Work Text:
may 10th, 2020.
9.11 a.m.
Amy wakes up on her own this Sunday.
No blaring alarm clock, no background noise from the television that Jake sometimes puts on if she sleeps later than him - something that’s become an increasingly common occurrence with the sudden energy demands of human-growing - not even the unpleasant wakeup call of a wave of nausea seems to be behind it when she opens her eyes to the grey light of a rainy morning. Not the most naturally encouraging view to wake up to, perhaps, but Amy’s happy to see it. A rainy Sunday, when neither of them has to go to work, means it’s a certified slug day, complete with movies, snuggles, and snacks in bed. She’s been dying for one of those the entire week.
Eager to start it off right, Amy blindly reaches out to her right side for where she’s expecting her husband to be, but there’s nothing there but a crumpled comforter and a lingering warmth on the sheets. She’s just about to reach out for her phone to text him when she hears the rustling of keys in the door, and not even a minute later, he’s standing in the doorway to their bedroom, holding a paper bag from the nearby bakery in one hand and a tray of two takeaway cups in the other.
“I come bearing breakfast,” he grins, shaking his head so little droplets of water fall from his hair onto the carpet. “Also, I think it might be raining outside.”
Amy giggles. “Great observation skills, detective.”
Jake does a half-curtsey before handing her the cup that’s marked decaf. “At your service. Any other requests?”
“Just one. Come back to bed and cuddle with me.”
“Bold,” he nods, putting down his own coffee cup and the paper bag on the nightstand before shrugging off his damp hoodie and sweatpants and crawling under the covers. “But I’ll accept it. Today is your day, after all.”
“What do you mean?” She frowns, failing to understand what he could possibly be referring to as she goes through the days in her head. They’re still three months away from her birthday, and other than it being a precious shared day off for them both, she can’t think of anything special or unusual with today’s date that they would be celebrating.
“Ames,” he says, reaching out to tuck a few wild strands of hair behind her ear as his lips take on that smile which means he’s really proud of himself, “today’s Mother’s day.”
Oh.
She blushes. “I don’t think that’s something we can really celebrate until next year, babe.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m still just fifteen weeks pregnant?”
“Exactly! You’ve been growing a human for like, three months now. It’s about time we had a day to celebrate that. And,” he adds, his hand moving slowly under the comforter to cover the small bump that’s started taking shape over the last two weeks, “if you’re half as good of a mom as I know you’re going to be, I’m going to need to celebrate you for the rest of our lives, so I’d better start in time. Which is why I got us expensive bakery coffee and fresh croissants, and why I’m deciding that from this point on, today is all about celebrating you.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she whispers, failing to keep herself from tearing up at his inherent sweetness and childlike enthusiasm. “But okay. I’m in.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Laughing softly, she covers his hand with hers, holding them above where her body is fifteen weeks into creating a home for someone they have not met yet, someone she hasn’t even felt move yet, but who is, judging from the black-and-white sonogram pictures from their first two scans, already the cutest and most perfect person-to-be she ever saw.
Despite how long they tried for it, it doesn’t feel entirely real to her yet. It’s hard to grasp that it’s their child she’s growing in there, their child that’s the reason behind her regular jeans giving up and the cavalcade of new hormones leaving her crying for the smallest things, and it’s even harder to grasp that in just a few short months, she’s going to be a mom. It doesn’t seem to matter how much planning she does, how many books she reads, or even how many stinking cute items of baby clothing they buy - Amy still struggles to wrap her head around it. Secretly, although she doesn’t doubt she’ll soon change her mind, for now, she’s happy they still have a few more months of preparation before it’s time.
“I read the information in the pregnancy app in line at the bakery,” Jake confesses, tracing little circles on her skin with the pad of his thumb. “It said this week, the baby’s skeleton is ossifying, and I didn’t know what that meant, so I had to google it. It meant it’s becoming bone, which uh, I guess makes sense. Anyway - that’s crazy. That means you’re growing bones with your body, Ames. That’s so freaking cool. Like, it kind of sounds like something out of an alien movie, but a dope one.”
“Don’t call it an alien movie, Jake.”
“Hey, I called it a dope alien movie!”
She rolls her eyes. “Did it say anything else?”
“Well, they’re the size of a pear now, which is kind of weird because I feel like pears can be lots of different sizes - like there are small ones and then there are these crazy big ones which you say are probably filled with chemicals - but I guess they mean an average one? And apparently, even if you can’t feel it, they’re kicking and moving like crazy in there, and they’re already practicing how to suck and swallow. That’s insane. Our baby’s already a genius, honey.”
“Well,” she smiles, “they are the product of two amazing human-slash-geniuses.”
“They sure are,” he says, pressing a kiss to her lips and lingering a little while longer, putting a little more energy into it and kissing her harder when he notices her enthusiastic response, their bodies moving closer together.
It’s just kissing, but it’s enough for a familiar heat to pool deep in her stomach - pregnancy hormones are both an experience and a rollercoaster, but she doesn’t mind this specific part about them - and when Jake’s hand wanders just a bit lower as if awaiting further instructions, she nods quickly.
Amy imagined the celebration of this holiday would go a lot more differently next year - but for this year, she decided, Jake was right.
Today was her day, and she was going to make the most out of it.
~
may 9th, 2021.
6.38 a.m.
Amy does not wake up on her own on her first real Mother’s Day. Nor does she wake up to fresh coffee or pastries, and she certainly does not wake up feeling well-rested, because she’s not sure she even remembers what that feels like anymore at this point.
She does, however, wake up to her seven-month-old’s upset cries for the fifth time since they put him to sleep last night. Mac is in the midst of getting his first tooth, and as well as she can imagine how painful that experience must be for a child who’s too young to even understand what’s happening, she doesn’t think she’s been this tired since the first weeks after coming home from the hospital. Amy really, really misses sleep, and maybe she does have herself to blame for not weaning Mac off of nursing at night yet - it’s just been such an easy solution up until this point, soothing him both quickly and effectively - because now, it seems to be the only way she can get him to calm down.
“I’ll get him,” Jake yawns as Amy reluctantly stretches, putting a pillow between her head and the bedframe. She lets her eyes fall closed for just another second, pretending it means she’s getting some rest.
“Hey there, buddy,” she hears Jake's voice as he tries to comfort him. “Not having the greatest morning today, are we? That's okay. We'll see if mommy can work some of her magic for you and maybe get you in a better mood that way.”
“It's not magic,” Amy protests, opening her eyes to the sight of an unhappy Mac being bounced on Jake's hip. When he sees her, he reaches out her arms towards her, and despite all her exhaustion and frustration, it makes her feel all warm inside.
“It's as good as,” Jake shrugs, placing their son in her lap. “Coffee?”
“Absolutely, definitely, coffee,” she mutters, and he laughs before stumbling towards the kitchen.
Amy can't remember which side she last fed Mac on, but she's too tired to care. She chooses her right just so she can have her left hand free, thinking that if she's both really careful and really lucky, she might even get to drink a few sips of coffee while it's still warm. Then again, she's learned the hard way not to get her hopes up when it comes to that. Warm coffee, much like sleeping through the night without wakeups, seems to be a thing of the past. There are days when Amy envies her past, warm coffee-drinking self, wishing she'd appreciated it more while she had it.
Then again, her past self didn't have this. A perfectly made little human, whose light brown hair has started forming the same gorgeous curls as his father, and whose eyes are filled with so much curiosity when you look into them. A child who, if he's in a good mood, will let out high-pitched squeals of joy upon seeing her or Jake. A tiny human who feels safe with her, so much so that being close to her can calm him down even after the worst of his meltdowns.
Mac’s hand plays with the tip of her messy ponytail as he eats, pulling at it and getting it all sticky with drool. Amy gently tries to separate his fingers from it, but that makes a worrying frown reappear on his face, so she lets him have it. Her hair's had worse, anyway.
“We're going to have to stop this at some point, you know,” she whispers, stroking her hand over Mac’s cheeks. They've somehow grown both chubbier and more adorable since he was a newborn, and they're a victim to many daily kiss attacks. “You can't use me as a human pacifier at night for all eternity, baby.”
Mac looks up at her with wide eyes, like he's confused by that statement.
“I know,” she says. “I think it's cozy, too. It's just a little impractical when I’m the only one who can make you calm down, okay? I think it would be great if your dad could help, too. You know, like you let him do during the day? Like you let him do before this teething thing?”
Mac doesn't react, just keeps looking at her with those wide, golden brown eyes, and despite her exhaustion, Amy can't help but smile at her son. It's impossible to be mad at such a sweet face, she's discovered. Jake claims that it's his genes at play, but Amy thinks it must be another kind of magic, unique entirely to their son.
Jake’s humming the Happy Birthday-song as he enters the room with one coffee cup in each hand, placing one next to her nightstand. Amy recognizes the Best Mom Ever-mug, hand-painted by him in pottery class with Charles and decorated with little purple and red hearts.
“It's not my birthday,” she mumbles, but Jake just shakes his head.
“Happy first real Mother's Day, Ames. Sorry you didn't get a chance to sleep in for it.”
“That’s okay,” she blushes, embarrassed by the fact that the holiday had completely slipped her mind mid teething-baby-exhaustion. “You didn't have to.”
“I wanted to,” he says, kissing the top of Mac’s head and her cheek. “You deserve to be celebrated.”
“Sleeping in might have been too ambitious of a goal anyway,” she laughs, and Jake grimaces. “But I’ll take flowers and a card, thank you.”
“I’ll see what I can get you. I asked Mac what he thought would be an appropriate gift, but he didn't give me a clear answer, so I asked Charles, and he said something super expensive, but there wasn't really room in our budget for that, so - I got you something else. It’s in the kitchen, I’ll just be a second.”
He disappears out of the room again. Amy notices that her son’s not really sucking anymore, that he’s starting to get distracted, so she gently tries to separate them, giving him the actual pacifier instead and sighing with relief when he accepts it. His little head rest against her chest as he curls up on it, safe next to her heartbeat. Since his first day of life, he’s loved falling asleep on her like this, and it’s one of her favorite things, too. She closes her eyes, holding her son so close to her, and wonders how she lived at all before him.
“I didn’t have time for flowers,” Jake’s voice brings her back to reality as he crawls down under the covers next to her. “But I did get you a card, and a gift,” he says, placing an unevenly wrapped, book-shaped package in her lap. “Open them!”
“I’m holding a baby,” she points out.
“Fine, fine, I’ll take him,” Jake winks, reaching for Mac, who blinks a little in confusion over the transfer but seems just as happy to snuggle up on his dad’s chest instead.
She opens the card first. It’s white paper, folded in half, but when she opens it, she sees that he’s traced what must be the outline of Mac’s hands - it’s a little squiggly, like their son hasn't fully cooperated - in purple pen, and above it, the card reads: Happy Mother’s Day Ames. We love you the most. Jake has signed the card in his usual messy handwriting, and below that, he’s written MAC in exaggerated childlike writing. It’s instantly the best card Amy has ever received.
“I love it,” she whispers, wiping away a quick tear, and Jake grins, holding Mac’s little fist in his and waving it. “I see Mac signed it.”
“What can I say, he’s kind of a genius with that stuff. Open your other gift!”
She does, curious to see what Jake can have gotten her that has him so excited. Underneath the colorful wrapping paper, she finds a photo book, the kind you design online and order - the front page is one of the professional family pictures they took not many days after they first brought their son home, and as she turns the pages, she finds that they are filled with pictures from the last seven months. Pictures from the first days at home, of Mac sleeping in her arms, pictures from the first time they went for a walk with him in the stroller, pictures she recognizes from her own phone gallery of a newborn Mac sleeping on his father's chest, Jake's hoodie zipped up to cover both of them. Pictures from their first Christmas together, Mac in the little Santa’s hat that he turned out to hate, pictures from New Year's, and many more from their new everyday life. Mac trying baby food for the first time and getting more in his hair than in his mouth, Mac taking a bath with his parents, Mac on his playmat stretching his arms towards the camera. All of it is captioned from what is supposed to be Mac’s perspective, which is hilarious and adorable and contains more than a few spelling errors, but it's the best thing Amy has ever seen, and she has to keep wiping tears from her eyes to keep them from staining the pages.
“When did you make this?” She asks, flipping the pages in disbelief as Jake just smiles.
“Some of it on my days at home with Mac,” he says. “A lot of it at work. Most of it at work. Whenever I missed Mac and you too much, I worked on this for a little bit, and suddenly, I had this. What do you think?”
“I love it,” she sniffles. “I love you. This is the best gift you've ever gotten me.”
“What about getting you pregnant, does that not count?”
“That was cooperation. And I did most of the work.”
“That you did,” he agrees, kissing their son’s forehead. “And with a perfect result, too. Happy Mother's Day, babe.”
“I’m pretty sure it's my new favorite holiday,” she says, snuggling into her husband’s side so that she can reach to cuddle both him and Mac at the same time.
Amy figures she might not be celebrating well-rested with a long sleep-in and a luxurious breakfast this year, or be able to spend the entire day in bed having a Harry Potter marathon with her husband like they did last year - but she has her two boys, her own little family to celebrate with, and she's surrounded by a love past Amy could never even have dreamt of. She’s pretty sure that beats even the best of lazy Sunday mornings from her past life.