Chapter Text
They were, as Shane was beginning to realize, woefully unequipped to deal with a newborn. They had no crib, no diapers, no formula, no changing table, no pacifiers, no clothes, no blankets no-
"Shane," Ilya walked behind Shane and snuck his arms around his midsection, "stop freaking out."
"I'm not freaking out," Shane mumbled.
"Yes. You were."
Shane sighed and looked around and the room that would soon be his daughter's. They had been on the adoption list for only three weeks. Neither of them were expecting the call so soon. But there was a pregnant girl named Regina in Ottawa who couldn't keep her baby, and she picked them.
"Should we paint the room pink?" Shane asked, staring at the wall of paint swatches.
"No," Ilya said, "pink is too bright. Hurts my eyes."
"It's also kind of stereotypical, isn't it?"
Ilya reached out and pulled a soft purple off of the wall. He held it out to Shane, "How's this?"
"Perfect."
They hadn't gone with a theme, instead choosing to let their daughter pick once she was old enough. They had purple walls, a wooden crib, and a whole lot of anxiety.
Shane had been on an Amazon spiral, hitting add to cart on anything he thought they might remotely need. While Shane was panic-buying, Ilya was putting together the changing table. Kind of.
Shane heard a string of Russian curse words come from the nursery, followed by a shout, "Why is IKEA so confusing?"
The baby had come early, because of course it had.
Ilya drove them to the hospital at three in the morning because Shane was on the phone with Regina, talking her through labor.
Ilya threw the car into a parking spot (badly) and they both jumped out, practically running to the labor and delivery section.
Five hours later, she was there. Iris Hollander-Rozanov was born at 8:15 am on July 24th. She was perfect.