Chapter Text
Hygge
(Danish/Norwegian: a cozy quality that makes a person feel content and comfortable)
No one else is such a beautiful dream, a beautiful dream to me.
(The Beautiful Dream by George Ezra)
April 2023
It’s not quite the amount of weight she’s looking for – doesn’t make her biceps tense or her legs quake as fast as she’d like. But it’s movement and that counts.
And he watches her just like he always does when she holds him, gurgling happily as she rises up and drops down into lunges and squats and whatever else she can think of, his little body secure against her chest. She’d run on the treadmill with him, too, if she didn’t think Carina would kill her for it.
Because it’s been six weeks since she last set foot in a gym and she’s starting to go a little stir crazy.
Which is not to say that she’s not loving every minute of the blissful wonder of infancy – she is. She really, really is. The privilege of being present for each moment of the first six weeks of her son’s life has not been lost on her, Carina’s gratitude enough to really drive the point home.
But there’s a wire inside her brain that’s rooted to the necessity of being in constant motion and there are only so many laps she can do around their living room before she has to admit that the need is simply not being sated. Only so many miles she can run on the treadmill, attempting to be as quiet as possible while he sleeps before she feels like she might explode.
“Exercise,” she huffs out, lips pressed against her son’s head, “Is excellent for mental health. It releases endorphins, which are those things that make you feel good.” She shifts, transferring the baby into her other arm with a practiced ease. “Right now, you just get those from Mama’s boobs and snuggles, I think. But when you’re big…” she smiles, picturing it, “Maybe you’ll like running and jumping and climbing as much as I do.”
He sighs, eyes wide as he looks up in the direction of her face. It’s still new, that he follows the sound of their voices. Still a treat when he listens intently as either of his mothers talk to him.
Carina had called it a social milestone – the six-week growth spurt they’d all been enduring coinciding with a newly-establishing interest in the world around him. Truthfully, it made the momentarily-more-frequent middle-of-the-night feeds more bearable.
“I agree, little man,” Maya whispers, rubbing her nose against the swoop of hair atop his head. “It is tiring work, even when it feels good.”
He balls a hand into a fist in response, swiping it across his cheek before directing it into his mouth. That was something new, too; another milestone that Carina had celebrated with uncontained glee. So smart, piccolino, she’d cooed.
A privilege to witness, Maya had thought.
“It’ll be different for you, though,” she hums, “Because Mama and I will let you choose what you want to do.” She wrinkles her brow, the sudden thought heavy. “And we won’t force you to keep going when you’ve had enough.” It tugs at something in the back of her throat, the words catching though she doesn’t mean them to. “I promise.”
~
It’s quiet when Carina steps out of the shower, no one crying or talking or pacing. She pokes her head out of the bathroom just to be sure, finding the bedroom empty, the bed properly made, the bassinette immobile. She wanders to the doorway, curious, wet hair dripping off her shoulders and down the back of her robe.
As she peeks around the corner towards the living room, she spots them. Maya stands facing the window and even from behind Carina can tell she’s holding their son, the sharp lines of her shoulders softened as though she’s relaxing into him, just like always. She isn’t swaying as she normally would, though, her body forever in a perpetual state of motion, and it takes a second for Carina to realize that the stillness isn’t a calm but rather a rest.
A rest between sets of squats.
She presses a hand to her mouth to stifle the chuckle that tumbles free. Maya has tried to be stationary – careful and quiet and kind as they’ve existed just the three of them in the safe little bubble of their new motherhood. She’s spent lazy afternoons in bed, rising only to fetch diapers or glasses of water or to rock their son when he just wouldn’t settle. She’s woken in the night for feedings and slept late and all the while, never said a word about the desire to run.
She’s stood by, a stable, immovable force, as Carina has recovered from giving birth and their child has grown.
But the itch hasn’t stopped needing to be scratched, Carina knows; she’s felt it digging away inside Maya’s muscles each time she’s rolled over in bed at 5am, choosing not to slip out for an hour lest Carina need her help. Lest Carina or their little boy need anything at all while she’s gone.
Not that she hasn’t noticed when Maya slinks down the hall to do push ups on the living room floor or to run the quietest, slowest mile on the treadmill when she thinks both Carina and the baby are asleep. It only softens the sharp edges of the need, she knows, never quite silencing it completely.
This, though, is new. She watches intently as Maya shifts their little boy in her arms, his sweet gurgle filling the apartment as she takes him with her through another set. There’s a stillness again when she finishes, her voice soft as she murmurs to their son.
Carina watches as her wife turns, the words she’s speaking indecipherable but her eyes soft as she looks down at the baby cradled against her chest. He raises a fist to his cheek, guides it clumsily into his waiting mouth. His legs kick at the air, always moving just like his Mommy.
She watches, too, as he yanks his fingers back out of his mouth. As he looks up at Maya as though she’s hung the stars in the sky. As their son, for the first time in his life, smiles a social smile.
It’s impossible not to gasp when it happens, Maya’s eyes flicking up quickly to meet her own. Carina’s feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between them so she can fold herself around her wife and their brilliant, smiling child.
“Did you see that?” Maya asks, shock and awe and a million other emotions laced into her words. She thrums with them, excitement surging through her veins like lightning.
Carina can feel the warmth of it when she settles her hand on the small of Maya’s back. “I did,” she whispers, already losing the battle against the catch of tears in her throat. She strokes a hand across their son’s cheek, choking on a joyous sob when he smiles again, just as wide.
~
“Is this really worth the effort?” Maya grumbles, trying and mostly failing to get the stroller to click into place, swearing under her breath.
Carina watches from the kitchen table, Andrea securely nestled into the crook of her arm, nuzzling at her breast even as he sleeps. She bites her lip to keep from smiling at the show Maya is putting on. “Isn’t installing car seats part of being a firefighter?” she asks instead, enjoying the bristle of annoyance that ripples down Maya’s back.
“Car seats,” her wife huffs, “Not strollers.” She succeeds finally, the last lock snapping loudly into place. When she stands upright, her knees pop with just as much fervor.
“I’m feeling better,” Carina shrugs, ignoring the complaints, “And Spring is in the air.” The baby snuffles, making her smile. “See, Andrea agrees. It will be good to get outside.”
“Mhm,” Maya nods, leaning over to lay a kiss atop the baby’s head. “He agrees with anything that includes your boobs.”
Carina laughs, grabbing hold of Maya’s shirt before she can pull away, claiming a kiss for herself. “Walking is good, Bambina,” she says, overlooking the opportunity to tease, not yet ready to slide down the slippery slope of how badly she misses Maya’s touch on her naked skin. “It helps with gas and constipation and boosts circulation and muscle tone.”
“All good things,” Maya nods, her forehead crinkling as though she’s mentally running through a checklist of post-partum recovery. She reaches for Andrea, scooping him out of Carina’s arms so carefully he doesn’t even stir, turning towards the stroller to get him settled.
It’s been a long, joyous six weeks. The cocoon they’ve built around themselves has been conducive, breached only a handful of times by grocery deliveries and short, quiet visits from friends. The world is waking up again, though, the last snowfall melted away and being replaced by the buds of spring flowers. They owe 19 and the hospital a visit each, Carina knows, before Maya returns to work and reality comes crashing back down on them.
A walk is a good place to start, now that the aches have eased almost entirely. Her body, though still churning with emotions at every turn, is starting to feel like her own again. And though Maya may not see it yet, a walk will help her, too.
She follows her wife down the hall to the elevators, glancing at Andrea for signs of discomfort more often than is probably necessary. It’s hard not to stare at his face, to not get lost in his dark hair or his long lashes or, when he’s awake, the entrancing shade of his eyes.
Carina loops her arm through Maya’s when they reach the front door of their building, looking up at her long enough to see that she’s watching their baby, too. They lean forward to adjust the visor in unison, giggling as their hands collide.
“I don’t think I’m ready to go back to work,” Maya confesses as they step into the sunlight. She squints, angling the stroller towards the park at the end of the block, adjusting the visor even further so it shields Andrea fully. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it through a whole shift without seeing him.”
Carina sighs, pulling herself closer to Maya’s side, wistful with the surge of love that barrels through her chest. Her beautiful wife, just as enamoured with their son as she is. “We could quit our jobs,” she suggests, smirking when Maya rolls her eyes at the absurdity, “Retire early.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for that, either.”
The bench is just inside the park entrance, empty for once when they reach it. Carina eases Maya to a stop, lowering herself onto the cooled wood and tipping her head back to look up at the tree above, come to life with the first blossoms of the season. She breathes it in, smiling as the calm washes over her.
“You can still have both,” Carina whispers, “What you love and who you love.”
When she lets her eyes fall back to Maya, her eyebrow is quirked, a knowing smile just beginning to tug at the corner of her wife’s lips.
“You should go for a run, Maya,” Carina urges, rolling the stroller closer to her side.
Maya laughs, loud and uncontained as though she thinks her wife is joking.
“Right now,” Carina adds on, dragging Maya’s attention back. She smiles as Maya’s brows furrow, uncertainty rippling across her face. “Andrea and I will wait for you.”
It’s like releasing contents that have spent too long under pressure, Maya buzzing to life at the prospect. “Really?” she asks, as if she isn’t mentally already halfway down the path, “Are you sure?”
Carina nods, entranced by the frenetic energy in front of her. Both of them, getting reacquainted with themselves after six long weeks of being reinvented by motherhood. “Go,” she says again, “We’ll be here when you get back.”