unconditionally

[scubatankfilledwithfarts]

Hundreds of births, twice as many parents and grandparents and she’s just about seen it all; this time is no exception. Two young parents (a long haired punk of a father and a loud, teeny slip of a mother, but she isn’t judgmental), first baby, long hours and plenty of death threats. Probably a broken finger or two. A hovering, revolving door of friends and family, all eager for the new arrival, all kicked out after a matter of moments to ease the mother to be.

[bridezillas and mother bears are all swathed in infamy and brushed aside for belligerency, underestimated, dangerous and rightly so to give the fire in a woman’s blood a wide berth or else you’ll be burned to your bones]

[there’s a reason storms and blood have that rushing, thunderous sound in common]

[there’s a reason you’re presented in your mother’s blood when you enter the world]

Doctors and nurses hustle and bustle to get things done, cord cut and equipment ready to receive the little bundle once her parents let her go [the only time in their lives that they can help].

But one thing she’ll never tire of is the moment of truth. That moment the storm breaks upon a clear starlit night and all is at peace. Baby swaddled and wet between her parents who bawl, leaning on one another like they’ll collapse in on each other, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Holy hell, look at her—she’s— look at her.”

A bubble of snot and laughter burst from the mother. “Holy hell look at you, you’re crying.”

“You’re crying!” The father counters, reigns the awe in long enough to look at her. Something passes between them. His face crumples. The baby’s first bath is of her parent’s tears, but that’s to be expected.

What isn’t is upon the passing of about five minutes she startles at a boisterous, snorting sound. Its not the baby, no infant could make a noise that disgusting—

It’s the father, dead asleep and squished in the hospital bed next to his wife, wholesomely weary herself; but she doesn’t appear to want to kill him just yet. She’s worked hard, its no wonder.

One arm pulls her so close she leans against him. The palm of the other sits astride the length of the baby’s back. What a little family.