Amy smiled as her second nephew was passed to her and settled into her arms. He was so tiny and new. And he had Fritz's dark hair. Jo had accomplished in a little less than two years of marriage what Amy had not in about five.
She knew it wasn't fair to Jo, to feel like this. She was supposed to be happy for her sister.
And she was! Of course, she was happy, everyone was. A new member of the Bhaer family, named after his grandpa. Jo's first son, Franz and Emil's first little cousin that they had so looked forward to. She and Fritz would be the best parents, they had been parenting almost their whole lives. In a way, Jo parented Laurie, managing his fits of temper, and of course, they had their school and their nephews. And even with all that, they still had room in their hearts for one more. Fritz couldn't take his eyes off of the baby even now, he was absolutely over the moon, the proud father she knew Laurie would be if they ever- well.
"He's so small," he kept muttering, shaking his head in wonder. Eventually, he did tear his eyes away to lend his mother-in-law a hand in attending faithfully to his wife, who lay exhausted across the room. He refilled her tea and began to braid her hair up away from her sweaty neck and warm forehead, praising the work she had done all the while. Jo had a tired grin on her face as she basked in the adoration of her husband and the satisfaction of her accomplishment.
The image before Amy was in stark contrast to the fear and desperation of the last hour of pushing. Jo had screamed and sobbed and begged for it to end; twelve long hours of labor was the price of this little life. Part of the price, really. The pregnancy hadn't been a very easy one, surprising both Amy and Meg with the sheer amount of sickness and insomnia it brought to their sister. Amy knew, from the look on her face, that she was satisfied in the end. She had borne it like the fighter she was, and Fritz had been a saint all the while. Now, at the end of the road, they had a breathing, crying baby.
Amy almost wished for a hard pregnancy, it seemed to be the only kind in her family to bear fruit. Meg's delivery of the twins had been long and hard and so had the last few months of Jo's pregnancy, and so had Marmee's delivery of Amy herself. But the relatively smooth sailing of Amy's nine months had resulted in a bundle so still, so quiet. She should have known that a baby who was well would have made more of a commotion coming into this world.
She had hardly finished saying hello when it was time to say goodbye.
"Wow," Laurie peeked over her shoulder, planting a sneaky little kiss on her cheek. "We're an aunt and uncle again, huh?"
Amy nodded. "Yes."
Little Rob made a noise like that of a kitten, and Jo held her arms out. It almost hurt to give her sister's baby back. It felt wrong to covet her child but oh, how quickly Jo had managed to conceive when she'd set her mind to it. How lucky she was to have a body that cooperated with her, a womb that would nurture not reject. Amy couldn't help the lump in her throat as Jo stared at her baby.
"My God, that came out of me?" she said suddenly, eyes going wide.
"Is it still sinking in?" Fritz laughed softly.
"Very much. This is a whole person now."
"Yes, from the moment he took his first breath." Fritz suddenly looked contemplative as well. He reached out to stroke his son's wispy curls. "We made that."
Amy wanted to yell but didn't know at whom. God, she supposed. How awful to think.
During the next few months, the family would seem to revolve around Plumfield. Emil became adoring- borderline motherly- towards his cousin. Jo's life seemed idyllic, her nephew, Franz, and her husband- and all the boys at the school really- doting on the new mother.
One day, Amy thought, trying to muster all of her patience. One day she would say the same to Laurie. We made that.
Rob's first word was Mama, in spite of all Laurie's attempts at teaching him to say 'Uncle Laurie'. Mama, he would babble, tugging at her skirts, soon to be rewarded with her coveted attention. Mama, he would shout, when he was tired of his father's arms, his uncles' shoulders, or even his aunts' laps. Mama, he proudly answered when Fritz asked him, "Who is that, Bärchen?".
By the time he turned two, Amy had tried and failed three more times.
One day, she thought, nearly every time she saw him.
Until then, she would bite her tongue, curb these bitter thoughts, and pray.