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She knew it was coming.
It’s been the same pattern this month as well as the last, and the one before that. First trying, then hoping, then a negative early pregnancy test and a few days later, the ever-dreaded and detested arrival of her period.
Amy’s never liked her period, but she’s never hated it this much before.
It used to just be something annoying, a bit of bleeding and exhaustion and cramps for a few days that temporarily made her life a tiny bit worse, but nothing she couldn't handle. She’d take some Midol, maybe ask Jake for a massage if she felt really sorry for herself, and move on with her life.
That was before they started trying.
She takes early pregnancy tests, the ones that will tell you the results up to six days before a missed period, and when they're negative she knows what to expect. Still, there's always that glint of stubborn hope in the back of her mind before she's gotten it - maybe it's slow-starting, maybe it's a false negative, maybe - and it's first when she sees the first dark drops on the toilet paper that she fully admits defeat.
She's not pregnant this month either. Her body's telling her look, I got ready, I was about to let something grow here but you failed, and it's a gut punch because Amy Santiago does not do failure. Amy Santiago is successful. Amy Santiago has control. Amy Santiago isn’t supposed to be sitting on the floor hugging her legs to her knees and crying after putting a tampon in, crying because nothing's working and her body hates her, and the universe hates her and doesn’t want her to ever have a baby.
She wasn't even hoping this time, because they're taking a much-needed break to regain their sanity after the last months, but she still breaks down in tears again after texting Jake and asking him to buy more tampons on his way home.
It feels wrong. She wants to be texting him about some ridiculous pregnancy craving that he would tease her for, or some morning sickness home remedy which he would gladly get. Not tampons.
It feels wrong when she wakes up in the middle of the night, too.
The digital clock shows half-past five in the morning, and she’s exhausted, but there’s a dull ache in her lower abdomen and back and it hurts too bad to sleep through. Near unconsciously, she searches for the pack of painkillers in her nightstand, until she remembers they can negatively impact fertility and are hidden in the back of the bathroom cabinet for that exact reason. She shifts position instead.
It doesn’t help. The cramps are terrible, the worst she’s had in months, and they don’t get better even though she tries to fold herself double and press a pillow to her stomach. She can’t tell why they’re so bad, wonders if it’s but another way for her body to remind her of what a failure she is, but she knows she won’t be able to fall asleep until the pain has eased. Keeping herself hunched over, she stumbles into the bathroom and weighs the blue Advil box in her hands for a second before swallowing two tablets. Screw possible negative impacts on fertility. She just wants to sleep.
Amy lies awake after, waiting for the medication to take effect. She focuses on the sound of Jake's even breaths next to her and tries to match her own inhales and exhales to it, making it a competition with herself to distract from the pain. The minutes on the clock tick by, one after the other, and she counts how many are left until the thirty-minute-mark. Twenty-three. Twenty-two. Don't think about the pain. Don't think about the fact that you're still not pregnant. Don't think about it don't think don't think don't think.
It feels wrong, unfair and wrong, to be awake at night because of her period. Amy wishes she had another reason.
It's been eight months since her first pregnancy scare, when they decided to start trying. If she had been pregnant then, and everything had gone well, they could have just had a baby by now. She could have been up feeding a tiny newborn, or rocking them to sleep, or changing diapers, and she would still have been exhausted and maybe still in pain, but she would have had a baby and nothing else would have mattered. She would have had her family, and maybe she would have been a little frustrated at Jake for sleeping through the cries, maybe she would have elbowed him in the side and wheezed at him that it was his turn to get up - but she would also have gotten to witness the sight of him lowering himself over the crib, picking up their baby and holding them against his chest before giving them to her for a feed. She pictures his sleep-dazed expression and those transcendent heart-eyes overpowering every sign of exhaustion once he looked at their child, and bites her lip at the memory of his despondent look when she showed him the latest negative test.
The discrepancy between her wishes, and the Universe’s plans for them, has never felt so wide.
She thinks of holding a positive pregnancy test for the first time in her life, of being told that something’s finally growing inside of her after months and months of single lines and minus signs and not pregnant-s. She thinks of going to an ultrasound, of seeing a perfect little alien-shaped blur kick their legs and wave their hands on the screen. Maybe she and Jake would go to one of those fancy 3D-scans later on, because if she knows them right, they would be too curious not to. She thinks of holding her just-born baby in her arms for the first time, being able to kiss their sweet little face after all those months of waiting.
They’re taking a break from trying, but the dreaming hasn’t stopped, and the pain of not knowing when - or even if - the dreams will come true, has only grown sharper.
She doesn’t realize she’s started crying again until Jake stirs next to her, mumbling a worried Amy? that she pretends not to hear because it’s embarrassing enough to be awake in the middle of the night crying about her period and it’s even worse to wake someone else up because of it.
“I’m fine,” she sniffles, quickly wiping away the tears. “Just go back to sleep.”
“Ames...”
“It’s just my period, okay? It’s just cramps. I’m okay,” she says, and curses her voice for breaking on the last word.
“Do you want painkillers? A heating pad? I can give you a massage -”
“Jake…”
“Whatever you need, I’m here, I promise -”
“Just…” She closes her eyes. “Just hold me for a bit.”
There’s a second’s silence like he’s surprised by the request, before he moves closer and wraps his arms around her.
There hasn’t been as much cuddling between them in the last few months. Every bit of physical intimacy has seemed to have just that tiny edge of pressure built into it, and lately, Amy’s found herself shying away from it, not wanting to instigate anything with the sole purpose of making her feel good. Her body’s betraying her, and whatever pleasure she may have longed for, she’s felt undeserving of it.
Tonight, though, she doesn’t care. She’s in pain and they’re taking a break from trying. She lets herself be pulled into his chest, her tears leaving wet stains on his shirt, and his hands stroke up and down her back as she lets herself relax in the embrace.
“It’s not about the cramps, is it?” He asks, and she shakes her head. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”
You don’t know that, she wants to say, but Jake’s voice is mild and caring and easy to trust. She nods instead.
He doesn't say anything after, and she's grateful for the patience. His fingertips dance along her neck, pressing and drawing lazy patterns to make her relax, and slowly but surely, breathing gets easier.
“I can't stop thinking,” she whispers once she's certain her voice won't break again. “What if I had been pregnant that day at the manhunt? Or if we'd gotten pregnant our first month trying?”
“Ames…”
“We could have had a baby by now, Jake. But we don't.”
He opens his mouth as if to protest, but she shakes her head again.
“I just want a baby.” She rolls over on her back, staring up at the ceiling so she doesn't have to see the hurt in his eyes. Jake's arm slots around her shoulders, keeping her close.
“I don't want to be up at night because of fucking cramps. I wish I was up feeding our child, or soothing them, or forcing you to get up and do it. Hell, I would rather be up in the middle of the night because I was in labor than this, because at least that would mean we were having a baby, and it would have been better than this.”
Another single tear makes her way down her cheek. Jake wipes it away.
“I know, babe.”
“I know we're a family,” she says, reaching for his hand. “I love our family. But I just… I just want a baby.”
“We will have a baby,” he promises her without missing a beat. “Someday - somehow - we’ll have the most wanted and perfect baby. That’s a Peralta guarantee.”
The word makes her mouth twitch into a tired smile. Jake leans his head to the side, kissing her cheek.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” she nods, and she doesn't fully believe him yet, but she's tired and the painkillers are kicking in and she wants to believe him, which maybe, she figures, is a first step as good as any. “I love you.”
“I love you,” he whispers back, and she squeezes his hand a little harder.
He gets her the heating pad anyway, and then he lets her curl into his side, holding her as she’s finally able to fall asleep again.
He’s her family. He’s the person who knows her better than anyone, knows what she needs even when she’s not sure of it herself. She wants so badly for them to have children, more than she wants anything else in the world, and the period pains aren’t even a tenth as bad as the pain of knowing no, not this month either.
The lack of control is the worst part. The thought that something might be wrong with her is a close second. But most of all, she can’t shake the feeling that this isn't how it was supposed to be.
~
one year later.
Amy could have sworn it’s only been an hour since she was last up. When the soft whimpers from the crib next to her side of the bed turn to the sharp, ear-piercing cries they’ve already learned mean feed me now before I wake the entire building, she can’t help but mumble a curse over how tired she is. She thought she’d experienced exhaustion previously in her life, after night shifts and long stakeouts or cramming for exams, but she’s never even come close to the level at which two weeks into new motherhood measures. Amy Santiago of a year ago had no idea what she was in for.
Jake mumbles something, an attempt of offering to get up, but she tells him it’s fine, promise and he sighs in contentment, pulling the covers back up to his chin. He’s definitely taking the sleep-deprivation harder than she is, but he was also the one who was up changing a leaking diaper that demanded an outfit change without batting an eye about an hour ago, so Amy can’t be mad. Besides, she doesn’t need him for this. Breastfeeding is her thing, and she selfishly loves that she gets to have their daughter all to herself for these moments.
With some determination, she manages to sit up on the side of the bed, standing up to lean over the crib. It’s far from smooth, because she's still sore and ungraceful, but she powers through. Her baby needs her.
Gently hushing, she bends down to lift their daughter. The cries soften as the girl notices her, reducing to just a frustrated whining, and Amy smiles because she's not completely terrible at this.
“It's okay,” she says, cupping the back of her daughter's head and supporting her bottom, making sure the swaddle blanket with colorful circus animals is coming along as she holds the infant against her chest. “It's okay, baby, I'm here.”
There’s another whimper like her baby’s trying to make sure she’s being told the truth, and it’s one of the cutest sounds Amy’s heard. Pressing a kiss to her little forehead, shamelessly breathing in her scent because everyone was totally right when they talked about how addicting the smell of your own newborn is, Amy bites her lip and tries not to groan in discomfort as she adjusts herself back to a sitting position. People had warned her giving birth would be horrible; most forgot to mention the recovery part wouldn’t be any more fun. She’s grateful it’s getting better, and also to whoever invented disposable underwear and ice pads.
She reaches for the nursing pillow and turns on the nightstand lamp so she can see what she’s doing, squinting as the bright lighting hurts her eyes. Apparently, her baby isn’t a fan of it either, because she pouts her lip and makes an upset face that nearly breaks Amy’s heart.
“I know,” she tells her, brushing her hand over the soft black hair on her daughters’ head. “I’m sorry. No fun. I just haven’t learned to do this in darkness yet, so you have to be patient. I’m working on it. See?” Still holding the newborn on her right arm, she manages to use her left hand to unhook the strap of the nursing tank top, then doing the same for the bra.
“Impressed? You should be. I’m telling you, it’s harder than it looks with one hand.”
Her daughter doesn’t look too impressed, more impatient, so Amy shakes her head and guides her towards the breast, gently placing her jaw there and helping her get the right latch.
Breastfeeding had turned out to be much more complicated than she’d thought. It seemed so natural when she pictured it, so obviously something she would want to try, but she’d failed to prepare for how difficult it would be to a beginning. Sore, cracked nipples before they could figure out the correct latch, the feeling that her boobs were about to explode once her milk came in, the leaking and the fact that every feed seemed to last forever. She’d pictured fifteen minutes, not forty. It’d been a rough start with a lot of tears for both her and baby, but once she’d powered through the first ten days or so, she’d been positively surprised to discover how much easier it became. Her daughter knew what she was doing. If she just allowed herself to relax a little, so did Amy.
She counts to ten when her daughter sucks down rather hard - the first ten seconds are the worst - and then, she takes a deep breath once she can hear the peaceful suckling that’s already made its way to the top of her list of favorite baby noises. They're both learning how to do this now, and for every time, Amy’s loving it more. Sure, it's a little messy, and she never gets to sleep, but it's also the moments she feels closest to her newborn. This is something only she can do for her daughter. Anyone can hold her or change a diaper, and the kid falls asleep better in Jake's arms than anywhere else, but when it comes to this, Amy's the only one. This is their time together.
Her daughter seems to really like it, too. It’s clear in the way she’ll make eye contact while feeding, her light brown eyes - the same color as Jake’s - staring into Amy’s darker ones with surprising intent and focus. Newborns are nearsighted, Amy knows. She wonders sometimes if nature made it so that they’re born able to see exactly this distance, not needing anything else.
And then, like the moment wasn’t sweet enough already, her daughter brings her tiny hand up to rest on Amy’s chest, and she could cry from the feeling of overwhelming love, drowning her and casting her back up on shore a new person.
“I love you too,” she whispers, stroking her thumb over the round cheeks she’s so obsessed with. It’s cool to think about how they’re all thanks to her, because she’s nourishing this child with her body. “So much more than you could ever understand, baby.”
“You were so wanted. More than you’ll ever know. There were days where I thought about giving up, because nothing was working, and some days I wondered if we’d ever meet you.” She thinks of the night at Shaw’s when she finally confessed that she had no idea what to do, thinks of just wanting to start a family, getting a chance to grow the magic she and Jake already had together. “Most of the time I still can’t believe you’re here and this isn’t all just a dream.”
“You were so wished for, Evelyn,” she says, pronouncing her daughter’s name with all the care and love she has in her heart. “You were so wished for, it’s the reason we gave you your name.”
(Baby names had started a fun thing, quickly turned into intense debating, and calmed down once they agreed on a boy’s name - and then they found out they were having a girl. It had seemed a practically impossible feat to find common ground, resulting in more than one slightly too heated argument. Jake wanted something that sounded cool, Amy wanted something that had a nice meaning, and the two never seemed to overlap; until the day Jake came home from work and claimed he’d interviewed a witness that day with the coolest, most perfect name.
“And look at the meaning,” he’d said, showing her the NameBerry tab on his phone.
Meaning of Evelyn: “wished for child”.
Amy had only been able to nod.)
She remembers the detailed calendar with its green highlighted ovulation - fertile window, and the timing of sex that had felt clinical and half-hearted and not at all like them. Vitamins, too many vitamins even for her, the obsessive tracking of every glass of water and shift in temperature. She remembers every negative test, the shiny spark of hope each time she laid the little plastic stick down to develop, thinking this might be the one only to have all hope crushed again three minutes later. She remembers the disappointment in Jake’s eyes every time, remembers hating herself for the way he tried to hide it when really, it was probably all her fault and she was just bad at making babies. All the sleepless nights a year ago, when she tossed and turned with anxiety, wondering if a tiny half-her and half-Jake perfect baby would ever be in the cards for them.
It seems a lifetime ago, but she remembers every bit of pain and exhaustion like it was yesterday.
Motherhood is exhausting, too - Amy no longer remembers what it’s like to sleep for more than three hours at a time - but it’s also gratifying, and extraordinary, and indescribably beautiful despite the struggle. She feared she’d never get to experience this, but she is, and it’s worth every blocked milk duct and sleepless night when she nudges Evelyn’s little hand with her index finger and her daughter clasps her hand around it.
She got her baby in the end. She got her family.
Reaching for the glass of water on her nightstand and taking a few sips, she catches a glimpse of the digital clock next to it. It’s been around fifteen minutes since they started nursing, meaning she’s probably about halfway through. She should try to switch sides.
“Hey, Ev,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over the newborn’s chin. “You think we can do this? Maybe even somewhat smoothly?”
Evelyn hiccups at that, spitting out a little bit of milk that drips down Amy’s chest.
“Okay, forget smoothly. You think we can do this, period?”
She gives Jake a longing glance, wondering if she should try to wake him and ask for help, but he’s sleeping so soundly despite the bright lighting that she decides against it. Besides, she’s totally got this. She’s just going to get a nursing pad and a burp cloth from the nightstand, and then she’s going to unclasp the other side of the tank top and bra and put the first side back together, and then -
Evelyn pulls away suddenly - too quickly for the flow to stop - and it comes down all over her face, making her grimace in protest. Her little face scrunches up, and two seconds later, she's crying.
“Sscch, honey, it's okay,” Amy whispers, quickly following the instinct to hold her daughter upright against her chest, swaying slightly from side to side. “Sorry about that.”
She manages to reach for a burp cloth, wiping away the milk that seems to have gotten all over the newborn’s face. Evelyn stops crying and Amy takes a relieved breath, switching the newborn to her left arm and unclasping that side of her tank top and bra. Her daughter latches on, quicker this time, and Amy’s just about to relax again when she realizes she never had a chance to fix the other side, and now it’s leaking. She tries to at least clasp the hooks of the bra together, but what’s doable with her left hand is impossible with just her right, and she fumbles and gives up. She can’t get a nursing pad, either, because they’re on the nightstand to her left and she can’t reach for them without twisting herself completely and disturbing her daughter. She tries to use the burp cloth still in her hand to save some of the worst, but her tank top is already uncomfortably damp from it and Amy’s stuck.
It’s so far from glamorous - new motherhood in general, but especially this right now - and she’s deliriously tired but so happy at the same time, it’s all she can do to laugh.
“This is a mess, huh, Ev?” She asks her daughter, adjusting the legs of her pajamas. Jake had remarked the other day that baby pajamas must be one of the most pointless inventions, considering newborns sleep as much or little no matter the time of the day, but they also both agreed on it being the cutest category of clothing known to mankind. This one has a pattern with smiling clouds and stars on it, and it’s already making Amy emotional to think that her daughter will have grown out of it in a couple of weeks.
“We’re all a bit of a mess right now,” she whispers to the child. “I think that's okay. We're figuring it out together. It’s all that matters.”
Evelyn hiccups, dribbling more milk over herself and Amy, and Amy can't help but laugh again because she’s slowly being covered in it and she's not going to have a chance at freshening up with a shower for several hours if she wants any sleep at all, and yet everything has never felt so perfect. A year ago, she wouldn’t have dared to dream of this, but now it’s her life.
Jake yawns next to her, rubbing his eyes before looking up at them with an entertained grin.
“How are things going?”
“Messy,” Amy groans. “I’m not sure I’m nailing this thing just yet. There’s milk everywhere.”
“You're doing great,” he assures her, patting her leg, and she grimaces at the praise. “Need any help?”
“Desperately. Please fix this side for me,” she nods to her right and Jake laughs, but he gets out of bed, gets the stuff and fixes it for her without comment, bending down to kiss the top of their daughter’s head when he's done.
“You’re beautiful,” he tells them, slotting back on his side of the bed but supporting his head with his hand to hold himself up. “This - this is beautiful.”
“Ev's beautiful. I smell like sour milk and have never slept less in my life,” Amy corrects him, but he just smiles.
“You’ve never looked so happy before,” he says. “That's beautiful.”
She rolls her eyes at him, but it’s a loving eye-roll, because he’s absolutely right. Even with the exhaustion, messiness and slight chaos of the moment, she’s never been so happy.
“I can’t believe we got here,” she whispers. Evelyn pulls away, finally seeming content, and Amy gives her over to Jake who practically shines with pride as he drapes a burp cloth over his shoulder.
“Told you we would.”
“I know.” Amy wipes a little bit of milk away from Evelyn’s chin with her thumb before kissing Jake’s cheek. “I love our family.”
“Mm-hmm,” he says, eyes soft as he looks at their daughter again. He pats her back a little harder and she looks right at him before letting out a loud burp, making both of her parents laugh. “So do I.”
This, Amy thinks as Jake gets up to change another diaper while she closes her eyes to get the chance of a few more hours of sleep, this is how it was supposed to be.
~