Being pregnant was probably one of the hardest things Jack ever had to do. Constant aches and pains, especially when his little one decided to kick him directly in the ribcage. But it all worth it, just to get to see his son.
"God," Jack sighed, "I can't believe Maeve is turning two next week. Two! It feels like I just gave birth to her yesterday," Jack looked over at Mark.
"I know," replied Mark, smiling back at his fiancé. "And before we know it, you're going to give birth," he said, gently placing his hands on Jack's protruding stomach.
"Just two more months, then we'll have him in our arms," Jack mumbled softly, placing his hands over Mark's. A few moments of silence passed before Jack spoke again. "I love you so much," he whispered, to both Mark and the baby who rested inside of him.
The next week flew by in what seemed like seconds. Before they knew it, it was Maeve's birthday. That morning had been spent decorating the house in purple and pink balloons and streamers. Mark had been put in charge of dressing Maeve, a task, to him, seemed impossible.
"Maeve, sweetheart, please, please just hold still," he begged, wiping non-existent sweat off his forehead. While Mark struggled upstairs with their daughter, Jack was downstairs, putting the finishing touches on the cake, making sure everything was absolutely perfect.
After placing the last frosting flower on the cake, Jack let out a deep sigh. "I need to sit down," he mumbled, waddling his way over to the couch and gently lowered himself onto it. Seconds later, he could hear a frustrated Mark and the joyous giggle of their daughter.
Maeve came bounding down the stairs as fast as her little legs would carry her. Mark followed close behind her, ready to catch her any second. As soon as she made it off the staircase, she made a b-line to Jack.
"Daddy!" she shouted, crawling up onto the couch and into Jack's arms. She buried her head in his neck, throwing her arms around him.
Jack saw Mark standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning up against the wall. He was smiling at the two, arms crossed loosely.
"She said she wanted to eat her cake. When I told her no...well, you can imagine what happened," Mark said, making his way over to the couch. He plopped down on the floor and looked up at Jack. "Do you need a foot rub?" he asked.
"Yes, please. My feet have been killing me all day," he sighed. Maeve released her grip on Jack and crawled off the couch.
"Can I play with Sam?" she asked, pointing at the toy box next to the TV.
"Of course you can sweetheart," Mark said, smiling at his daughter.
Maeve's birthday party went off without a hitch. To Jack's surprise, she had received presents from his entire side of the family. Mark had been shocked to see a giant cardboard box full of toys when the mail had came.
The next month and a half flew by, and before they knew it, Jack had reached his due-date.
"I don't get it!" Jack whined, "He was due three days ago. Why isn't he here yet?" The green-haired male looked up at Mark, whose lap he was currently sitting on.
Mark just smiled and squeezed Jack's hand lightly. "Don't worry, my little bean," he soothed, "I'm sure he's just taking his time."
Jack sighed loudly and nodded, turning his attention back the movie that was playing on the television. A few hours passed and everything was relatively calm, until Jack felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. At first he had though nothing of it, until it happened again, only ten minutes later.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jack whispered under his breath as another surge of pain washed through him.
"What's wrong, babe?" Mark asked, a worried look flashing in his eyes.
Jack scrunched up his face. "Contractions," he said. Within seconds Mark had helped him off the couch, and was helping him get his shoes on. Jack almost found it funny how flustered Mark was. He was running around the house like a chicken with his head cut off, trying to gather everything they needed to bring with them to the hospital.
Jack had been in labor for six hours when the doctor gave him the okay to push. At that point, he had been all but crying. Mark had been holding his hand the entire time, other than to get Jack something to eat or drink.
"Okay Jack, push on the count of three. One...two...three!" The Irishman cried out in pain, giving it his best effort.
"Motherfucker!" Jack cried, Irish accent thick in his voice. "I'm never letting you touch me again!"
20 minutes later, Jack was holding his son in his arms. A beautiful baby boy with hair as white as snow, and eyes as blue as the ocean.
"He's beautiful," Mark whispered. Jack nodded his head in agreement.
"What's his name?" asked a nurse.
"Kaleb...Kaleb Daniel Fischbach."