And I do.
And scream.
And curse Humbug in ways I didn’t know I was capable of.He holds my hand through every second, voice low and strong.
“You got this, Peppermint.You survive everything.You’re gonna bring our kid in like a warrior.”
I push again, body shaking.
“I can’t!”I sob.
“You CAN.”He leans in, forehead touching mine.“Carol, look.Look at me.You brought magic into a man who didn’t believe in anything.You can do this.We’re almost there.”
Another contraction.Another push.
Then.
Release.
A rush of relief that steals every breath.
Then a cry, raw and new and furious.
Our baby.
My whole body goes warm as they place him on my chest, warm, slick, squirming, perfect.My tears fall onto his tiny head.
“Hi,” I whisper through a broken laugh.
Humbug makes a sound I’ve never heard from him, a noise of pure, wrecked awe.
“He’s ours?”he whispers.
“Ours,” I breathe.
He stands frozen until they tell him to cut the cord.His hands shake so bad they have to guide him.
“Right here, Daddy,” the doctor says.
Daddy.
Something cracks open inside him.
He cuts it, voice trembling, and they take the baby to weigh him.Humbug hovers like someone might steal him.
Jack Jr., I decide right then, returns wrapped tight in his blanket, and Humbug cradles him like he’s glass.
“Hey,” he whispers.
In recovery, Jack Jr.sleeps in his bassinet, little chest rising and falling.Humbug sits beside me, holding my hand, thumb brushing my knuckles.
A soft knock.
“Visitors?”the nurse asks.
I nod.“Yeah.Family.”
The door opens.
