First Breath
By: piperholmes
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who review my first story (beyondgurl, garamonder, peps281, seasideshipper, Agnes Robinson, Bristol Fashion, btvs, lozgamgee, bijou156, cloudlessangel, anneodair, Syblime, , readingfrenzy) and especially to The Irish Chauffer for the invaluable knowledge and help in ensuring my stories are as accurate as an unfamiliar American can be in the world of British fanfic! Thank you! (Though I can almost guarantee I will make a few more mistakes and this is again unbeta'd.) This story actually started out as something different but moved in a direction I wasn't expecting so I will tell the other story another day. I have researched quite a bit about the time period and while most births moved towards hospital births in the 1920s I feel we are still early enough to have a home birth. Also, while there were several doctors who attended births there was an increase of midwife attended births following the First World War. Basically, there are several options available to the Bransons I just chose one way for this story. I might choose another way for another story. Who knows? Sorry for the long note, hope you enjoy this little glimpse!
She was in shock. Sybil Branson gazed down at the tiny creature in her arms and felt so overwhelmed she could only respond with a silent sob. Her body shook with exhaustion and her legs ached from the hours spent in such an awkward position, and yet there was nothing but love in her heart.
The rest of the room moved with activity yet Sybil felt a stillness pervade her soul. She wrapped her arms tightly around the little life that rested against her chest, only vaguely aware of someone throwing a blanket over the child's naked body. Moments earlier he had screamed with discontent as he had been pulled and pushed from his warm home, but now he lay spent and quiet. Sybil's heart raced, a reaction to the effort it had taken to expel him from her body, and she wondered if the sound comforted the child.
He was so tiny, and gray. His little fingers rolled tightly into fists. His eyes glassy and unfocused; his hair matted with blood and mucus and whatever else. But he was here, finally here. Her little boy was here.
She felt as if she was waking from a dream. The last few hours were a blur of sweat, discomfort, and basic human instinct: a reality that had no place in the dignified world of propriety. Sybil was grateful for her medical training, for her prior education. She could only imagine the shock a young, well-bred woman would feel when in her ignorance she was first told to bare herself and push. Yet it wouldn't be the young mother's fault. It was the fault of all prior generations who would only whisper a few secrets and expect that to be enough preparation.
But this wasn't about other people, other new mothers, it was about her—and she could only stare at her son.
"You've done well Mrs. Branson," the midwife praised from between Sybil's legs. "Now just a moment more and you'll be done. If you feel some pressure just give us a small push."
"A boy! Oh Sybil, he's beautiful," her mother cooed, carefully approaching the bed, keeping her eyes adverted from the doings of the midwife.
Sybil blinked, surprised to find her moment with her new baby interrupted. But as she saw the tears in her own mother's eyes Sybil could forgive the intrusion. There was no way to truly describe Sybil's emotional state, everything felt too powerful to comprehend, but in that moment she knew that no matter what Lady Grantham's preconceived bias may have been she instantly and truly loved her grandson. Sybil had not been blind to the tight smiles and false words of congratulations that had passed between her family members upon the revelation of her pregnancy. She had not missed the sadness in her father's eyes or the regret in her mother's tone. She had been plagued by the thinly veiled condescension and pity in her sisters' faces. Sybil had struggled with the unfamiliar changes in her body, the fears of the unknown, and the constant worry that came with a first pregnancy, however, all of that had been compounded by the uncertainty of her family's response to the tiny life growing inside her. For months she had carried the child under her heart and each movement had solidified her love for the baby. Now, as the tiny being took his first breath of life, Sybil promised she would ensure he knew only love and acceptance. If that meant turning her back on a family that would reject him then so be it, but to see the affection on her mother's face was a balm to the months of feeling so alone. It was a sign of hope.
"You think so?" Sybil sniffled, trying not to add to the sweat and tears already running down her cheeks. "I think he looks quite horrid." She couldn't help the laugh that escaped on the last word, and was glad when her mother responded with her own low laugh.
"They usually do at first," the older woman conceded wisely.
"Aye, an' you must look quite a fright to him as well," Tom's mother joked as she reached out and began wiping a bit of the dried perspiration from Sybil's face and neck.
Then Sybil's smile only grew as she added with awe, "But he truly is the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."
Her mother-in-law's eyes were bright as she responded, "You both look radiant."
Lady Grantham offered her nod of accession, her own eyes growing suspiciously glassy.
Sybil felt tightness in her lower abdomen and further conversation was stalled as the midwife helped her deliver the afterbirth.
"There now child, you've finished. Rather easy birth I'd say. You and your little fellow did quite well," the midwife said, the wrinkles near her eyes doubling as she offered a smile.
"Easy?" Sybil scoffed, wincing as she tried to sit up further, "That's an easy birth?"
The midwife only chuckled and the new grandmothers shared a knowing look—a moment of connection between two women who were convinced they shared nothing in common.
"Let's set about getting these two cleaned up," the midwife instructed, and turning to Tom's mother said, "Mrs. Branson if you wouldn't mind gettin' the wee babe cleaned up, then her Ladyship an' I can help the new mother…" the old woman trailed off as she realized what she had done. "That is if her Ladyship is alright to help of course."
Lady Grantham raised her eyebrows but her voice remained soft, if not a bit condescending. "Of course. I may not have much experience changing sheets but I'm sure I can be of use to my daughter."
"I'll handle the linens m'lady, but if you could…" her words were interrupted by a knock on the door.
Lady Grantham frowned as she moved to the sound and, checking to be sure Sybil had been adequately covered, cracked open the door. The sight that met her brought a look of tender appreciation to her face, but she was quick to mask it. A haggard, unshaven Tom Branson stood on the other side. His blonde hair a mass of pointy ends sticking in all directions from the numerous times his hand had upset their normal resting spot, his clothes wrinkled, the cuffs of his shirt having been clearly rolled and unrolled over and over again, and his face pale and eyes red; all established the barely contained excitement paired with a nearly overwhelming sense of dread.
"Please," he began desperately seeing the stern expression on Lady Grantham's face. "Please, I heard the baby…then nothing since…I jus' I just need to know they're alright. Please."
"They're fine Tom. Mother and baby are doing well," she informed him, keeping the details vague, remembering the moment when she had happily anticipated telling Robert that he had a daughter only to find her mother-in-law had already imparted the news. That was at least one disappointment she could spare her youngest.
"May I see her?" he employed, his eyes already scanning over her shoulder.
"Not yet," she chided gently but firmly. "Just a bit more patience and I promise you'll be with them soon."
"Tom?" Sybil called from the bed.
"Sybil?" he called back moving to push passed his mother-in-law, but stopped short. "Eh…excuse me m'lady."
When she hesitated he pressed quietly and sincerely, "Please, only for a moment."
"For a moment," she acquiesced graciously, and her tone clearly communicated that she was allowing this to happen, though when it came to her daughter and son-in-law the opposite was more accurate. The truth was she had very little say in this relationship, and Lady Grantham resented that fiercely, but Cora Crawley found herself admiring her daughter's fortitude and convictions. It was this dichotomy that contributed to her discomfort when she considered the pair.
Tom gave a nod of appreciation as she pulled the door open for him before he stepped boldly in. He paused slightly as he found the room full of women staring at him and shied for a moment but when his gaze fell on Sybil he moved with renewed purpose.
His mother and the midwife stepped away. Mrs. Branson moved to stand next to Lady Grantham and mumbled almost apologetically, "The boy never could stay where he was told."
"I know the feeling," Lady Grantham acknowledged dryly as they watched the young man approached the bed.
"Hi," Tom said, feeling quite uncertain and stupid. His eyes searched her face for signs of pain, but all he found was contented exhaustion.
"Hi," she parroted softly, and sensing his unease added teasingly, "You look terrible."
Tom gave her a laugh, and ran his hand haphazardly through his hair. He felt a bit of the tension fade away hearing her make fun of him, seeing the color in her cheeks, and the steady rise and fall of her chest. But he had to know, had to hear the words from her so he asked, "Are you well?"
Sybil smiled at him. "Very." She reached out a hand which he moved to take.
"Come here," she commanded, "and meet your son."
Tom's eyes grew large and Sybil heard his breath catch. His movements became slow and distracted as he sat gingerly on the bed, facing her, holding tightly to her hand.
"A boy?" he whispered; his eyes bright and glued to the lump under the blanket.
Sybil could only nod; Tom's reaction bringing fresh her own feelings. She used her free hand to pull the blanket back a little, allowing Tom to see the face of his first born.
She watched as her husband laid eyes on his son, watched as his mouth opened slightly in awe, watched as his free hand moved to hover protectively over the tiny child and finally tentatively stroke a ruddy cheek with his finger.
"A son," he stated, his voice cracking on the words. She watched as he pressed his lips together, battling to keep the tears at bay. One or two pushed passed his defenses but he ignored them.
"Sybil," he breathed, "Sybil he's amazing."
She smiled.
"You're amazing," he declared bringing his gaze up to her. He leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against hers. Pulling back he proudly said, "Our son."
"Our son," Sybil repeated and both parents stared at the little baby between them.
"Our son," Tom smiled through his tears, "our gorgeous son with the odd shaped head."
"I know," Sybil laughed.
"That'll be gone in a few days time," the midwife called out exasperated, "Now that's enough of that. You've had your moment young man. We'll call when you can come back."
Tom gave his wife a cheeky grin, then placed a sweet kiss on his son's head, then an equally sweet kiss against Sybil's lips, then unable to resist, place another on her forehead and murmured, "I love you" against her skin, and finally whispered the same to the drowsy baby before being shooed out by his mother, mother-in-law and midwife.
Sybil's eyes followed him as he left, his body as known to her as her own, and the proof of their love nestled against her breast, and finally felt free to breathe.
The end
So just a small moment in the world of the Bransons but hopefully entertaining enough to make it worth the effort of reading. I have some more ideas for these kinds of moments (and also the multi-chaptered story I mentioned last time, though it is just taking a bit of research to get that one going) but again just want to sincerely thank everyone for making me feel so welcomed here!