Pezberry Week – Day 4: Having Children. This is a future one-shot, taking place in the Broken Sinks & Bountiful Baking universe. It obviously gives away some details of that story. However, you don't need to have read it to understand this. And I received some help this time around, you know who you are, so thank you very much for that.
*0*0*
Broken Lamps & Baby Steps
*0*0*
Santana knew things were going to be weird the minute she arrived home. For starters, the house smelt like freshly baked cookies, and that was a big indication Rachel was up to no good. Her wife only ever baked when she'd done something wrong, broken something, or wanted something.
Upon entering the apartment, she couldn't see her wife sprawled out across the couch like normal, or hanging by the kitchen. So she wanted something, otherwise she would have been sitting with a worried frown and a pout, waiting on Santana's arrival.
Now the question was, what did she want?
Deciding to avoid the kitchen at all costs, because dammit Rachel, they really should talk about things rather than write it on cookies and expect the other to deal, Santana dumped her bags by the desk in the living room and then headed towards the bedroom.
She wanted to get changed, have some dinner and just relax. Work hadn't been too bad, but she was tired and hungry, and that meant her mood was a little more sour than usual. Plus, whatever her wife was up to was going to require energy she just didn't have right then, and Santana didn't want an argument on her hands due to her grumpy mood.
Opening the bedroom door cautiously, and rightly so, Santana took a sharp breath at the sight of her wife on the bed. This was something out of the fantasies they'd spoken about, but nope, Santana needed to remember the plate of cookies in the kitchen that this sex was tied to. Of course, there had to be a damn condition.
"Hi," Rachel smirked, running her hand down her waist, over her hip. The lingerie was new, definitely new, and sheer, and there was very little material, and good lord, was Santana drooling? "You just going to stand in the doorway or are you going to come in?" Her wife had that cocky little smirk she got when she'd rendered her speechless, and it was infuriating as well as sexy as hell.
"No," Santana mumbled, closing her eyes so the visual wasn't an issue, and shaking her head clear of the lustful thoughts. There was a condition. She wanted something. There was a condition to this.
"No you're not going to stand there, or no you're not coming in?" Taking calming breaths, Santana continued shaking her head, and began getting undressed, exactly like she planned on doing.
"No, we're not doing this," she answered, keeping her eyes shut as she headed over to the wardrobe, finally opening them and beginning to strip off. As long as she didn't look, she wouldn't feel tempted to touch, and as long as she didn't feel tempted to touch, whatever was written on the damn cookies wouldn't be an issue.
Problem solved.
"We're not doing what, exactly? Did you…did you get the cookies?" Rachel asked, worry edging into the last of her words.
"No, I haven't been in the kitchen yet." And she didn't want to, now. What fate awaited her that required that outfit?
"Santana, you need to go to the kitchen before coming in here," Rachel said, completely dropping the husky tone she'd been previously using. "That's how this works."
Oh, Santana knew exactly how it worked. She was well aware of how it worked. She would come home, read the cookies, come to the bedroom, have amazing sex, and Rachel would get a dining room table, or she'd get to paint their bedroom this awful pastel colour, or she'd convince Santana to do something she didn't want to do. One of these days, Santana needed to test the cookies for drugs, because there had to be some kind of stimulant in them.
"No, Rachel, you need to learn how to ask for something you want, not bribe me with cookies and sex." Pulling on loose fitting pyjama bottoms and throwing her shirt in the laundry basket, Santana grabbed a jumper and slipped it over her tank-top, avoiding her wife's gaze at all costs.
"But where's the fun in that?" Rachel replied, still sounding in a good mood, but cautious. She was obviously aware that her wife wasn't in the best of moods and reassessing how to handle this situation. They'd gone terribly off plan, and she needed to save it.
Santana had to smile at Rachel's response, because yes, where would the fun be in actually talking. However, she was still annoyed, she needed to remember she was annoyed, at having been ambushed by whatever this was.
"Please just take this seriously for one moment?" she asked, finally looking back at Rachel.
She was sitting up on the bed, chewing on her bottom lip, and Santana sighed. She wished she could just forget about the cookies and go kiss her wife, but that would be giving in, and sometimes she needed to take a stand. It was rare, but it did happen.
Seeing defeat, Rachel nodded and got up, grabbing some clothes before disappearing into the en-suite. Her silence and the look across her face told Santana everything she needed to know. They were going to discuss this later, but she'd hurt her feelings, and she didn't even know why yet.
Deciding it was time to face the music, Santana headed into the kitchen and stood in front of the plate of cookies. Finally glancing down to look at them, she took a shaky breath and whimpered at the back of her throat.
For once, she should have just come into the damn kitchen.
Let's have a baby!
The words burned into Santana's mind, and the surrounding cookies that weren't written on had icing storks and pacifiers. They were terribly cute, and her wife was adorable, and she'd been horrible by turning down the sex. But this was huge. This definitely needed a conversation.
"Well?" Rachel asked, coming to stand next to her.
"We need to talk about this. There's a lot that goes into having a baby, Rach," she said, swallowing nervously. Why did it feel like someone had sucked all the air out the room? "I mean, who did you plan on having it? Because work is-"
"I want to, I'll be pregnant, you don't have to. My show is almost finished," Rachel interrupted, obviously having prepared for this.
"But you'll find a new show. Something will come up and you'll-"
"Santana, I want to have a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby with you. I've been acting since I was eight, I've done thousands of shows. Please, please understand this when I say, I want time with you and our family. This isn't something I want to put off and wait a few years for."
"You can't just spring this on me," Santana muttered, sighing as she began to search for dinner. Normally, she'd tuck into whatever treat Rachel had left out, but if she had one of the cookies it was like she was agreeing to this, and she wasn't. Not yet, she needed time to think about it.
"I've been leaving hints."
"Hints? When?" That had taken her by surprise, and she looked at her wife incredulously.
"I've been mentioning babies a lot more," Rachel stated, raising her eyebrows as she did so. That had Santana scoffing, seeing the challenge but ignoring it completely.
"That doesn't mean anything, you mention a baby every time you see one. This isn't new." No, it definitely wasn't. Rachel hadn't stopped yammering on about all the kids in their lives.
"Do you want kids?" Rachel asked point blank, deciding the best, and only approach with Santana, was the direct approach.
"You know I do." Santana had been clear on that before. She'd sat through lengthy discussions about what their future might be like, and yes, kids appeared in there.
"So what's the problem?"
What was the problem? What was the problem? Santana knew there was one, knew that there had to be a problem because she should have been excited and ecstatic about wanting to take this step in their relationship, but she wasn't. Fear was creeping up her skin and seeping outwards, taking hold of her heart and her head, and her judgement was completely clouded.
"Are we really ready for baby?" she wondered, dropping her head, avoiding the look of surprise and shock and hurt Rachel was giving her.
"Of course we are. Or at least, I thought we were." She crossed her arms and sighed, trying to hold back most of her emotions so this remained a conversation and not an argument. Though, they were dancing a fine line.
"Really, Rachel? You think we're ready, everything considered?" Santana asked, turning to look at her. She narrowed her eyes and stood up straighter, as if preparing herself for what was about to come.
"What does 'everything considered' mean?"
"Well, do you really want to have a baby in this apartment? You want this to be where we raise our kids? And you're fully ready to handle the pregnancy, and even getting pregnant? It might not be easy, and what if it doesn't work? How many times are you prepared to-" The worries and possibilities just started flying out her mouth without her control.
"Stop," Rachel said firmly, cutting her off. "I'm ready to be pregnant, and I'm ready to go through the process of getting pregnant, no matter how many times it takes. As for the apartment, no I don't see us raising our kids here but I want to stay here."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Santana, I don't want to move," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders.
"I'd rather move now than after when we have a toddler kicking about." God, they were actually discussing this like it was happening.
"So what, in order to have a baby we have to move house? Is that what you're saying?" What that what she was saying? Was that Santana's condition?
"No, look I'm not…it's a baby, you get that right? It's not a puppy, we can't give it back after a couple hours of playing with it. It's a baby, a human being. It's going to need us for the rest of its life. We're going to have to put in in preschool, and then get it into a good private school, and then college, and we're going to have to teach it everything, and if we screw it up, we could be hurting them-"
"You're freaking out," Rachel murmured, her gaze softening, watching her wife run her hand through her hair and wave her arms about as she spoke.
"Why aren't you? It's a human being, we're going to be in charge of a human being. I can't even trust you with the sinks in this place and you want to have a baby," Santana cried, losing steam.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say I would accidentally harm any baby we would have, because I know that isn't what you meant," her tone was back to being clipped, and Santana knew she'd fucked that up.
"Shit, I'm sorry. That's isn't what I meant, you know that. I just…it's a baby. It's going to need us," she stressed, wondering why Rachel could be so calm about this.
"So we'll be there for them," she answered, moving closer to take Santana's hands, trying to keep her grounded in this conversation and not flying above them in all the things that could go wrong and all the 'what ifs'.
"I'm not sure if I'm ready for that responsibility."
"Will you ever be ready?" she asked. "Because I can wait a few years, I can hold this off and wait, but if you never think you'll be ready to have a baby with me, then you need to tell me. I thought we were on the same page."
"I don't know right now." That was the simple truth of the matter. She honestly didn't know.
"Well, you don't have to decide tonight. You can let me know, preferably sooner rather than later," Rachel said, once again trying to hide the hurt her wife's words had caused before retreating.
Santana made her dinner in silence and let Rachel be. She had some thinking to do, and she might be able to think clearer without the sad and broken look of the woman she promised never to hurt in her line of sight.
*0*0*
"You're an idiot," Kurt declared, having heard both versions of the story from Santana and Rachel, three days later.
Quinn and him had come round bearing booze, both having taken the afternoon off to join Santana. She didn't have any classes to teach, and given the mood of things lately, she was content to hide out in the apartment and pretend everything was swell. Her wife was doing exactly that while performing every night, so surely it wouldn't be too hard for her, as well.
Of course, her friends were there to clean up the mess she'd left and came to talk sense into her. She wanted to kick them out, but Quinn brought the wine in a box she liked and even gave her a straw, so no, they were staying.
"What? No, I'm being practical," Santana cried, insulted by Kurt's words. Quinn snorted into her drink and shook her head, calling bullshit on that excuse. "What? I am!"
Why she was still listening to their advice was beyond her. She should have known by now these two were no help whatsoever when it came to anything, especially not Rachel.
"Yeah, you are," Quinn agreed, nodding over her wine glass to Kurt. He grinned and raised his glass in victory, making her scowl and shoot them dirty looks.
"How, how am I an idiot?" she asked, needing to know how they reached that conclusion.
"Because you want kids! You've always wanted kids, whether you ever wanted to admit to that or not. You wanted kids with Brittany, you were totally ready to have kids with Brittany, and in this apartment might I add. So what's the problem?" Quinn said, raising her eyebrows in question.
"Is it Rachel? Do you not want to have kids with Rachel?" Kurt wondered, looking horrified by the thought of that being true.
"What?! No! It's not Rachel," Santana called out quickly, needing to shut that idea of theirs down. "I…I do, okay, I do. I want us to have a family, but what if this is just a…what if…"
"What if this is just a whim for her? What if you're just a whim for her?" Quinn asked, seeing through every defence mechanism Santana had built and calling her on it. Those insecurities were going to surface sometime, so why not now?
"Yeah. Having a baby and a family is a big thing, and she loves Broadway. I'd never take her that from her. So what if she's not really ready for this? What if she wants one now but in six months down the line when she's knocked up and grouchy, and pissed off, and resents me for this, and then resents our kid for keeping her off the stage, what do I do then?" Santana asked, holding her box of wine close, frowning at the thought of her worries ever becoming reality.
She knew, deep down she knew that none of that would happen, but she was scared. She was terrified and it was easier to think of the worst possible scenarios than accept the fact her own fear was holding her back.
"Have you spoken to her about any of these worries?" Kurt questioned softly.
"No."
"Of course not," Quinn drawled, rolling her eyes.
"Look, how do I say 'yes, I want a kid with you, but I don't want you to hate me and our kid for possibly ruining your career'? Do you really think that conversation will go down well?"
"You need to speak with her. You need to have a full conversation about your worries, and really, Santana, I don't think you have anything to worry about. You know Rachel adores you, and there's absolutely no way she'd ever regret having kids with you," Kurt added, nodding with his words, and reaffirming everything she already knew.
"We break sinks, she breaks everything, and we flood this place annually. How are we going to cope with a baby? And how traumatised is it going to be with us as parents?" Santana asked, letting her own problem out. Rachel's commitment shouldn't be in question, it was her own issue that needed to be faced.
"Chill out, you're overreacting. The two of you are, admittedly, a bit crazy-"
"Just a bit?" Kurt muttered behind his glass, earning a glare his way.
"Fine, together, the two of you reach a whole new level of crazy, but do you not see how well it works? You live in this constant state of 'Oh God' and 'What the fuck?', whereas Rachel lives in a world of 'Happy, Happy!' and 'Cookies!' Together, the two of you might actually end up with a well-rounded kid." When Quinn said it that way, it didn't sound that bad.
"Isn't that a big risk to take, though?" she wondered, still feeling the fear quivering up her spine.
"Santana, you're not going to get this right. You're not going to be the perfect parent, but you could at least try."
"You're scared, we get that, but you have Rachel, and if worst comes to worst, you do have us. Stop overthinking this and tell your wife you want to have a baby with her before she divorces your cowardly ass," Kurt finished off, downing his drink to signal this was over, they'd fixed her problems.
"We don't mention the D word in this household," Santana growled, unimpressed.
"That's just because you're scared she'll actually consider it," Quinn chuckled, smirking.
"Shut up, and drink you wine," and with that, they moved onto someone else's issues. Granted, none of them were as dire as Santana's, but it was easy enough conversation that she could sit back and think about all they'd said while they bickered.
For once, they'd been helpful.
*0*0*
Taking her friends advice, Santana awaited her wife's arrival home. She had her own plate of cookies, but rather than hide out in the bedroom waiting for Rachel, she was going to be sitting front and centre on the couch. There would be sex, hopefully, but conversation needed to occur first.
Santana wasn't going to become a giant hypocrite for telling Rach off for not talking about what she wanted and then doing the exact same. No thank you, she was going to avoid that at all costs.
With the jiggling of the keys in the lock, and then the tried looking appearance of her wife, Santana decided that waiting on Rachel to come to her was silly. Yes, it was only twelve feet or so between them, but she was going to be having a baby with this woman, why was she not over there telling her how much she loved her?
"You waited up," Rachel chimed happily, dumping her coat before having her wife kiss her hungrily, her arms coming up to cup her face and run through her hair, and their bodies moving backwards into the wall.
"Hi," Santana husked, pulling back for a second, breathing in all that was her wife and nuzzling into her momentarily.
"Hi yourself," Rachel whispered, biting her lip. "What did I do to deserve this greeting?"
"I want to have a baby with you," Santana said simply, a smile ghosting her lips. The thorough conversation could happen later, the cliff notes version would do for now.
"Yeah?" Rachel was trying not to get too excited, but how could she not?
"Yeah," Santana repeated, nodding.
"A baby in this apartment?"
"Yep." They weren't moving, no way were they moving. They finally had this place looking perfect, and Santana was not being dragged into another round of decorating. She'd done her time.
"I thought you wanted to move," Rachel wondered, frowning.
"I was stalling. I was scared. I don't want to move."
"Scared of being a parent or scared of being a parent with me?" Kissing her quickly, Santana tried to squash her fears of the latter and decided to continue the open lines of communication they had going.
"I'll always be scared of being a parent, but I think that's a good thing. Though, it was the being scared you'd hate me if you didn't get your career back," she admitted.
"And possibly hating our baby, too?"
"Maybe." Shrugging her shoulder, Santana tried to pull back, feeling too deep in this now, but Rachel was having none of it. She wrapped her arms around her neck and kept her close, her body pressing into Santana's, and she smiled when she felt Santana's hands take hold of her hips.
"San, I've loved Broadway, but I want my life to be more than stage shows and critics reviews. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, I promise." Closing the distance, she kissed Santana softly, teasingly, trying to get her to drop her defences and submit. A flick of her tongue and a hearty groan later, she had her wish.
"So, we're really going to do this?" Santana panted, her grip tightening on her wife's hips, before sliding her up against the wall and getting her to wrap her legs around waist.
"We're really going to do this," Rachel repeated, nodding happily, content to see that they were moving towards the bedroom, and planting a plethora of kisses along her wife's neck.
"God, I hope we don't screw this up," she groaned, pushing the bedroom door open and kicking it shut with her foot.
There was no going back, they'd sealed this on sex, and when they finished, they'd finish the deal by eating the cookies. That was how their arrangements worked, and this one was no different.
*0*0*
The months that followed were filled with fertility appointments, finding the right donor, and about a gazillion conversations Santana wished she hadn't been a part of. She was ready for the hands on approach, but what she didn't take into account was the fact Rachel was going to want to redecorate the spare bedroom and turn it into a nursery.
She should have known. She should have realised. It was so typical of Rachel to want to redecorate the room. What she also should have known was that she was going to have to redecorate it, because Rachel was untouchable now that she was pregnant.
They were due in seven months, and it was chaos. Preparing for a baby was nothing like Santana imagined it would be, but she hadn't thought she'd be picking paint colours and flicking through fabric swatches as well.
She loved her wife, she loved her wife, that's all she had to keep reminding herself, especially when Rachel didn't like the taupe feature wall they're gone for and wanted it redone. Apparently, that was not the type of earth tone she was looking for, but she picked it so what other kind of earth tone did she mean?
Let it go, Santana needed to let it go. Baby was on the way, they had bigger fish to fry, literally.
The baby had been craving seafood, and Rachel was breaking under the will to remain vegan. It went against all her morals, but she had to relent. Those first few meals were tense and scary, filled with sobbing and breakdowns, and Rachel managed to destroy four dishes in her tantrums.
They were going to buy a new dinner set anyway, according to her wife, so Santana didn't comment. Better to let her think that than cry over the plates.
The nursery was finally completed, with a lot of help from their friends, two months before the due date, and for that Santana was thankful. She couldn't have coped with everything that was going on if they still had to decide on what furniture looked good and what blankets were best suited for the 'feel' of the room.
Rachel loved it, and given how she wasn't working anymore, spent most of her time in there at night. It became their new favourite room to sit in and talk, lying on the gorgeous rug Santana had been aggrieved into buying. She'd come home and seek out her wife, kiss her hello and then inform her baby of all the things going on in the world that she'd seen that day, and Rachel would give her that 'I'm so tired and so in love with you' look, and Santana couldn't even remember why she was so scared in the first place.
This felt as close to perfection as she was ever going to get, now she just needed to meet perfection personified.
*0*0*
On September 4th baby Blair Alexis Berry-Lopez was welcomed into the world. She was perfect, absolutely perfect. Well, she was perfect once the gunk had been cleaned off and Rachel had let go of Santana's hand long enough for her to see her daughter for the first time.
And that first scream? The best sound ever. She had a wicked set of lungs and she was not afraid of using them, and Santana was trying so hard not to cry but fuck, she was happy. She had a baby, she had a daughter. She was actually a mom now, a parent.
That thought brought on a panic attack all on its own, and Rachel still to that day won't forgive Santana for almost passing out. She made it through the whole delivery without a problem, and when she sees her daughter for the first time she just about ends on up face planting the floor. Thank God for that nurse.
Moving past that incident, as Santana was keen to do, the family of three left the hospital when allowed to leave and returned back to their home for the first time together. Rachel was still recovering from the natural birthing process, and was sore, so Santana was on baby duty while she rested. The only times Santana was useless was during feeding time, and despite having a great set herself, it wasn't her breasts her daughter needed and Rachel had to be woken.
Over time, a routine was formed, and when Rachel was back on her feet, she took to motherhood like a duck to water. Santana had faltered with the diapers, frowned at the baby monitors, failed with the baby blankets, and needed a little help along the way. The fear of not being a good enough mom was eating at her, but her wife was on hand to put all that to rest with special cookies and comforting kisses at the end of the night.
It wasn't easy, it was actually the hardest thing Santana had ever had to do, but they were managing, and their friends were happy to pitch in. Everyone wanted a hold of the baby, and at times Santana could collapse from exhaustion, there was always awaiting arms ready for baby Blair.
Those arms became quite handy when Rachel was fully healed and ready to have sex again, because good lord, Santana was never going to complain about lack of sex as it was never a given in a relationship but fuck, she'd missed her wife.
However, adapting to parenting, and what Kurt referred to as a 'young' marriage, was no easy feat, and in true Santana fashion, she messed up a few times along the way.
Currently Kurt and her were standing over Blair's crib, watching her sleep. She was six months, and Santana was as in love with her now as she was in that delivery room. Kurt had missed the last baby get together, as Quinn had called it, and as he was her godfather, in name only, he insisted on taking a more active role so popped over. Santana was sure it was because of Quinn being godmother and how she got to see Blair every other day, but whatever, if they wanted to fight over her kid, she wasn't going to stop them.
"Is she meant to be moving like that?" Kurt wondered, his hand on his chin as he looked over the cot.
"Yeah…of course she is," Santana argued, frowning at the implication something was wrong. She looked at her daughter wriggling on her back and then tilted her head to the side. "Moving like what?"
"That," he repeated, pointing downwards.
Santana was getting ready to shoot him a nasty glare for this insolence, but Blair began wriggling again in her sleep and turning. Santana had not seen her do that before, and was immediately stumped.
"Huh."
"Is that not normal?" Santana had no fucking clue. Was that normal?
"How am I meant to know, you're the baby expect," she barked, wondering how quickly she could Google this shit.
"Baby-? Pft, baby expect? Where did you get that idea?" Kurt shot her an incredulous look and laughed humourlessly.
"Warbler's sickening brood." Maybe Blair was trying to roll over or something. Rachel had said she might try doing that around this age. Santana really needed to listen more.
"You mean his nieces and nephews," Kurt corrected, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, them. Aren't they babies?" If they were, Kurt should really know if this was normal behaviour or not. Hell, if worst came to worst, she'd even ask Warbler to check this out.
"No, they can walk, talk and have full control over their bowel movements," he sassed, raising his eyebrows, causing Santana to take immediate offense.
"Hey! No judging, she's trying hard here." And she was but Christ, she was only six months. They couldn't expect miracles, despite how convince Rachel was that their daughter was a genius.
"I still don't think she's meant to be moving like that," Kurt repeated.
"Oh for fucks sake-" she groaned, throwing her arms up, getting ready to beat Kurt to death with that highly inappropriate baseball bat Puck had sent as a pregnancy gift.
"Santana!" Rachel called out from the kitchen, making her wince.
"Shit," she muttered, looking at the door nervously. Her wife had already warned her about the swearing, but it was so hard to suddenly cut it out.
"Santana!" Rachel cried again, sounding more exasperated by the second. Santana had lasted so long without being in the proverbial dog house, but she knew she'd landed in it now.
"How can she hear me?! Does she have bat hearing or something?" she asked, frowning. Her wife was spooky like that, so maybe she did.
Kurt, unamused by the stupid question, wasted no time pointing to the baby monitor lit up like a Christmas tree, signalling on.
"Oh Fu-Fiddlesticks," she moaned, slapping her forehead.
"Fiddlesticks?" Kurt smirked, before glancing back down to the baby to see she was still asleep. Thankfully, she was, having missed her mother's cursing and scolding.
"Shut the hell up!" Santana barked, wanting to wipe that smirk right off his face. Snix seemed to be making more of an appearance these last few months, and she was convinced it had everything to do with her parental instincts kicking in.
"Santana!" Rachel yelled, having lost it with her wife.
"I'm so not getting laid tonight."
"Eww." Kurt scrunched up his nose and looked at her in disgust.
"That's correct, you're not! Until you can learn not to swear in front of our daughter, you can keep your hands to yourself." Santana sighed at her wife's words, she should have seen this coming.
"I feel like we just overshared far too much," Kurt said, wiping his clothes down as if to clean himself.
Rolling her eyes, Santana placed a kiss on her daughter's head before shoving Kurt out of the nursery. She'd messed up, she knew that, but her baby girl was still sound asleep and not even Rachel's unimpressed look could dampen her mood.
Of course, it required much grovelling and the setting up of a swear box before Santana was forgiven, but she went along with it. There was a lot of that throughout the following months, and with each new milestone Blair concurred, the fear Santana had about screwing up as a parent died away.
"She's perfect. We did that. Look what we made. What you made," Santana whispered, standing in the doorframe of the nursery. It had been a big day for them. Their daughter was a genius, and at almost nine months, she'd mastered her first steps and was on her way to walking on her own. They were ecstatic parents, and they didn't want to leave their daughter for one minute, not even to let her sleep.
"We made," Rachel corrected, squeezing her wife's hand. "I certainly wouldn't have made her on my own. Gosh, could you imagine the trauma she'd experience with just me around?"
"I can't even contemplate that horror. Thank God, I'm here," Santana joked, earning a jab to the chest as she chuckled.
"We make a good team." Santana hummed in agreement and leant over and kissed Rachel's cheek.
"I love you, and I love you a thousand times more for bringing her into our lives," she whispered, nuzzling in to Rachel's neck, planting kisses along the way.
"I love you, too," Rachel murmured, kissing her cheek and pulling her out of the nursery, closing the door behind them.
Despite all the little hiccups along the way, they were actually doing well, and they could both feel pride coming off each other in waves as they retreated to their bedroom that night.
*0*0*
So they were good parents, they knew they were good parents, but crap, they made such a rookie mistake. Blair was learning to walk and was using all the furniture at her disposal. She would cling to the coffee table, waddle over to the side tables, grip them tightly and push off onto her next landing station. They'd seen her do it loads of times, but this time, they weren't expecting her to ram into the side table.
Her sock slipped on the carpet with the momentum she was trying to gain, and Santana and Rachel could only watch in horror as she grabbed the side table, and seeing it tip onto two legs. Rachel was in there like a flash, her hands pulling Blair away from the crash that followed, and Santana watched as everything slid off the table and clattered to the floor behind it.
The unmistakable sound of smashing had her wincing, and she knew without even looking what had broken. It had been a surprise, a gift from Rachel to Santana to make up for Rachel breaking her lamp within the first month that they lived together. Kurt had called it the gaudy lamp, and the name had stuck, and then Rachel had surprised her when they got together with Gaudy Lamp 2.0
That day had been one of the best, but Blair had just seen to the end of that.
"Did she just break gaudy lamp 2.0?" Santana asked, grasping onto the couch in shock.
"Yes she did!" Rachel cheered, clapping her hands and smiling, pre-empting any crying Blair might have thought about. She smiled at her mommy and giggled, clearly pleased with herself, her brown curls bouncing as Rachel jumped her up and down on her knees.
"Oh God, like mother like daughter. It's genetic," Santana whimpered, looking at the remains of her favourite lamp 2.0. The pieces were in a heap on the carpet, spread behind the couch, and it was not going to be salvaged. There had been too much damage. "Next thing we know, she'll be destroying sinks and bathtubs and pulling down curtains, and is nothing safe?"
"Your mama is being so dramatic," Rachel cooed, kissing her daughter and rolling her eyes. "Yes she is, yes she is." Blair squealed in agreement and then started babbling, as if informing Rachel of just how Santana could be.
Already she could feel the battle lines being drawn. She was going to have a mini-Rachel, and as perfect as that was, she was apparently getting one who had the same knack for destroying furniture as her mother. She needed to pre-empt that immediately, maybe even the scales to make it fair.
"I think we should have another baby," she declared, and Rachel paled. "Not now, like when she's two or something, I think we should have another one." That seemed to brighten her wife up again, and Rachel shot her that famous Rachel Berry smile in return. Definitely the right move, then.
All her fear about being a good mother had vanished, because with Rachel at her side, she couldn't fail. They were good parents, great parents, giving their little girl everything she wanted and putting her first before themselves. So Santana's logic was that since they had one, they had one perfect baby girl, what was stopping them from having more?
This was only the beginning of their family, after all.
Though, maybe next time, she'd make the 'let's have a baby' cookies and be waiting for Rachel in the bedroom. Next time around, they could finally get that scenario correct, no fear, no worries, just absolute love and devotion to each other and their family.
*0*0*