Months eight and nine

Week 30

Our entire flat looks like a nursery...

Mary-Margaret organized some traditional event called "Baby Shower" for Emma. I am not really knowledgeable on the subject; all I know is that men were not allowed. So I spent the first half of that particular evening watching some odd sport called "Football" with Old Charming.

Now I'm not the savviest bloke when it comes to sports, really, but I still don't know what in blazes I was watching. I'll briefly try to elaborate: Two large groups of gargantuan looking men of all races and denominations wearing some bloody heavy matching armor (much like a tiny legion), ramming each other on a large court and running after an ovoid shaped gadget that they all seemed to covet. Must have been a battle to the death for the bloody thing, because they would stack up like piles of rocks in the woodland. Don't want to imagine the broken bones there. David seemed to be ecstatic and behaved much like a mandrill during this so called game. I was simply baffled. Good thing there were beers in the house.

Henry noticed my restlessness so after the "game" was done, he told me to come along on a "shopping" trek. He was always rather peculiar about my dress code, that one, so he sort of seemed elated when I didn't snarl at him and agreed to let go off my leathers for something slightly more becoming for Storybrooke.

Not negotiable were my trench coat and my kohl liner. Not... negotiable. But, the clothes in this realm are far more comfortable, I must say. I love the footwear. Still all in black. Won't have it any other way.

Upon returning home, Henry and I find what little manliness we might have conserved in our home has been entirely been replaced by baby swagger. I was about to complain to Swan, but the smile on her face... bloody hell, I just couldn't! She was so overwhelmed with all the goods her lady friends had given her that day, and I have to admit, I was glad for it. My child would be sufficiently well clad and nursed and fed with all of this. Kindly people of Storybrooke, I thank you.

Not to mention that after she was done showing me, she finally became aware of my attire. She smiled, broad, wide and be still my heart...

"Damn, you're a sight for sore eyes." She said. And I received a mild punch when I replied "I know..." But not two seconds later, I held her and said to her ear that no woman in this universe or any parallel realm had ever, ever looked as beautiful as she did this very moment.

As expected, she cried. And as expected, I held her. And as expected, I once again thank the heavens for the fact that Blackbeard is dead.

Week 32

We woke up early to get her to another ultrasound thing and we were marveled to know that our bairn-to-be has turned upside down and is fit as a fiddle. He looks bloody magnificent! Fingernails, hair, eyelashes and brows and all. Doctor said that between now and her time for term, we could be experiencing false alarms and contractions. Odd... I felt one myself when he said that. Sympathy pains, he called it, laughing rather unsympathetically. Swan laughed too. Yeah, bloody hilarious...

Time is drawing near. And sometimes I swear I can't breathe. But I won't be running from this... not now and not ever. If I could cross realms and times for this woman, I can certainly handle an infant. I hope.

Alas... My poor princess... She is in a state now. She can't sleep without a large pillow between her thighs, her entre back feels sore, she is short of breath (what with that gargantuan child floating around and pressing her lungs), gets heartburn all the time, goes toilet every five minutes and feels slightly swollen around her ankles. And no joke, she is. If she walks ten minutes, she aches... if she lays five minutes, she aches... if she sits five minutes, she aches... She aches the whole... bloody... time. Not to mention she can hardly sleep, has had a couple of them forewarned fake contractions that, as I could tell, hurt like bloody hell and sometimes takes two or three days to be able to potty. And all through this agony, she still glows, smiles and is mum to Henry, daughter to Snow and David and wife to me.

What a woman... she is still a bloody hero to me, I'd have begged for death by now! I admire and love her now more than ever. My brave, courageous Emma.

How did I ever get so lucky?

Week 35

Scheduled for next week. More contractions, more pain, far less glamour in all of this... event.

While she was being revised by her doctor, Henry and I sat outside, talking. He's elated to be having a brother and actually... he said that, since we're a proper family now, he asked if I would find it odd or uncomfortable if he called me Dad.

I had to swallow a large lump in my throat. I'm delighted and honored; I had promised Baelfire I'd do well by him and forever guard Emma and their boy, so this particular initiative on Henry's part has all but completely turned me from pirate to man. That's it. Hook is dead... or maybe not, I rather enjoy the moniker.

I can't believe this is actually taking place in my life.

Week 36

Very well... Just doodling a few words because the wife is screaming bloody murder and I must get bags and vehicle ready to take her to the bleeding hospital before she rips my heart out.

Gods know she can actually do it.

Will be writing after the deed is done. Must rush. Will be a father (again, considering Henry's thoughtful and caring decision to consider me as such) in a few hours and well... can't think straight.