Chapter 7
Daddy's Little Girl
Note- Oh c'mon, Erik would make the best father, 'specially to a little girl!
Erik impatiently paced the hallway, listening to the sounds coming from behind the bedroom door, curiously awaiting just one.
He could hear Christine, his beloved wife, and he could hear her pain. He flinched slightly as she let out a long, echoing wail. Pausing outside the door he felt tears flow from his eyes as a more shrill cry came shortly afterward. His joy was uncomprehensible. He leaned against the wall, saying a silent prayer of praise, weeping into his hand.
Madame Giry came out, her face numb, her eyes dark and without emotion. He understood.
"May I?"
She nodded, moving aside to allow him entrance. He walked in, slowly moving to his exhausted wife. "Oh, Christine."
"Erik," she murmured and shifted. The infant was tucked in her arms, one of Christine's fingers inside her tiny fist. "I'd like you to meet your daughter." Her eyes glowed with happiness and tiredness.
"Felicity." He whispered, leaning in, kissing the newborn's head, then moving up, kissing his wife gently. "Thank you." He whispered.
"Thank you." She murmured, nestling the infant closer to her. After nine long months of turmoil for not knowing if she'd make it through the pregnancy this time, her baby was here. Their baby was here.
Erik pulled a chair closer to the bed, sitting and watching as she gazed down lovingly at the tiny new person. She sighed, looking at him. "It worked, it all worked fine."
Smiling he nodded. "I told you it would."
"She's so beautiful!" Erik's joyful exclamation caused Christine to laugh out as they carefully bathed her for the first time after the quick clean up she had at birth. She carefully sponged water over the infant, who seemed to be asleep as this happened.
"At least she isn't one of the ones who scream when they get wet." She remarked gratefully.
He laughed wholeheartedly. "I suppose, but who cares! Look at her, Christine! I could never dream of such beauty!"
Christine smiled motioning to the side. "Can you grab the towel? Drape it over your arms like that, yes. I'm going to set her in." Quickly she transferred her from the basin to his arms and she wrapped the limp towel around her. "There now. Dry her off, I'll be right back." She lifted the basin carefully and went to dispose of it.
Erik sat and smiled down at his sleeping beauty. Christine had been bedridden for the past week, and was grateful to move around. The baby's birth had been a great deal to handle, but she had done it with pride and often fought the urge to sit down, but he scolded her when he could see she was uncomfortable.
He shifted his grasp on Felicity, rubbing her skin with the towel. It was pale and flawless like her mother, but she had her fathers cheekbones, there was no mistaking that light chubbiness. When open her eyes were a vibrant blue, much like his, but he felt they would subside to the more dull blue of her mother's.
Christine soon returned, helping him dress her and then going to lay her down. She began to set about chores and gasped, struggling in protest as he lifted her and began to carry her to bed. "Erik! I..."
"Hush! You need rest!" He tried to sound harsh and demanding but his humor was obvious.
She groaned. "I have been resting for well over a week! I am perfectly happy on my feet!"
He shook his head, laying her down with the tenderness he had always shown. "My love, I understand, but you are weak no matter what you say. I wouldn't be able to bear..." His voice broke off and he looked away, fighting back tears. She reached up and took his hand.
"Only if you rest with me fr a bit." He sighed, coming down beside her and cradling her form in his arms, still quite small for someone who had just given birth and who had lost a baby a year earlier. He pillowed her head on his shoulder and held her, feeling her breathing slow and eventually fall, now shallow.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, saying a silent prayer of thanks to God, for only such a high thing as God could be responsible for this, a wonderful young wife who had given him two beautiful daughters, even though one had perished.
He smiled bitter sweetly. They had endured their short ends of the stick, but all together they had done well with their lives, and he was proud of the transition. "Sleep well, cherie." He whispered and closed his eyes. Drifting off.
Parenthood can sometimes be a bother, but it's even worse when your wife is so tired, she can't be roused by the baby crying. Stirring he forced himself to hop out of bed and run into the nursery, he lifted the crying child from her crib and patted her back, soothing her.
He began to sing absentmindedly. A lullaby he had long known, and she whimpered with her tiredness. He kissed her forehead gently, continuing to sing. She was soon limp in his arms, but not before she sighed and rested her tiny head against his shoulder.
A sense of overwhelming pride filled him and he beamed setting her down to sleep. He had sung his child to sleep, for the first time. He had a family that loved him, he had a wife, Christine, and now a daughter, felicity.