A Life Starts
by Damien J. Frost

Disclaimer: Hannah Montana, and all items associated with, are property of Michael Poryes, Richard Correll, Barry O'Brien, It's a Laugh Productions, Disney, et al. There is no profit being gained from the content of this story and it is to be used solely for private entertainment purposes. The plot is the intellectual property of the writer. No parts of this story are to be duplicated or posted elsewhere without the expressed permission of the author.

This story is rated "T" or "PG-13" by the guidelines of the fansite on which it is posted.

--

"You know I hate you, right?"

This is the third time she's told me this in the past hour.

"Just think how much you'd hate me if I'd actually done this to you."

Her jaw clenches and she glares at me. I see the graph that measures her contractions spike.

"I think I'd hate you just as much."

I try not to grin. Smiling of any kind is expressly forbidden, otherwise I'll find myself thrown out of the room. Sarah got thrown out twenty minutes ago. My mom? Forget about it. She's not even allowed in the hospital.

"Ask them again, please."

She's crying now, and I can't bear it.

I nod and quickly head out to the nurses' station. There's a slim redhead sitting there typing something into a computer. She looks up as I approach.

"Hey, Miley was wondering if you could check to see if she's good for an epidural. The pain's getting really bad."

She smiles and nods.

"I'll be right there."

I smile tightly in return. 'Be right there,' had better not be twenty minutes.

Upon my return to the room, I look around in confusion. The bed's empty. Then, I hear a flush and breathe a sigh of relief as Miley trundles out of the bathroom. She glares at me but accepts my offered help and we get her back into bed and hooked back up to all her monitors in no time. Just as we click the last cord into place, the nurse comes in.

She heads over to the contraction-reading thing and looks at the paper printout for a moment before smiling and moving over to Miley.

"How far apart do you think your contractions are right now?"

Wrong time to ask, apparently, because Miley growls at the woman. A quick glance at the machine confirms that she's in the throes of another contraction. It peaks and drops after a few seconds, and I shake the pain out of the hand she had latched onto.

"I don't know. Probably five or six minutes."

The nurse nods and pulls on a rubber glove. No matter how many times they do this, I still can't watch. It's kind of disturbing to have another woman poking and prodding down in my wife's nether-regions. The nurse straightens up and nods.

"You feel like your coming along nicely. Should be another hour or so. I'll go ahead and call the anesthesiologist if you want."

Miley looks she'd punch the woman if she could reach.

"Yes! For fuck's sake go!"

I bite back the snicker at Miley's language. She turns and glares at me as the nurse makes her escape.

"Would you like to go wait in the hall?"

I smile and shake my head.

"No, I want to be right here with you through everything."

She closes her eyes and the ghost of a smile drifts on her lips.

"You know, next time you are going to be the pregnant one, and then I'll be the patronizing wife."

I shake my head.

"Are you joking? After watching you go through this whole thing, even I'm not crazy enough to want to do it."

She growls at me and I laugh.

She banishes me to the hall. Five minutes later I follow the anesthesiologist into the room.

--

An hour or so has turned into three. But on the plus side, Miley can't feel her toes. Well, according to her, she can feel her contractions, but the epidural just made it so she doesn't care anymore.

Which, for me, is just awesome. You just know that the anesthesiologist is the most popular person in the maternity ward. Miley promised to name our kid after him if he would just make it stop hurting.

To be honest, I don't really want a daughter named Doug. I don't care how much it hurts.

I am never getting pregnant. If you're on a painkiller that can knock out an elephant and it still hurts, there's something wrong with the whole thing.

"Rummy."

I glare at the doped-up pregnant woman. This is the fourth hand in a row she's won. How can I possibly be so sucky at cards that a woman who has a half a brain focusing on the pain and the other half fogged from drugs can still beat me?

"Let's play something else."

She grins and then frowns. Oh crap.

"Lilly, get the doctor."

I'm out the door before she finishes speaking.

--

"Come on Miley, you're almost there. One solid push. Come on now."

I am severely traumatized.

Somehow, in the process of holding Miley's hand and leg – the better for her to push – I got positioned so that I could see everything.

Everything.

Did I mention I am never getting pregnant? If, by some God-forsaken reasoning Miley talks me into it, I'm getting a C-section. I have enough scars, I don't minds another one. Really.

"Push Miley! Come on!"

I haven't been able to feel my fingers for the last fifteen minutes.

"I can't do this. Please, Lilly. Just take me home. I'll come back tomorrow, I promise."

Miley's crying. She's so tired and hurting. And I feel helpless, because the only thing I can do is say:

"It's alright, baby, just a little more. It's too late to turn back now and I'm here for you."

She nods and pushes again, screaming as she does.

She does something very unladylike on the table. If I repeat it, I'm sure she'll find out and hunt me down. Kill me with wooden knitting needles and a spoon.

I am never getting pregnant.

"Please, Lilly. I can't. Just let me go home."

I smile, even though my heart is breaking at seeing her like this.

"It's okay, I can see the head. One more. Just one more. Everything you've got left."

She nods, and on the doctor's cue, takes a deep breath and pushes with everything she's got.

And suddenly, it's over.

I stare in astonishment at the little… thing in the doctor's arms. She's quickly sucking something out of the mouth with a turkey-baste. Then, there's a heart-wrenching wail.

The doctor turns to me and smiles. One of the nurses hands me a pair of scissors.

"Well, mom, time for you to do your part."

I suddenly can't see, and I realize it's because I'm crying. I quickly scrub my eyes, take a deep breath, and cut the umbilical cord.

They wrap it up tightly in some blankets and put a beanie on the head. The doctor stands and Miley, exhausted Miley, stretches her arms out.

"Give her to me."

The doctor complies, and I move next to them as Miley cuddles with the purple and gray newborn. It doesn't look at all what the babies in the movies look like. Its eyes are all puffy, and it looks anorexic.

"Hey there Susie. Nice to meet you."

And just like that, It becomes Her. She's real. She's here. Our daughter. Our daughter.

Our daughter.

"You did so good, Miley. So good."

And she smiles at me, and she's crying.

I thought I knew what it meant to be happy. The day Miley and I married, I thought nothing could top that feeling.

I've never been happier to be wrong. This… Nothing can top when a life starts.