Twenty four year-old Emily Gilmore smiled tiredly as she stared down at the bundle in her arms. It was just past midnight on April 18, 1968, and after a grueling eighteen hour labor, she was finally getting the chance to meet her new baby, 7lb 6oz Lorelai Victoria Gilmore.
"Hello, Baby," she whispered, gently rocking the infant in the dimmed light of the hospital room. "I'm your Mommy. I don't know if you know this, but we've been waiting for you, your Daddy and I. You know him. He's the one that's been singing Chuck Berry songs into Mommy's stomach for the past six months. Well, he's wanted to meet you for a very long time."
"And as for me," she murmured, "I've been dreaming of you all my life."
The baby cooed.
"That's right. You're a very popular little girl around here," Emily giggled, stroking her daughter's cheek, "And don't tell anybody, but I even saw your Daddy cry a little the first time he saw you."
"Your mother is telling you vicious lies already," a husky voice boomed from the doorway.
"That's not very nice, Emily," Richard continued with a smile, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing a piece of her back behind his wife's ear and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "She's not even six hours old and already you're undermining my fatherly authority by telling her what a big softy I am."
Emily smirked. "I already told her about the Chuck Berry. It seemed like the next logical step."
"Wicked woman," he laughed, leaning forward to kiss his wife properly. "Perhaps I should tell her about the language her mother used in the delivery room. How she threatened every medical personnel's personal and professional future and called me, her very own husband, things sailors might envy, adding that if I were ever to go near her again, she would do great physical and emotional harm to both my person and a specific portion of my anatomy."
"If you mention that again, Richard," Emily said with playful warning, "I might have to make goo d on that threat."
"Duly noted."
"I'm tired, Richard. Hold me?"
He complied happily, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. As always, she fit perfectly. The couple fell into a relaxed silence, punctuated only by the occasional coos and grunts of the baby in her arms. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Emily let out a tired and contented sigh.
"Happy, My Dear?" Richard asked softly, turning his attention from his sleeping daughter to his sleepy wife.
"She's perfect, isn't she?"
"Absolutely," he whispered, gently taking the baby in his arms, marveling at how something so small and delicate could mean so much to him. "Goodnight, Darling. I'll make sure Lorelai gets back to the nursery."
He turned to leave, treading as quietly and gently as he could to make sure he didn't upset the two most important women in his life. Right before he reached the door her turned and smiled, hoping to catch one more glimpse of his wife's warm brown eyes before she fell completely into slumber. Seeing them closed, he smiled.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Love," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
"Richard?" Came a small voice. "Will we ever be as happy as we are right now?"
He smiled, tears forming once again in his eyes. "I hope so my Dear, I hope so."