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Marcus is as excited about becoming a father for the second time as Missy is about becoming a big sister for the first. Almost the second you break the news to her she starts formulating a mental tally of all things she can do with (and to) a little sister, never mind the fact that it’s way too early for you to determine the gender.
***
Marcus is attentive from the get go; this is not his first rodeo. When the morning sickness sends you racing to the bathroom at 3 a.m. he’s at your side, holding your hair back and wetting you a washcloth as your stomach purges last night’s supper. Come the rays of the next morning he’s brewing you a cup of tea to settle your stomach, his abuelita’s old world recipe guaranteed to put an end to morning sickness.
As his second little bundle of joy gestates inside the safety of your belly, he’s there for every major milestone. He tears up during the first sonogram. He comforts and reassures you of your beauty the day you realize that none of your clothes fit. His hands grope your ever expanding belly ecstatically when he feels that first fluttering kick.
Even Missy is getting in on the baby madness. The wait for her sibling—a little brother, as it turns out—is killing her. She loves accompanying you on shopping trips for supplies and is single handedly responsible for picking out the baby’s entire wardrobe.
She’s a constant presence in her brother’s life before he’s even arrived. Missy likes to curl up beside your rounded belly and whisper soft assurances to the boy inside. She promises to protect him, to teach him, and to always ensure that there’s a smile on his little face.
And as Marcus watches each and every single one of these one sided exchanges, he’s overcome with nostalgia.
In his mind’s eye he sees himself as a younger man, whispering the same promises to another woman’s tummy. To his daughter.
***
“Hey in there, Missy Moo. This is your daddy speaking.”
He pulled his lips away from the warm flesh of her stomach and brought them up, up, up to her lips.
“You think she can really hear me in there?”
“Loud and clear, babe.”
Marcus laid his head gently on his lady’s protruding belly and sighed.
“Missy, my sweet baby girl, I promise you that you will never be afraid. You will never know sadness or worry. I will always watch over you. I will always be here to protect you.”
He felt her fingers dance across his scalp, tangle in his curls.
“What if I screw up, honey?”
“How can you possibly screw it up?”
He sat bolt upright in a sudden panic. He’d just promised his unborn child that she’d never know fear, he can’t let her hear his own.
“What if I drop her, or hold her too tight? What if I don’t swaddle her correctly and she catches a cold? What if I make her formula too hot? What if I miss her first steps, or her first words, or—“
“Marcus, you’re going to be a wonderful father. You’re already doing so great and Missy’s not even here yet.”
“How in the hell are you so calm? How am I the only one who’s a nervous wreck right now?”
“Because I’m far too excited to be nervous.”
She’d cradled his face in her hands, her touch a soothing balm for his first-time-dad jitters.
“As long as you love her, Marcus, you’re doing everything right.”
She’d always been so much smarter than him. It’s one of the many reasons he loved her.
His mouth finds its way back to her bulging belly to make a final vow.
“Missy, I promise you that there will never be a moment that you don’t feel loved. Know that for as long as I live, and longer than that, your daddy loves you with his whole heart.”
***
“Are you sure he’ll be able to hear it?”
“He’ll be able to hear it alright, he just won’t understand what any of the words mean, of course.”
“And it won’t be too loud?”
“I’ll keep the volume low.”
Marcus presses the the BellyBuds to the surface of your stomach, ensuring that they’ve adhered tightly before pressing “play” on his iPod.
“I wish they’d had these when Missy was still cooking. My late wife and I used to balance a speaker on her belly and play the music out loud.”
“Which song did you pick this time?”
“‘Beautiful Boy’ by John Lennon.”
“How apt.”
“I want this kiddo to come out with some inkling of how much he’s already loved.”
“Marcus?”
“Hmm?”
“How are you not more nervous than this?”
“Because I’m too excited to be nervous.”
He kisses your perfectly spherical stomach and feels the vibrations from the music beneath your skin.
“Until you broke the news to me that we were expecting I hadn’t realized how much ‘daddy’ was still left in me.”
“Well, the mommy in me is panicking.”
“She shouldn’t be because she’s going to do great,” Marcus asserts, pulling you into his side and cradling your head against his shoulder. “ You are going to be great.”
As you drift off against him, a smile on your face, Marcus removes the BellyBuds and places a soft kiss to your bump.
“Hey, little man. It’s your daddy, and I just wanted to tell you that I love you with all my heart. Hurry on up and come out here. Your family can’t wait to meet you.”
***
The rambunctious little rugrat in your womb uses your bladder as a trampoline so frequently that when you awaken at 1 a.m. to the feeling of damp sheets beneath you, you think to yourself, “oh, my God. I’ve finally done it. I’ve actually wet the bed.”
When it finally dawns on you, in your sleep addled state, what’s actually happened, your smacking Marcus awake.
“Hmmf?” He groans, rising with a snort of sudden wakefulness.
“Honey, I think it’s go time.”
You’ve barely finished that sentence before he’s hoisting you into his arms and racing for the front door, stopping to pound on Missy’s bedroom door along the way.
***
The labor is intense and the delivery takes hours. He doesn’t leave your side, his hand doesn’t surrender your own, for even a second. He whispers soft words of encouragement into your ear. He’s your motivation and your anchor. He’s exactly what you need him to be. Your hero.
The moment your baby boy breaches the surface, Marcus’s cheerleader routine fizzles. He’s reduced to a laughing, smiling, blubbering mess. He squeezes you close with one arm and cradles his child with the other. Little Mikey Moreno.
“Look at him, honey,” he sniffles. “Look at what you made.”
“What we made,” you remind him. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Marcus. Literally.”
***
You need your rest and he lets you have it. While you make up for the good night’s sleep you missed, Marcus brings Missy to the nursery window to get her first eyeful of her little brother. And while his daughter busies herself cooing sweet nonsense and making silly faces, Marcus drops his forehead to the glass and whispers one final message to his son.
“Welcome to the world, Mikey. You’re in for a wild ride.”