pain away, you know I would.”
“This is all your fault,” she groaned. “Fuck, it hurts so bad.”
The nurse smiled. “The head’s almost out. Take a breath, and then on the next contraction, I want you to give one more big push for us.”
She nodded, my perfect, brave wife, and when the next one hit, bore down, squeezing my hands until my skin was practically white with her effort.
“Breathe,” I reminded her as she grunted. “Just like we practiced.”
She let out a whimper, a strangled cry that made me want nothing more than to wrap her up and do whatever I could for her, but I knew that being here, right now, was what she needed more than anything.
“That’s it,” the nurse said. “Last push, and he’ll be out.”
Zofia slumped against me, her head resting on my shoulder, as a cry broke free in the room.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor said, smiling at both of us.
Then, he was placed on Zofia’s chest, where he immediately quieted, lulled by the allure of his mother’s arms. I knew the feeling well.
Tears streamed down her eyes as she looked at our son.
“You were so perfect,” I told her. “Look at what you did, bringing our son into the world.” She looked back at me, and I pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Our little miracle. Fuck, I’m so proud of you.”
She smiled, brushing a finger over his cheek. “He’s ours.”
I felt choked up. “Yeah, he is, baby.”
The nurses and doctor let us have our little moment as a family before turning to me.
“Dad, do you want to cut the cord, and then we can clean baby up before we do some skin to skin?”
I nodded. “Yes. Absolutely.”
I knew in my heart, for the rest of my life, that I’d do whatever I could for the little man in front of me. His mom was already my everything, and I knew without a doubt that he was going to be my entire world.
“He’s perfect,” I murmured, running a finger over our newborn son’s perfectly chubby cheek.
He was eight pounds, nine ounces, and twenty-one inches long—already a big boy, though that wasn’t surprising, since neither Zofia nor I were short.
I swept the hair off her forehead to press my lips against it.
“And so are you, gorgeous.” She closed her eyes as I rested my forehead against hers. “Thank you.”
My wife had him cradled in her arms, already suckling from her breast like a pro. The lactation consultant had dropped by soon after delivery, helping Zofia and showing her how to get the baby to latch.
“For pushing your giant baby out of my vagina? You’re welcome,” Zofia snorted.
“No,” I told her, looking down at her in awe. “For marrying me. For loving me. For this. Our son, our family.” My voice was choked up, and I blinked back the tears. “I’m in awe of you every day, but especially today.”
“Just as long as you don’t expect me to do this again any time soon.”
I laughed. “I’m happy with our family, even if he’s our only. You and our son are all I need, Zofia.” I meant it, too.
I loved the idea of a daughter, of a little girl that was just like Zo, but she was in the driver’s seat. There was no way I’d ever force her to go through that again if she didn’t want to.
“What should we name him?” I asked, both of us staring down at his chubby little face. “I know we were back and forth between a few names, but…”
She looked up at me, her brown eyes holding mine. “He looks like a Xander, doesn’t he?”
I swallowed roughly. “You want to name him after me?” Alexander was my middle name—and my father’s before that.
“Yeah.” Zo bit her lip. “Do you hate it? Because if you do…”
I shook my head. “I love it. I… are you sure?”
“I can think of nothing better than our son being named after the father who’s going to show him just how loved he is, every single day.”
“Alexander,” I whispered, letting his tiny hand wrap round my finger as he looked up at me with his big eyes.
“Alexander Saran Larsen,” she murmured.
I grinned. “My dad’s going to lose his mind,” I told her.
She gave me a sad smile. “Maybe he’ll be a better grandparent than he ever was a dad.”
“One can hope.”
But none of that mattered to me. Not when I had her—had the family I’d never thought to dream of but had always craved. The life I’d desperately wanted, ever since we’d said I do.
“Can you take him?” She asked, yawning sleepily after Xander detached from her breast, looking a little milk drunk.
Carefully, I cradled him in my arms, unable to look away from him. He was like the perfect blend of both of us—Zo’s nose, and an entire head of hair, just like I’d had when I was born.
“Sleep,” I whispered. “You deserve it.”
After burping him, just like we’d been shown, I set a sleeping Xander down in the little bassinet, watching as Zo’s eyes slowly drifted shut.
I smiled, watching the two most important people in my life sleep, and wondered how I’d ever thought I didn’t want this life.
After a visit from Zo’s parents, who were ecstatic to meet their new grandson, we were officially being discharged. As I packed up the last of our things into the bags, I zipped them shut, turning to my wife. “Ready to go home, gorgeous?”
Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked down at our baby in her arms. “They’re really going to let us take him, aren’t they?”
I chuckled. “Yes.”
“But we have no idea what we’re doing.”
“I read the books,” I reminded her.
She blinked. “We have no idea what we’re doing,” she repeated.
I laughed. “We’ll be fine, Zo. You kept him safe for nine months inside you. I think we can manage a brief car ride before we show him his new home.”
Zofia cradled him against her. “I’m terrified,” she admitted.
“Me too.” I knew she needed to be vulnerable right now—for me to be vulnerable too. “We made a whole little person, Zo, and now we have to take care of him. Love him. Mold him into a good man. But as scary as it is, it’s going to be the best adventure, too. You know why?”
She shook her head. “Why?”
“Because we’re in it together,” I told her. “Every step of the way.”
Every last one of them.
And I didn’t need a contract to tell me that.