Author's Note: So I couldn't get this out of my head, since I just felt like Brittany obviously had all these intense feelings after watching Santana give birth, and seeing their new daughter for the first time. Maybe it's self-indulgent, but I figured I'd share my thoughts. This takes place pretty much immediately after Chapter 30 of Beautiful Life, and primarily consists of Brittany reflecting.
Sitting on the bed with my feet dangling over the edge, after a thirteen hour ordeal that had left the beautiful woman beside me more exhausted than I'd ever seen her, I couldn't decide who I wanted to stare at more. Her, the absolute love of my life, the other mother of my children, who looked, even sweaty, disheveled, and barely able to keep her eyes from slipping closed every few moments, even more beautiful than she ever had, or the tiny bundle that she held tightly in her arms, close to her chest and cautious, like she was terrified our brand new baby girl would break. Our daughter, who I'd watched grow inside my wife for nine months, who I'd loved so wholeheartedly from the time she was just an idea planted in our bathtub, was here in the world with us, and had just finished nursing for the first time. Watching the two of them, snuggled so close together, Santana's head resting on my shoulder, drawing me into a moment meant only for the three of us was almost too much for me to handle.
After I'd cut Marisa's umbilical cord, I'd stood cautiously over Christina, the sweetheart of a pediatric nurse who'd gently cleaned the light olive skin of my baby girl, flawless except for the crescent shaped birthmark that graced her right shoulder, and I waited, not really patiently, my fingers itching to touch her after waiting so long. It felt like a lifetime, waiting for her Apgar test to be finished (which she'd passed with flying colors), waiting for drops to be put in her eyes, waiting for her to be diapered and wrapped in a blanket. The whole time she wailed, obviously with a healthy set of lungs on her (though I'm not surprised, given the woman who gave birth to her), but the moment she was placed in my arms and my eyes turned from where they were locked with Santana's and met Marisa's, it was like the entire world stood still. Her crying stopped and mine started up, like we both knew that she was someone I'd waited my entire life to meet, the very same feeling I'd had when I met Annie for the first time. I'd brought her immediately to Santana, and we'd watched her with wonder, then I watched them with wonder as my wife nursed our brand new baby for the first time, and even an hour and a half later, that wonder hadn't faded.
As Marisa lay contently in her arms, Santana was slowly loosing her battle with the Sandman. The duration that her eyes stayed closed was growing longer, her head occasionally snapping back up, her eyes darting back and forth between me and our little girl, making sure we were still there, but her grip on the newborn in her arms never loosening. She needed sleep, a full, restful sleep after so many fitful nights at the end of her pregnancy, and after a day where her body was put through something so traumatic. While her eyes were closed, I slowly pushed myself off the bed, not wanting to startle her. As I gently tried to lift Marisa from her arms, I felt Santana's grip tighten, but she didn't say a word. It was then, that I realized she'd fallen into a deep sleep, and that even so far from consciousness, her natural maternal instinct kicked in, one I'd seen happen for her thousands of times with our Annie, one that had happened for me thousands of times with Annie, protect your child no matter what. Leaning in so that my face was level with Santana's, I gently brushed kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her eyelids, showering every inch of her gorgeous face with my love and gratitude.
"I love you, I love you, I love you like never before." I burned into her skin, and her features, so tense from the hours of pain she'd endured, from the bone crushing ache I was sure she was feeling at that very moment, softened under my presence.
Trying again to lift the baby from her arms, I smiled at the fact that her grip had loosened, that her entire being was poised to pass our daughter over to me. It was a sensation I understood all too well, the instinct to fully trust only one other human being with the life of the child you brought into the world. For Santana and me, it was each other, and as soon as my love reached somewhere into the depths of her subconscious, when she knew it was just me, and not some kind of predator (humans really are animals, there are some traits we never lost, very much the basis of my evolutionary advantage theory of pregnant women), she gave over our child without hesitation. With Marisa cradled in my arms, her watchful eyes growing as sleepy as her Mamí's, sated by the milk she'd taken in, I pressed one last firm kiss to my sleeping wife's forehead, encouraging her to sleep, reminding her that I was taking care of our newest precious thing.
"It's alright, little love." I whispered to the baby who began to fuss, upset at being removed from the warm skin she'd been pressed up against. "Mama's got you, baby."
Taking a page from the lessons we'd learned five years earlier, sitting in a stark, white walled room full of buzzing and beeping, so different from the warm green oasis where I could vaguely register the sounds of Fleetwood Mac still playing from my phone, lost under the bed, or somewhere else I couldn't be bothered to look anytime soon, I carefully unwrapped Marisa from her blanket, leaving her in just a tiny white diaper. With her skin exposed, I lay her against my chest, letting her head rest in the crook of my neck, her bare skin against mine that was left exposed by the simple white camisole I wore, and I draped the blanket over us, trapping the warmth of the connection inside. Kangaroo care, they'd called it in the NICU, when we'd given Annie skin to skin contact with us to help foster a bond, to help her grow stronger, but I saw no reason why that same bond couldn't be created with my full term daughter, why I couldn't give her some of my energy as well, so I let her snuggle close to me, her olive skin, so warm, like Santana's always was, melding with my fair complexion. Sitting down in the glider under the window, I rubbed her back, and I rocked, letting the motions and the sound of my heartbeat sedate that amazing new life in my arms.
With Santana asleep and Marisa looking at me through heavily lidded eyes, I soaked up the bliss that permeated the very room where my wife brought our daughter into the world. Although I was tired, and under ordinary circumstances would have slept as well, holding the beautiful baby against me, and feeling the tiny, fluttering heartbeat against my skin, sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. Instead, I stared down at Marisa, breathing in the scent of my daughter's newness, listening to the sounds of her snuffling, and savoring every moment of near silence that the three of us would have together. Of course, I couldn't wait for Annalise to meet her sister, couldn't wait for our oldest daughter to be throwing her arms around Santana and me, for our family to be all together in it's completeness, but I also knew that there was something so inherently important about the first hours of bonding that my wife and I would have with our newborn, and I wouldn't trade that for a second.
Marisa Lily, with her legs still trying to curl against her chest, the position she'd spent so much time in, barely felt real, her tiny six pounds, two ounces (and twenty one inches long, she'll be tall, like you, Santana had marveled) hardly registering as weight in my arms. It was hard to believe that her big sister, our amazingly special Annie, who was probably sound asleep at Finn and Rachel's, had only been half Marisa's size. After witnessing every single moment of my second daughter's birth, it had dawned on me that so much of the day I had given birth was completely lost to me. It was Santana's face that stuck me with most, Santana's desperate tears, her pleas for me to stay with her, her hastily whispered I love you's that occupied most of my mind. The blood, the fear, the uncertainty, the pain, that my wife remembered, all of that was hazy to me, and maybe it was better that way. I remembered the most important part, the words she's beautiful, slipping from Santana's lips, telling me that our first baby had made it through, and that Santana, my tiny little wife, had been our pillar of strength, when Annie and I had needed her most of all.
"You're so lucky." I murmured into the top of Marisa's head, where just the slightest brown fuzz sat, so slight that it was hardly noticeable, inhaling again deeply, her scent a constant reminder that she was really there. "Us Lopez-Pierce's are strong, Ladybug, we're fighters, and you'll always have that in you when you need it most."
Looking over at Santana, my gorgeous and absolutely incredible Santana, with the hair that I'd been tucking behind her ears all day falling over her eyes again, my Santana, who mostly couldn't see the things I loved so deeply in her, I sighed happily at the contented look on her face. It was rare that she fully let herself rest, even in sleep. Sometimes, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and see her brow furrowed so tightly, her teeth clenched, and I'd kiss those little scrunches, kiss her jawline, and try to get her to relax for a few moments. But hours of stressful labor had taken enough out of here that she'd become too overcome with exhaustion to remember that she was so full of worry, and seeing her at peace was such a heartrending feeling for me. She'd never had things easy, my wife, and it broke my heart how much she still struggled to believe that she deserved the good things in our life, to believe that they wouldn't be taken from her in a heartbeat, but each day, I'd seen her progress, each day, she'd come closer to believing in herself, and there were few other things in the world that made me happier than that. It was bigger after giving birth than ever before, her belief in herself, more than the constant reminders I gave her about what an amazing wife and mother she was, more than witnessing the organization to help people who struggled in the way she had begin to blossom. No, it was seeing that a tiny, amazing being was born from inside of her, and was unharmed, untainted, that she hadn't harmed or tainted Marisa, as she spent nine months worrying she would, made Santana realize to a different extent what I had always known about her, how truly beautiful she was, both inside and out.
I think it came as the biggest surprise in her life, the night the two of us sat in our bathroom, and the pregnancy tests read positive after our first attempt at IVF. She tried so hard to be positive for me, because I was an eternal optimist, and she never wanted to dampen my spirits (not that she could, the two of us were yin and yang, and that's why we worked. I encouraged her to make wishes, and she reminded me that sometimes realism needed to win out), but I saw the worry lines in her forehead crease deeper than they usually did. She was waiting for the universe to tell her it was another cruel joke, the same universe that had thrown far more than any person's fair share of cruel jokes in her face in the past. Even though she'd breathed a small sigh of relief when Dr. Singh confirmed the pregnancy, and continued to release breaths every time another milestone hit, she was never without worry, and truth be told, I worried right alongside her. I worried for our baby, of course (at that moment of thought, I had to press another kiss to Marisa's forehead, so overjoyed that the worry was over), but I worried for my wife too. I worried that even someone as strong as Santana, although she barely believed me when I reminded her of that strength, would break at something happening to the baby we'd pinned so many wishes on, and I was pretty sure that if she broke, the struggle to pick up the pieces would be greater than any we'd ever known.
When Santana woke me up to let me know that her water had broken, I felt giddy, because I knew it was almost over, the intensified worry that the two of us had felt for so long. But also, I was absolutely petrified about the prospect of seeing my wife in pain, and even more petrified about needing to keep the promise I'd made to Santana, not just in our bed after a terrible bout of morning sickness, but years earlier, up against the wall in a dark bathroom, and so many times after as she'd struggled to fight her own demons. Almost twelve hours had passed, more than five of which, she'd been in agonizing pain, before she'd asked me, but I saw the internal battle she'd been having long before that. Watching her writhe in pain, hearing her ask for something that I knew I couldn't give her, that I knew her rational mind didn't even really want, and to have to deny her a reprieve was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But Santana had faith in me, more than she had faith in herself, and she'd known that with my deep, unending love for her, when she was at her most vulnerable, I'd never let her fall. So she'd made it through without the drugs, made it through without even asking for them a second time, and my heart swelled with pride for her immense strength.
"Love and faith, Marisa, those are the two most important things we'll teach you as you grow." I smiled into the words, remembering the days where Santana would tell her deepest thoughts to an infant Annie, and they'd sit in a position not unlike the one our new daughter and I were, rocking and absorbing each other so wholly. "Things are different now than they were when we were young, they're getting so much better, and Mamí is helping them along in her own small way, but I want you to remember that no matter what anyone ever says, you will be raised in a house that's filled with both of those things. I don't even know why I'm telling you this right now, you're barely two hours old, and we'll have plenty of time for life lessons in the future, but holding you like this, seeing another addition to the life our love has created, just makes me feel so full."
The tears began to spill down my cheeks again at how overwhelming it all felt. After Annie was born, Santana would joke that when my hormones had gone scarily haywire, her's had gone sympathetically out of whack as well, but holding Marisa, I realized that there was so much more to it than that. In holding this tiny beginning of a person, one who'd been created from the woman who I loved more than life itself, there's this incredible bond, one that I'm pretty sure can't be replicated in any way. There are people who talk, people who I mostly try not to listen to, about how there must be a stronger bond between biological parent and child. I never really understood it, not when I've spent five years watching Santana with Annie. When I first found out I was pregnant, I was alone in the bathroom at work, feeling like my life was crumbling down around me under the circumstances, fearing that I'd lose the one person I knew that I was meant to be with. It was the first moment I'd truly became a mother, the day I put the needs of a helpless ball of cells above my own, and even above the woman I loved with all my heart and soul, and in that, miraculously, I'd started down the path that would make both of us mothers.
From the second Santana found me on the street outside her therapist's office after our fight, if you can even really call it that, and I saw the love and devotion in her eyes, not only to me, but to the unborn child she'd been so afraid of, that was the moment their bond began, one that has grown every single day since, the moment Santana became a mother, even though she didn't know it at the time. I understood that bond, even early on, the first time Santana heard Annie's heartbeat, the first time she murmured against my belly, referring to herself as Mamí, because somehow it just made so much sense, even if people thought otherwise. But looking at Marisa, and feeling her heart beat so close to mine, though the circumstances were different, none of that seemed to make any kind of real difference. My understanding of Santana's bond with Annie transcended the one of an outsider looking in on something so special, I felt it, inside of myself, I felt the realization of something I'd always known deep inside me somehow come to light. Annie may have come from my own flesh and blood, and Marisa may have come from Santana's, but it isn't flesh and blood that matters in that unique kind of unconditional love, it's the moment that you recognize that this little life is meant for you, my moment with Marisa occurring before the embryo was even growing inside of my wife, Santana's later, and twofold with Annie, first when she chose to come back to us, and then stronger when a tiny heartbeat moved her to tears. It's the thing that defies all the superficial; genetics, convention, physical appearance, anything. The thing that exists only from that same love and devotion I saw years earlier in Santana's eyes, the unconditional something, that I couldn't really find a name for,that shapes a family like nothing else is capable of.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of light outside the window, and I looked up, smiling at how fitting the scene was. Although it was only the thirtieth of June, somewhere on the Queens side of the East River, someone was shooting off fireworks for the upcoming holiday, and through the window, the bright colors bathed the three of us. Part of me longed to wake up Santana, to let her witness this next small bit of magic that was happening, but another glance at the serenity of her face reminded me how much she needed her blissful sleep. Marisa squinted her eyes, but I was pretty sure that was just her trying to fall asleep, that she couldn't actually see what I was looking at. So I took in the magic on my own, absorbing it enough for the three of us, and for Annie, who loved special and magical things, would appreciate hearing the story of fireworks for her sister's birthday when she came to visit in the morning. They seemed to go on for hours, although I think my sense of time was skewed by my fatigue. I didn't watch the show directly, I watched the colors dance across Santana's bed, watched pinks and greens and yellows light up Marisa's face as her eyelids occasionally fluttered, then finally closed completely, and that was so much more beautiful than any lights in the sky ever could be.
"Britt." Santana rasped out sleepily, maybe awoken by that sense of magic. Her voice broke through my thoughts, but her eyes stayed closed and the placid look refused to melt from her features. "Is she okay?"
"She is, honey." I promised. "She just fell asleep. Shouldn't you be sleeping too?"
"Yeah." She opened her eyes slowly, that unabashed tenderness that I loved so much clearly evident. "I just, I wanted to..."
"Have one last snuggle before we let her sleep for a few hours." I laughed softly as I stood, trying not to startle Marisa from her slumber, and I moved back toward the bed.
"You know me so well, baby." Santana smiled, her voice still groggy and her face flushed with exhaustion, but all the old sheepishness in her eyes whenever she asked for something sentimental long gone.
After laying Marisa back on Santana's chest, I sat down beside them again, the two of us watching her so closely. She balled her little fists and stretched her arms above her head, one hand landing on my wife's left shoulder, the other on the right side of her neck. Our eyes met, and Santana looked at me curiously, wondering if I'd get up to get the camera, the significance of where our daughter's hand fell not lost on either of us. I gave her the smallest shake of my head, and a smile curled at the corners of her mouth. It wasn't the moment for pictures, both of us knew that innately, I'd taken enough before Santana fell asleep for the first time, and this was something meant only for us.
"God, I forgot what it's like to love someone so much who you just met." Santana traced her fingers so lightly over Marisa's face, the awe so evident in her eyes. "How did we get so lucky, Brittany?"
"Strength, love, and faith." I brought her fingers up and kissed them gently, then moved to her palm, feeling her pulsing heartbeat against my lips. "I think that with those things, we made our own luck."
"I like that better." She whispered, so completely enamored with Marisa. "I like it better, because those are things we can help our girls have. She already looks strong, doesn't she?"
"She does. With good reason." I met Santana's eyes, and I saw the slightest hint of embarrassment color her cheeks. "It's true."
"Maybe." She shrugged gently, trying not to move her body too much, both from the soreness and so as not to disturb the baby. "But she's also had the good example of you and Annie talking to her all day and night, so I can't take all the credit."
"That's true, we are a pretty awesome influence." I teased gently, running my thumb over her left dimple, causing it to deepen, then doing the same on the baby's left cheek, my silent wish that she'd inherit that feature from her Mamí. Now that the big wishes had been granted, that she'd arrived safe and healthy, we let ourselves hope for silly things, for height and dimples, for whatever other thoughts that would pop into our heads in the coming days. "I'm going to put her in the bassinet now, okay? You've both gotta sleep some more."
"Okay." She agreed easily, and I eased Marisa back out of her arms and into mine. "Lay with me?"
"Of course." I nodded, accepting her soft kiss on my lips, and then stealing another one back. "Let me just get her all situated for the next few hours."
Slowly, I turned away, smiling as Santana placed one last kiss on Marisa's head, murmuring buenos noches, amorcita, and then te amo several times. I took my time checking her diaper, reswaddling her in the little blanket, and then taking my own turn with goodnights and I love you's. When I was finished, and made to move back to the bed, Santana was fast asleep again, but had shuffled herself over to make room for me to take my place beside her. I did, of course, thinking how amazing it would feel to have a bed beneath me, and my wife in my arms. Immediately upon my lying down, Santana's sleeping form moved closer to me, her head leaning against my shoulder and her hand draping itself across my stomach. If it was possible, she seemed even more content then she had during her last sleep, knowing I was holding onto her, knowing that Marisa was right at arm's length, and that Annie was safe with people who loved her. With my weariness finally getting the best of me, I let my eyes slip closed, thinking of what I told Santana, thinking of strength, love and faith, and all they had brought us. In our little family, the one that was finally complete, that was the the unconditional that I'd had trouble naming, those three things were the ties that would eternally bind us, ties that were stronger than any other that could possibly exist.