I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
Mustard Seed
Their small apartment . . .
"Where should we put the pack and play?"
"Um, over by the . . . no . . . maybe next to the . . . no . . . hmm . . ."
. . . seemed to be getting smaller . . .
"Where's my laptop?"
"Next to the carseat, I think."
. . . by the day.
Friends and colleagues and coworkers and wellwishers were showering Dylan and Emma's unborn child with gifts.
Essentials . . .
"Another pack of burp cloths? We'll never use all these! Dad, why are you laughing?"
. . . non-essentials . . .
". . . wipes warmer?"
. . . and some things . . .
"What is this?"
"'Baby Shusher'. Huh."
"It looks like a dildo."
"Dylan!"
"Or a rocket."
. . . none of them could figure out.
And some wonderful friends . . .
"A sixty dollar gift card for . . . 'diapers'. Wow, this is going to last forever! Dad, would you stop laughing?"
Pink booties and lavender snugglers.
Hairbows and receiving blankets.
Pacifiers and stuffed teddybears.
And bathing sets and fingernail clippers and Baby Skin So Soft and No More Tears and bottles and Butt Paste and teething rings and cleaning cloths and Bumpos . . .
And every single thing the ones they had drawn around them had showered upon them with all their love and encouragement and support.
And Emma . . .
"Wow. Do you think I'll be able to finish writing all the thank you notes by the time she graduates college?"
"Maybe."
. . . seemed happier and more excited everyday.
She had paused her college education.
"I can't waddle to class right now. When I have Emma and she's older, I'll go back."
"That's just fine, baby girl. College will always be there. This baby will only be a baby for a little while."
They're talking like everything is going to be okay.
How do they know?
How do they know?
"Thanks, Dad. Dylan, is that okay with you?"
"Yeah. I think it's awesome."
While Dylan . . .
"Nipple cream. Okay."
"Hey, I can help that."
"Dylan!"
. . . tried to hide his growing fear.
He wanted the baby.
He loved the baby.
But he was afraid for the baby.
And her mother
And every single baby item they recieved added to the crushing weight of his fear pressing down upon his shoulders.
That something would happen to Emma or the baby.
Something horrible.
Something irreversible.
Emma, the only light he had ever known, gone forever.
Leaving him in darkness.
Forever.
Or damaged, damaged in some way she couldn't enjoy life anymore.
All of these things, these gifts, these material possessions would be a hateful, cruel reminder of what could have been.
Almost had been.
Dylan Massett was afraid, he was scared.
He was anxious, he was fidgety.
He was plagued by nightmares and swamped with dark daydreams.
The life he loved and did not deserve being taken from him.
He wanted to believe.
But was afraid to hope.
He was a man whose wife was pregnant.
"Emma?"
"Yeah? You okay?"
"Yeah, I just . . . I just love you."
"I love you too, Dylan."
It wasn't all bad though.
Dylan Massett spent a substantial amount of his time now "with the baby".
Talking to her.
Touching her.
Feeling her tiny form move against his hand from deep within her mother's womb.
"Em, she's so strong."
"Yeah, she is. She comes from us. She's going to be strong."
Watching a movie. The Princess Bride.
"Have fun storming the castle!"
One of Emma's favorite . . .
"Hello, lady!"
. . . movies when she too tired to move.
Her head on a pillow on Dylan's lap.
His fingers tangled in her thick, wavy, auburn hair.
"My name is Inigo Montoya . . ."
Massaging away one of her infrequent immunosuppressant headaches.
Until she fell . . .
"Emma?"
". . . huzzzz . . ."
. . . asleep.
I love you, Emma.
I love you, Katie.
Be okay.
Please be okay.
"Truw Wuv . . ."
And they were.
Mostly.
Emma Decody Massett was crying.
Tears trailing down her rosy, pregnant cheeks as she blew her sniffling nose on a tissue.
Dylan, of course, immediately dropped what he was doing.
"Emma? Emma, what's wrong?"
She turned her head away in mute anguish.
Holding up a pamphlet given to them on their most recent doctor's visit.
Dylan took it, scanning the words for what could possibly upsetting her so much.
Then he found it.
'Chemicals can be passed through breastmilk from mother to child. Breastfeeding is not advised for mothers taking immunosuppressants.'
Oh.
Dropping it to the floor, he gently gathered his weeping wife in his arms.
Kissing her forehead, rocking her gently.
"I wanted to feed her," she whimpered. "I just wanted to able to do that. She's my daughter. I should be able to do that."
Her grief was a living thing, slicing through her heart as it worked its way out of her system.
And her husband, who loved her, held her.
And was strong for her.
Believed for her.
That everything would be . . .
". . . okay. It's okay. Now I can help too. We can share feedings and you don't have to get sore nipples and plugged ducts. I'll bring you cabbage leaves to take out the pain-"
Emma raised her head from his now damp chest, sniffing back her tears now in surprise.
"You've been reading about breastfeeding?"
He nodded as if this were obvious.
"Yeah. You're having our baby. I've been reading about all of it."
She gazed at him, her face so open and wondering.
He cast her a loving smile and she sent it back through her tears.
The she reached up and kissed him.
He let her.
Because the website had said there would be hormone and mood fluctuations too.
Though he decided not to mention that at the moment.
Thanks to Lana Brown, WordWeaver81, and DinahRay for reviewing!
Next up, hello, baby!