Prelude to a Baby
Like muumuued matrons taking wing, the war balloons alighted—great gay sentinels in the sky whose bright colors and the gaudily uniformed crew proclaiming to the world, "We're here, we're queer, we're gonna blow stuff up!"
In a new suit of gold and white armor (because even Zuko drew the line at wearing lavender) the Fire Lord and the platoon leaders waved to the shrinking crowd gathered at the zeppelin docks. His eyes stayed locked on his beautiful wife's until he could no longer discern the sky-blue of her hope-filled gaze.
Below, Katara clutched a handkerchief at her breast and swallowed down her stinging tears. She knew it wouldn't be a long war, or a hard battle. But it was still hard to see Zuko go.
Azula watched impassively. She had no such sweetheart to wave goodbye to, and the strange, alien hole gaping wide in her soul hollowed out a little more. True, anticipating the life growing inside her filled every corner of her mind and heart, but something was missing. And Azula didn't like to think that she was lacking.
She left the railing and deflated, feeling every day and pound of her pregnancy dragging her down. Her swollen feet and bowed back ached. Her moods had been diverging wildly, and before she could grasp one set of ragged emotions, another debilitating wave of feelings would swamp her, drowning her in a deluge of tears, red-hot rage or uncontrollable laughter. All this she just barely suppressed beneath the thinning veneer of her cool, royal façade. But the cracks were starting to show on her porcelain visage.
She was a mess, but she had no one she could admit that to.
Zuko glanced over at his sister. His mouth tightened into a thin line of worry. "You should get some rest, Azula. The war meeting won't take place for a few hours yet."
And wasn't he being just the sweetest, most sensitive guy lately? Azula hated to admit how grateful she was to her own brother. To think she'd tried to kill him all those times when all he'd ever been was patient and merciful…loving, even.
Tears flooded the backs of her eyes. She nodded silently to hide them, then retired to her room as quickly as her waddle would allow.
Stupid hormones.
She found Ursa sitting on the settee in the royal quarters, crocheting something. At first she hadn't been sure about having her mother around, but Ursa was the epitome of serenity and grace. Hearing her low humming and basking in that calming aura the Fire Matron exuded bathed Azula in peace.
"Is that for the baby?" she asked her mother, feeling a smile pull at her lips.
"Actually, I'm knitting a suit of armor for Kisu." Ursa nodded at the cat clinging to the nest of her daughter's bosom. Since takeoff, she hadn't needed a leash to keep him tame—the gentle, buoyant listing of the airship was enough incentive to stay attached to his stalwart mistress. "He's going to need something to protect his hide when we go in." She flapped out the little onesie made of ultrafine wire mesh the Fire Matron had brilliantly stitched together.
Azula fingered the mini chain-mail vest. "It's beautiful. Maybe you can make one for the baby."
"If he needs it. Oh, 'Zula," Ursa rested a warm hand over her daughter's, worry on her face, "you know you don't have to go out there. You don't need to fight. The others here…"
"Are looking to me and Zuko to lead them. I won't let them down, Mother. I won't let Zuzu down, either. I made a promise to him, and by the gods and spirits, I'm not about to lie or cheat or betray him while I'm carrying this baby." A look of fierce commitment creased her tired features.
Ursa said nothing in return. Did her mother understand what she was really saying? That this baby was not only a gift, but a way to redeem herself in everyone's eyes? Azula had spent the last nine months thinking hard about the life she'd led, about the world she'd helped to shape with her ruthlessness. And she wasn't sure she liked that this was the world she'd made for her son or daughter.
She turned the conversation away from her maudlin thoughts and decided to take the opportunity to ask her mother the question she'd tried unsuccessfully to forget since her pregnancy began. "Mom…what's it like to give birth?"
A deep, cold darkness clouded the Fire Matron's eyes. "It's the most excruciating experience in the world," Ursa uttered forebodingly and without preamble. "Think about the worst pain you've ever had and then multiply it by a hundred thousand. Imagine piercing your body with a million rings and then pulling them all out of your flesh a handful at a time and then having salt rubbed into your wounds. It's like being deflowered by a pine tree while swimming in a lake of boiling acid."
"Oh, is that all?" Azula said in relief. "I thought it'd be much worse."
"Not that I know what kind of pain you're used to…or want to know," the matron said with a shudder, "but I imagine it might actually be worse than I'm describing." She paused. "Not to scare you, of course."
"Of course." She wasn't scared. That's what she told herself, anyhow.
"A tip," Ursa offered sagely. "Try to make sure your legs are shaved before you go into labor. It's a bitch to shave them when you're having contractions."
Azula didn't know why she would have to worry about her legs while giving birth, but decided not to question the woman who'd been through it twice. "What about the breathing thing? I remember Katara saying something about breathing exercises, but I never got the chance to try them."
"Oh!" Ursa put a hand to her mouth. "I completely forgot! I'm sorry, usually the father…" She trailed off, pursing her lips. "Of course I'll teach them to you."
The Lamaze technique was similar to Firebending breathing and meditation, but Azula had never really prescribed to the practice because it made her skin blotchy and her expansive bosom heave in an unseemly fashion. But if it was good for the baby and would ease the birthing process, she'd happily heave away.
Ensconced—well, stuck was more like it—in the valley of her cleavage, Kisu wasn't too thrilled by the compressive exercise.
"It helps when someone is doing this with you," Ursa explained as Azula huffed and puffed, muffling the cat's plaintive meows. "When you bear down and push, it'll be good to have someone there whose arm you can break."
Oooookay. At that, Kisu decided it was time to plan his escape.
"Maybe Daddy will be with me," Azula joked bitterly. "He could use a little arm-breaking, don't you think?"
Ursa smirked, but said nothing.
A beat of silence passed, then two. The princess finally said, "Mom?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"I… I want to say something, but I don't want you to tell anyone. Not anyone."
"What is it?"
"I'm…" She swallowed tightly. "I'm scared."
Ursa didn't smile. "I know."
"I mean I'm terrified. What if the baby's just like me? What if I can't handle him or her?"
"Oh, 'Zula. You weren't that bad as a child. I worried mostly about what was going on in your head, what your father was filling your mind with. But when you were a baby…" She sighed, reflecting on happier times. "You had the sweetest coos and you slept so soundly through the night. I used to sit up and watch you, just to hear you breathe."
"I must have been a terror at the table." Azula imagined the tantrums she might have thrown if someone had put a steaming bowl of jook in front of her then. She hated jook.
"You were a picky eater," Ursa conceded with a small smile. "But when we figured out what you really liked, you ate it all up. Candied yams with shredded pig-chicken and peas, in case you're wondering."
"What if…" The princess stared at her hands and willed them not to shake. "What if the baby hates me?" Tears welled in her eyes and burned her throat. She croaked, "What if I hate him?"
Wordlessly, Ursa gathered her daughter in her arms. She knew what Azula was really worrying about. "I love you so much, and I'm so proud of you. That's what being a parent is about. Pure, unconditional love. I know it seemed like I didn't show you that kind of feeling, but believe me—" her lips pressed tightly together "—it hurt to think I might have stopped loving you because of the way you were growing up. So intelligent, so keen, so eager, so talented. I regret every day ever calling you a monster."
"But I was one." The words fluttering past her wet lips came out barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Mom." Old, tired remorse crept into her heart.
"No, I'm sorry. I said those words in anger, but I never meant them. I love you, and that's what's important." She straightened, dashing tears away, a bright smile breaking over her blotchy face. "Azula, you're going to be a great mother, as long as you always remember to love your child, to put him before everything else, to be firm and to make sure he grows up knowing his mother loves him no matter what."
"Thank you. That means a lot to me."
Ursa hesitated before she continued. "There's an old saying. It takes a village to raise a child. But really, it takes two—a mother and a father, or at least a mother and her well-meaning partner who despite not knowing how to change a diaper, will be there to spot you when you need to take a bath or use the toilet." Her lips twisted in one corner. "Azula, I want you to be happy, but having a baby isn't easy. I'm worried about you."
"The servants will help me," Azula said automatically. "There'll be a nursemaid and a nanny and…" She trailed off, suddenly stricken by the thought of all these strangers whom she knew nothing about raising her baby. It was the way of royal families, yes, but Ursa had cared for Zuko and Azula on her own for most of their early childhood. Funny how the Fire princess was only now remembering the nights snuggled up next to her mother after a bad dream, the pictures she'd helped her draw, the games they used to play together…
She realized then that she wanted to be the one up late at night cuddling her infant child, feeding her milk from her breast, cleaning the baby's spit-up and changing the poopy diapers.
Okay, maybe not so much of that last one. But still, even barf and poop and pee had a strangely personal appeal.
"There will be lots of us to help with the child. But this is more about you than the baby."
Azula frowned. "I don't know what you mean."
Ursa composed her words carefully. "You had scores of men around you all the time before you became pregnant. The Dai Li, Sokka, Aang, Jet and that Haru boy…" She pursed their lips. "Were they ever enough?"
"They were plenty. And there's no reason they won't be enough after the baby comes." The lie was so distasteful she nearly gagged on it.
Ursa shook her head. "When the baby comes, the men will leave your bed. You won't have time for them. Do you even have time for them now?"
"I…" She hadn't. She'd been focused on keeping herself healthy, on preparing the palace and helping her brother plan this war, on making the world a better place…all for the baby.
A drawn-out silence stretched between them. "I hear," Ursa said slowly, "that Jet is seeking your hand in marriage. He seems…" she hesitated, but her mouth eventually curved up in a plastic rictus of a Joo-Dee smile "…nice."
Jet had been trying to distract her from her gloom with alpha-male shows of affection—flexing wiry muscles, growling at other men, beating his chest, and so forth—but Azula knew his possessiveness would wane soon enough. His attentions wandered too frequently, so he could never be relied upon to be faithful. Despite his fervent desire to be a good father, he'd never make a good confidant or life partner.
"That's silly. Jet has the attention span of a vulture-wasp in a field of panda lilies, and the commitment gene of one, too."
"Nonetheless, he sought your father's blessing, and earned it, from what I've heard. I can't imagine what the boy said or did to earn Ozai's respect, but…" She shrugged, pretending to approve of him with another discomfited grin.
Azula sent her a deadpan look that could've rivaled Mai's. "I think that's even more reason not to trust him. Mom, I'm not going to marry Jet."
"Even for the baby's sake?" Hope shone brightly in her eyes.
The princess was irked. "I hardly see why the baby is part of this discussion when you started by saying you were worried about me."
Ursa sagged in defeat. "It's…complicated. I just don't want you eliminating any options before you've really thought them through. Weird things happen to your brain after you've given birth. You make all kinds of crazy decisions that could affect your baby for the rest of his life."
"Good thing you'll be around to pick up after my mistakes then." Azula chuckled.
Ursa smiled at that. "Yes. I'll be there." She wrapped her arms around her daughter's shoulders and held her tightly. "And I promise I won't leave this time."
Okay, so I've been a bit less funny and a little more foo-fooey with the baby story lines. Not to worry--shenanigans coming soon!