I'll never forget anything about that day as long as I live. Every single detail is permanently etched into my heart, engraved upon my mind.

It all started the evening before, on the seventh of September, in the year 2018.

I was in bed, sitting up against the headboard and trying to decide whether I should sacrifice the final half-hour of Pulp Fiction in the interest of laying down flat and relieving the ache in my lower back even for just a few seconds. The pain itself really wasn't anything new; I'd been experiencing various gradations of it since I hit twenty-five weeks. But a few days before, it had intensified without warning. My obstetrician, a soft-spoken man with an earnest, almost apologetic expression, had told me that meant that the first stage of labor had started. Since then, my fairy godparents, a.k.a. John and Veronica, had been watching me like hawks, waiting for me to transition into the next phase.

As for me, I was both anticipating and dreading when that moment would arrive. "It could happen any time now," my doctor had said, giving me the impression that labor would somehow sneak up on me, catch me in my unawares.

To be honest, the thought of labor terrified me. For that, I blame the hype. All my life I had heard mothers describe it as worse than the worst pain imaginable- like a trip to hell and back. Nightmarish stories of seventy-two hours of labor, the agony of a possible breech birth, and unending contractions had whipped through my worried mind all throughout my pregnancy. Now, at thirty-seven weeks, I was closer to the endgame than ever- which was a petrifying thought. The only thing in which I could take comfort was that when it was all over, I could finally see and hold my baby boy.

I just hoped and prayed that I would be strong enough to endure whatever would come before- and after.

It was the very instant when Vincent Vega shot Marvin in the face, that I felt a contraction. Taken by surprise, I sucked in my breath. This one hadn't been too painful, certainly not much more so than any of my Braxton Hicks earlier in the trimester. But this one was different; it lasted longer than any of the others before it.

I glanced at my phone, where the time read 8:14 P.M. Okay, don't panic, I tried to calm myself. Dr. Eugene said that if the interval between contractions is less than five minutes, that means it's the onset of active labor. Just wait and see. This could be another of Danny's false alarms.

"Little prankster," I whispered to my ridiculously swollen stomach. "First you don't let me keep any food down for two months solid, then you keep me up all night with your dancing, and to top it off you now think it's funny to act like you're coming when you aren't. Not even born yet and you're already wearing me out."

As if in answer, a little clenched fist slammed into my side. Funny, how low the punches and kicks seemed to be hitting me now.

One thing is for certain; he is ready to come out and see the world, I smiled, touching the place where his hand had been. If he's this rambunctious already, imagine what he'll be like when he's older. Dear God.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. I paused the movie and sat up a little straighter. "Come in."

In a trice the door opened, and John's sweet, birdlike face peered in at me. "Hello."

"Hi," I smiled. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, just- checking on you," he whispered. "Ron wanted me to make sure you were all-" he cut himself off, eyes honing in sharply on the television screen which showed a bloodstained Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta holding cups of coffee. "Julia, what the hell are you watching?"

"Pulp Fiction. They're about to call Harvey Keit-"

"I can see that!" he scoffed, sounding as though he was trying not to laugh. "You really think you should be watching this right now? Remember what the doctor said?"

"But I like Tarantino."

"So do I- but I wasn't the one the doctor told should stay away from stressful, violent things."

I folded my hands. "Do I look stressed to you?"

John shook his head. "I'm merely saying, you ought to be more careful."

It's just a movie, you silly worrywart. "Does that mean you want me to turn this off?"

"Well, it's only twenty minutes or so left," he sighed. "I think we can finish it before bedtime."

I arched my brow. "We, huh?"

"Yes, we."

What could I do but grin. "I love you, John."

"I love you too, now move over a little."

I scooted over closer to the edge, allowing John to recline as well. "Sorry, I'm just so huge," I sighed, rubbing the bottom of my belly.

"Don't be sorry, that's a good thing."

"I'll take your word for it, you have six of them after all; you probably know what you're talking about."

"Seven, actually; five boys, two girls," he smiled gently.

I looked away, my cheeks flushing. "Now, John, why do you have to say things like that?"

"Because they're true."

My hand closed over his, bidding him a silent "thank you" while he reached over me, grabbed the remote, and resumed the film- which, since I had apparently paused it before Quentin's character Jimmie absolutely laid into the two suit-clad hitmen, sent us into giggles.

"Have you decided yet?" John asked suddenly. "On his full name I mean."

"Still just Daniel Samuels so far," I lied. For I knew exactly what I would name my boy in honor of my rescuer, the dear old man sitting beside me even now; I could hardly wait to see the look on John's face once he saw the birth certificate.

For now, however, I let him smile. "You'll figure it out."

"Oh, I kn- Hey! Easy now!" I chuckled, massaging the place where my wild offspring had delivered another hard, healthy kick. "Good grief. All I know is, this kid better be good-looking."

"I don't think there's any doubt of that, considering his mother- and father."

My heart fluttered, my throat tightening. Immediately John realized what he had said and put his hand on my arm. "I'm sorry, that- that just fell out-"

"John, it's okay, I can take it if you can," I breathed- slowly, so the tears wouldn't start pouring. "I mean, that's true, too; his- father is- was- is very handsome."

On reflex, my eyes drifted down to my left hand, where my faux gold band reflected the light from the television. Listlessly I slid my finger over the hard metal. It was already tarnishing a bit around the edges, not nearly so rosy and bright as the day my prince had slid it onto my finger, but I didn't care. To me, it was more priceless than diamonds and rubies- even if to him, it had been scarcely more than a game.

John cleared his throat. "How- how do you feel, by the way?"

"So far, so good, I guess," I shrugged.

"Any, you know, uh- progress?"

"Possibly," I nodded. "I'm not sure, but I think I might have had a real one just now."

John's eyes widened. "How long ago?"

I looked at my phone again. "Three minutes."

"Right- and five is the sort of safe zone." He thought it over. "Maybe you ought to get yourself ready just in case."

"I will after the movie, unless I have one before the next two minutes passes."

John gave me some fatherly admonition in response, I'm sure, something about how should know better by now than to just take these things for granted, but I hardly heard him. Something had just occurred to me- and it scared me even more than labor pains. I don't know why it had only hit me just then, save that my fears and worries were coming to a head and the world was rushing up to meet me a little too fast. But it hit me just the same.

What if this wasn't Freddie's baby after all?

Now, hold on, everybody, before you start piling on and calling me an idiot, or a bitch, or any of those lovely names you like to throw around when it comes to me. I won't say it's uncalled for, because it isn't. Rest assured, nobody knows better than me that I deserve to be hated.

But in this case, please understand. This baby was my sole reason for living. For many months, the life growing inside me gave me the strength to open my eyes each morning, and find beauty in the world, even during those three wretched months that I hope I will never have to replicate in the future. For till now, I had gone along, unshakeable in my conviction that I was carrying the son of my dearest love, the last living vestige of Freddie himself.

But, what if I had been mistaken? What if I had made a terribly foolish assumption here?

I mean, yes, Freddie and I had made love many a time before I left 1977- and not only was he the only lover I had while there, he was also my very first. But what about after I returned? What about before I had left the hospital? Supposing some random lowlife had come into my room after visiting hours and took advantage of the unconscious, unresistant piece of meat lying there on the bed? Could they even do that? There certainly had been plenty of cameras all around, so it was doubtful that just anyone could come in off the street and rape the patients. Right?

Yeah, but still, I could be giving birth to a stranger's child. I was out for three days. Anything can happen in three days; some sicko male nurse with a coma fetish might have gotten me pregnant. For all I know, that Preus guy might have done it. That's more likely than this baby being Freddie's. Endlessly so. Maybe I am crazy after all. Maybe I dragged John into this for nothing. Sure, the experience was real- he remembered, so it must be- but I couldn't bear it if he's been awaiting the child of a man who's been dead for nearly twenty-seven years now, only to find we were all wrong- and we were all fools.

Now I was thoroughly freaking out. An intense pain that I in my daze instinctively assumed to be severe panic shot through me.

Oh, God, all this time that's the only thing that's been keeping me going, keeping me alive- the idea that I'm carrying his baby. I'll still love him, I'll still do my best for him; he's mine, no matter what, and I could never not care for my own flesh and blood. But for all I know, I could pop this kid out and he could have blond curls, or blue-green eyes- and even if he came out with dark hair and eyes, who says that's because of Freddie? It's not like we can do a DNA test. Who can prove something like that?

"Are you all right, Julia?" John whispered.

In a trice I woke up, but the pain did not go anywhere. In fact, it only seemed to intensify.

When I still didn't answer, John shook my shoulder. "Love, snap out of it!"

"John," I gasped, "oh, John-"

"What's happened?" His eyes bugged. "Did your water break?"

"No, but that was a contraction. Definite contraction." I squinted at the time once more, placing my hands on either side of my belly. "Four minutes."

John swallowed, then scrambled off the bed, his voice taking on a new authoritative tone. "Right. You, get dressed, pack a bag-"

"I'm packed already."

"That's fine, then. I'm going to wake Ron up, if you can get downstairs by yourself, I won't stop you, but I'd really prefer you wait until we-"

"John, I can take myself up there, it's late, you guys don't need to-"

"Don't you dare you say what you're about to say, Julia, because it's ridiculous," he cut me off. "You're in labor, there's no way we're letting you take a f---ing taxi to the hospital. Now come on, get moving- and quick before you have another!"

********************************************************************************************

By the time we pulled up to the small, private hospital that night, the intervals between contractions had grown consistent, for the time being holding strong at approximately four minutes apart. Without too much kerfuffle (as there was bound to be a little of it, considering I was being checked in with the help of the former Queen bass player and his wife), a couple of somewhat surly nurses took my information and busted out a state-of-the-art wheelchair.

"We'll be right here if you need us, Julia," Veronica assured me.

"Thank you," I whispered, seating myself. "Thank you both so much, I can't say how much I-"

"Now, now, that's enough," she cooed softly before kissing my cheek. "Just know we're here for you. Now go on ahead, we'll see you as soon as they let us in."

I was barely able to formulate a goodbye before my navigators took me by the handles, spun me around, and rolled me to the maternity ward.

I lifted my eyes to the harshly lit ceiling, ignoring the exhausted mumbles of my companions. As had become my habit, my hand drifted to rest just under my stiff, round stomach, which sat lower now than ever before. No sooner had I finished a quick, uncertain little prayer than another pain seared through my middle. I sucked in my breath, the nurses putting their hands on my back to support me as I stood from the chair. Of course the pain wasn't crippling yet, as I still had a long way to go before I reached that point. But there was no question about it: the contractions were getting worse.

"Now, you said you- didn't want an epidural?" a new nurse asked once I had donned the dreaded hospital garb. "Because it really would help you get through this a lot easier."

I tried to smile. "Since when was having a baby supposed to be easy?"

She only shrugged. "Your funeral, love."

My, what a comforting presence you are.

Needless to say, by the end of this, I was cursing myself for choosing to forego any form of anesthesia, but in this moment, Danny staying untouched by any potentially harmful drugs was more important than my future personal comfort.

I glanced to either side, taking in all the screens and monitors set up around the bed and docilely laying down when they asked me to go ahead and put my feet in the stirrups. When it came time for them to measure me, I shut my eyes. I had always found it humiliating to so much as discuss matters related to my, shall we say, femininity, let alone actually endure any type of examination. I just hated being so vulnerable, having my innermost privacy invaded and probed even if it was in the sole interest of my health.

"Three point eight centimeters," announced a voice whose owner I couldn't see over the sheet.

"What's that mean?" I blurted nervously. "Is that good?"

"Well, it means you're dilating, which is good news," the doctor (I assumed it was the doctor) replied. "But the cervix opening is still pretty small. Is this your first?"

I nodded.

"Right, that should do it for now, you can sit up again," he said, for which I thanked him and complied right away. "Would you like for us to call for your partner?"

I blinked. "My partner?"

"Well, I mean-" A bit helplessly he gestured toward the ring on my finger, then upon deciding the repetition apparently wasn't worth the risk, instead quickly rephrased, "Uh- I suppose I meant, your family or friends, actually. Whoever you brought with you on this historic event."

"Yes, they're in the w- AH!" Yet another contraction took me by surprise; the rest of the sentence was uttered through gritted teeth. "In the waiting room."

So he sent a nurse out to collect my surrogate family, the darling Deacons themselves. Minutes later they stormed my little corner of the ward, and proceeded to fawn over me for the next two and a half hours. Such rays of sunshine they are, God how I love them.

As far as these same hours go, nothing much of any real importance took place, aside of my cervix steadily dilating and the contractions becoming harder and harder to bite my tongue against. I did a lot of praying, listening, standing up, sitting down, walking around, even some extremely light dancing whenever the next song that played from my phone's library had rhythm enough to tap one's toe to. But John and Veronica stayed at my side and did a beautiful job keeping my worries away, a task eventually also taken up by a couple of the children who came at Ron's texted behest. Which ones, though, I have not been permitted to specify; that deep love for privacy did not exactly end with the parents, you see.

But it might be worth noting that during that entire stretch of labor limbo, not a single song sung by Freddie appeared on the shuffle. Not to say no Queen played, because we did indeed hear "'39", a track which coaxed a not-so-subtle groan and eye roll from John. All things considered, however, that was probably a good thing.

For as soon as "If I Ever Lose My Faith in You" ended, the whole pace changed- and not just because the very next song to follow happened to be "Breakthru."

Rather, it had more to do with how, by some great comical, cosmic coincidence, the instant Freddie screamed "Now!" was the instant that my amniotic sac ruptured.

I didn't have a chance to fully react to the water spilling out of me, nor did the Deacons. All of a sudden my room was swarming with medical staff, who at my request herded my friends outside. John raised a little bit of protest, naturally, but I would not be swayed. It was one thing to be accompanied by one's partner during the actual childbirth, and quite another to have extended family or friends serve as spectators, no matter how close to them I felt. It was just too embarrassing a prospect.

"Are you sure you want to do this alone?" one masked face inquired.

I nodded, wincing as I put my feet up once again. Surely- surely I could do this on my own, despite my still very real terror. It wasn't as though John and Veronica were leaving town, only a wall or two separated us. It was enough to know they were nearby- that they were there, supporting me from a distance. After all, I would have to raise this baby all by my lonesome anyway, I figured I might as well set the precedent now.

"All right, Julia," another invisible mouth declared. "Get ready to push."

"Push? Now?" I whispered.

The answer was firm. "You're nearly ten centimeters now and your water's broken; you need to push. As soon as you have another contraction, you need to start pushing. Do you understand?"

Mustering up all my bravery, I nodded. About a minute later, I received the command that would soon become the soundtrack of my current existence:

"Push!"

So I pushed. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more until finally I was told to rest. Not that I could, of course, but I wanted to; had I downright expired right then, I wouldn't have minded one bit if it meant I didn't have to push again.

Unfortunately, God had no intention of handing me the easy way out. All too soon another contraction destroyed me- and at the word of my masters I gave my body and soul over to my one and only purpose: to push, breathe, and repeat.

The minutes dragged on sadistically, till a whole wretched hour had passed, then another- and maybe even a third, I really couldn't say for sure. By this point I had forgotten how to think coherently, at some points even had to remind myself how to breathe. All I knew was what I felt- and I felt like hell. I was tired of pushing, it wasn't getting me anywhere; my whole life, it seemed, I had been pushing and shoving and yet the doctor still couldn't see the head. One of the nurses insisted this was normal, that I was doing swimmingly, but I didn't believe her. She was nice enough to offer me her hand to hold some time back- an arrangement that did not last after I squeezed it so tightly I left a bruise. So now my sweaty palms were back to clenching the sides of my bed while I steadily went madder and madder with pain.

Desperately I grasped for motivation, any motivation at all. I pictured myself holding the baby in my arms, and told myself that the moment was just a breath away if only I could manage to keep persevering, for this too would pass.

But I want it to pass now! Right now! I howled inwardly. Damn it, what's taking you so long, kid? Let's go! Have mercy on your poor mother!

"Ah, there he is!" The head obstetrician, whose name I believe was Dr. Booth, exclaimed.

I balked at that. "Wait," I gasped, "is- is he out?"

"No, not quite," he answered. "You're crowning, we can see the top of his head now. You'd know if he was out."

"You don't say," I snapped, the calm in his voice infuriating me. I might have whaled on him for no reason a little more, except the news itself penetrated my throbbing mind- and for one sweet breath of Time, I rejoiced, a brief surge of strength shooting through my veins. Finally, we were in the home stretch.

He's coming, I thought, trying to somehow will the mental sentence up beyond the ceiling, through the atmosphere and straight to Heaven. He's coming. Freddie, if you can hear me- Dear God, tell him, would You, please, tell him that his little boy is about to be born- assuming this will be his little boy in the first place-

The next thing I knew, my thoughts were drowned out by a wave of physical agony on a level that I never before experienced. My chest felt like it was being crushed, my lower abdomen and legs aching so horribly I let out a ragged moan.

"Push, Julia!" they goaded.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pushed with all my might, but I couldn't feel any motion. It was as though my muscles had simply turned to stone; no matter how pressure I applied, nothing seemed to be happening yet. Danny's head was just peeping through the opening, so close to coming out and yet he chose this damn time of all damn times to stall.

"It's all right, dear, rest, you're doing great," various voices kept assuring me, their words nearly indecipherable over the sound of my own heaving lungs. My brain was glitching, random images erratically flashing behind my lids while silently I begged for someone to just please end this nightmare and kill me where I lay.

I can't do this, I told myself. I can't do this alone. Oh, God... Freddie, you should be here...

Someone took a cool, wet towel and began dabbing my forehead with it. On reflex I opened my eyes to see a nurse bending close over my face. Her clear blue eyes crinkled up behind her glasses, the only sign that she was smiling. I tried to smile back, squinting up at those glasses- not her eyes, mind you, but her glasses, in which I could faintly see my flushed, sweating reflection- and was revolted. Sweet Lord, I looked hideous.

Freddie would agree, too, deep down. I licked my dry lips. He would be absolutely disgusted. He'd never admit as much aloud, but he would definitely think it. He would find this whole experience thoroughly repulsive and wish to God that he was somewhere else- with someone else.

No sooner had this thought crossed my mind than those inimitable dark eyes filled my swirling view. Unlike all the countless times before, however, the mental image did nothing to salve my soul. If anything, it only tortured me more.

Maybe this was the better way to go after all, I said to myself. Perhaps I made the right choice, regardless of whether it also was the only choice. It sure saved him a lot of trouble, if you think about it. Those last two days were just a thoughtless mistake, spontaneous lapses of concentration on our part. For I didn't stop him, even though I should have. He's not the only one to blame- even if I'm the only one saddled with the consequences. But that's okay. Better me than him. Imagine the inconveniences for him this would have brought about. God forbid something should get in his way, slow him down. Really, I did him a favor by leaving; it spared him from the annoyance of my pregnancy, the unpleasantness of Danny's birth, and the absolute tedium of fatherhood.

My nose pinched, a sign that tears were inevitable. I bet he cheered when he found out I was gone. I bet he sighed with relief, did a little happy dance, and said, "Thank God, she left before things got complicated- or worse yet, boring! I mean, to be stuck with that dull American girl and her dull American ways once I had learned all her tricks- and there weren't many, I tell you- I'd rather be dead than spend the rest of my life dealing with that. And to think, if she indeed had a baby- ugh, it doesn't even bear thinking about. It's enough that I dodged the bullet. Death before dullness." Yes, that's probably exactly how he felt. But then, why make love to me at all- and why make me promise to stay?

Did "why" even qualify, as far as he was concerned?

I could feel another contraction rising up for attack, the new wave of anguish all but whetting my crazed, hormonal rage against the man I loved. I threw my head back against the pillow, screaming through another push. I was pushing with such force I could actually feel the vessels in my neck and forehead popping out- but just like before, I couldn't detect any progress. The pain wouldn't stop. Danny wouldn't move. And those eyes wouldn't stop staring at me even if I closed my own.

At last I flipped. The words flew from my mouth like bullets: "You bastard! Look what you've done to me, you son of a bitch! You did this! YOU! You gave me this baby and you don't even have to be here for his birthday and even if you weren't dead, you wouldn't care- you wouldn't give a - you wouldn't..."

The nurses took me by the arms, gently drew me back down against the bed. I offered no resistance, as I had no strength left with which to resist. Lying there, surrounded by kind faces yet feeling so completely alone, I went utterly limp while my parched lips quivered with silent, incoherent I'm sorrys and I didn't mean its. Every muscle ached, every cell in my body was drained of its energy.

"Would you, uh," someone ventured, "would you like a painkiller now?"

I shook my head weakly.

"Are you sure? You seem like-"

"Said no," I slurred, tears pouring down my cheeks. "I just... I just want my prince..."

"Julia, listen to me," Dr. Booth cut me off. "The head is almost out, you've got to push again."

"I can't," I whispered, "I can't."

"You have to, so I can get a good angle with the forceps. He's still stuck, but we can get him out if you push."

I begged him, "Please, in a second, I'm so tired-"

"Julia, if you don't push one more time, we're going to have to do a C-section. Do you understand?"

My eyes bugged. He had my attention now. With gargantuan effort I adjusted my position on the bed. "Okay," I gasped, "I'll try."

We're almost through this, I told myself, Danny's about to come out, I can't give up now, we're so close, we're so, so close.

The staff worked quickly, trying to stay ahead of my next contraction. They were just about to deaden the feeling in the immediate area surrounding Danny's obstinate little head when it arrived. This time I didn't even wait for his word; the minute I felt it setting in, I just pushed. It was all I could do- and even then, I couldn't push very hard. I didn't even have the strength to scream any longer. In fact, consciousness itself was becoming a chore to keep.

There was nothing I would not have given just for someone, anyone, to take my hand and remind me that I was still alive. No encouragement, no kisses, no extra anything. Just a hand to hold, was all I desired.

But then, as I teetered just on the edge of delirium, I felt a warm, gentle pressure enclose my clammy hand. Immediately I grasped at it. I didn't even open my eyes to look at the person whose hand I was holding; it was enough to know my wish had been so promptly granted.

"Got him," Dr. Booth muttered.

My heart almost bounced. Now there was motion. Finally I could feel the baby moving further out of me, the doctor gently pulling in time with my contractions. Buoyed by hope, I clenched my hand so tightly I thought surely this Good Samaritan would jerk back for fear their fingers would be crushed. But they gave no indication that they were letting go, and let me squeeze the absolute life out of his or her poor hand while with my final burst of energy, I gave it one last shove.

And an earsplitting wail pierced the air.

To this day, I have yet to hear a more perfect sound than that of my baby making full use of his very first breath- followed a split second later by sporadic cheers from Dr. Booth and the nurses. Although my body was still contracting, for the moment I just lay there, eyes still closed, listening to Danny's loud, healthy cry.

"It's a boy all right," Dr. Booth announced pleasantly. "Congratulations, Julia."

I only smiled, numb with indescribable joy and relief.

Danny was born.

********************************************************************************************

"How long does it take to clean up a baby, anyway?" I whispered anxiously.

"Julia, take it easy," John patted my hand. "It's only been a little while."

"I'm not scared or anything, I just want to hold him." I slid my hand over my still swollen stomach, keenly sensitive to Danny's absence. Funny, what you get used to; I spent nine months growing a little human being, and barely any time after he was out, I was already missing him, kicks and all.

I had expected them to let me hold him immediately after they cut the umbilical cord. However, without wasting any time, a couple of the nurses had hustled Danny off to be cleaned and measured, cooing among themselves about how beautiful he was, and how fine and strong a set of lungs he had. Dr. Booth stayed close, ready to dispose of the afterbirth and put me back together again. As for my mysterious friend, I thought surely they too would flutter away to accomplish some new medical-related task. Instead they held my hand a little while longer, smoothing back my hair where it had fallen messily against my forehead.

Unfortunately I waited too long to look up and thank them; when I finally opened my eyes, he or she had already slipped away. In their place appeared John and Veronica, who greeted me with smiles, hugs- and yawns. For by now it was a quarter past two in the morning. All of the kids had gone home long ago, with the promise they would return after a good night's sleep. My second set of parents, however, would be deterred by neither their age, nor the late hour. They refused to go home until they laid eyes on him.

The door popped open, making all three of our heads turn. In stepped that same nurse with the glasses, cradling a small bundle wrapped up in blankets.

"How are you feeling?" she greeted me.

"I'm fine," I rasped, reaching my arms up. "Please can I hold him now?"

"Of course, don't be daft." With a chuckle, she eased her way over.

As she drew nearer I could see the tiniest little hand peeping through the blankets, the sweet fingers slowly flexing. Very gently she placed the bundle into my arms. While John and Veronica looked on, I peeled back the blanket and peered into Danny's little face.

The longer I looked upon my son, the more my worn-out heart melted. He was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen.

Yes, it's true, nearly every mother would say the same about their own child. But even if he wasn't my baby, I would have been utterly floored. He had wispy dark curls, at least from what I could see peeping out from under his beanie, and a sweet button nose above puckered pink lips. His drowsy eyes were shut, and laced with the longest, thickest eyelashes I had ever seen on a newborn. Very carefully I pulled the hat away from his ear- and covered my mouth.

"What is it, dear?" Veronica asked.

"Oh, my God," I whispered shakily. "Danny has his ears."

"Whose ears?"

I waved them closer. "John, come, look, aren't these his ears?"

John bent over, inspected the small, slightly pointed ears hiding under the hat- and gasped. "Oh, Julia, he does."

"He's got the cutest little monkey feet, too," the nurse gushed. "Where did he get those?"

"His father, definitely," I nodded. "He had big funny feet, I remember."

John only hummed, smiling sadly. "Yeah, I suppose he did."

Veronica studied Danny's features from where she stood, as if trying to figure out what the hell we were on about. Both she and John seemed about ready to burst, so I asked if they wanted to hold him. The question had hardly left my lips, however, when Danny struck up a plaintive mewling, his tiny fists waving in the air.

I squinted at his puckered expression. "Wait- why is he making that face?"

"Hm? Oh, that just means he's very hungry," the nurse explained. "So you might want to-"

"Oh, yes, okay, sorry," I stammered. I almost exposed my breast, when I remembered that I wasn't alone. A bit awkwardly I glanced up at the Deacons. "Uh- would you please turn around or something, so I can-"

"Julia, here, we might as well head back home; we all need some sleep, especially you- and Danny," John said. "We'll be back first thing in the morning, all right?"

"All right," I sighed, glancing down at my poor hungry child. "I'm sorry the last thing you hear before you leave is him screaming, though."

"Not at all; it reminds me of home," Veronica giggled.

With that, they each planted kisses on my cheek and moved toward the exit. But John hesitated a moment before he walked after his wife, and quietly gazed upon us both.

"My, my," he hummed. "What a lovely picture."

Very gently, then, he took hold of Danny's hand, gave it a little squeeze, then turned away- but not fast enough for me not to see how misty his eyes had become. Even the nurse had decided that the baby and I needed some alone time; she too crept out the way she came, telling me to "buzz" when I wanted her.

Finally, I lifted up my top and held Danny up to my breast. As soon as his searching lips brushed against my nipple, he latched on. I laughed, the sucking sensation rather ticklish at first, and then, strangely soothing. In seconds his delicate body relaxed, his fist opening so that his palm was open and laid flat against my skin. That one simple gesture made my throat tighten, as for the first time in the whole last nine months, it fully hit me.

I was a mother. A full blown mother, completely responsible for protecting and rearing this small, fragile life. He was so trusting, so completely dependent on me for everything- which all by itself was a frightening concept.

Suddenly the shut lids opened a crack, revealing large, wide eyes with a deep bluish tint that I already knew would darken to a rich, chocolate brown in days to come. In quiet wonder I watched as they drifted around the room, absorbing every little thing like a sponge- till finally those eyes met mine, and stayed there.

"Hey, you," I said softly, brushing my fingertip against a stray curl. "Remember me? I'm the lady you were camped out in the last thirty-seven weeks."

All he did was stare, his faint brows slightly furrowing for a split second.

I went on, "Listen. I don't have the first clue what I'm doing, mother-wise- and I imagine you're pretty confused yourself about this whole 'outside world' thing. So you and I are going to have to figure this mess out together, help each other out. I'm up for it if you are. How about it?"

As if in answer, he paused his suckling for just a moment, and hiccuped.

I'll take that as a yes, I chuckled. Once again I pulled his hat away from his forehead and kissed him, scents of oil and antiseptic wafting toward me as I leaned over.

"He's so beautiful," I marveled with a sniff. "Look at those eyes- those lips- he looks so much like you, oh, my prince- if only you could see him."

Unable to help myself, I bent down to kiss him again. "Oh, sweetie- I have so much to tell you about your father. He was a wonderful man- a prince in fact. You've a great deal to be proud of, you know. He did so many wonderful things, changed the world in so many ways- I wish I could tell them all to you now, but I'm terribly sleepy, so instead I'll just name a few. Is that all right? Good. Well, first of all..."

And so I kept rambling on my first of many "educational" tangents that my dear little boy would eventually have to endure, until the nurse came back and insisted we both get some sleep now or never.

As she laid Danny down in what looked like some kind of little clear box, however, she frowned. "That's strange."

I rubbed my eyes. "What is?"

"Nothing, just- I could have sworn I smelled something just then."

"It wasn't me, I promise," I yawned, nestling wearily into my bed.

She shook her head. "No, not that kind of thing, it was - sweet."

I shook myself a little. "Wait. Sweet?"

"Yes- like patchouli almost."

"Oh," I sighed, hopes dashed. "So, not like licorice."

"Oh, no. Can't stand that stuff."

With a sigh, I turned my head to look at the baby laying there just a meter away. The nurse bid me good night, and left a single soft light on in the corner just in case. But I barely even noticed her leave. All I could see was Danny. My boy, John Daniel Samuels, my son born early in the eighth morning of September- he was all that mattered anymore.

He and his father, that is. But that went without saying.

"Happy birthday, Danny," I whispered. "Hope it was a good one."

Exhausted, I finally surrendered unto a heavy, much-needed sleep. Tomorrow was too huge and scary a thing to face without a good night's rest.