❝FIRST BIRTHDAY NIGHTMARES❞
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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ chapter three, pre Gilmore Girls

December 6th, 1985

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[ LUKE'S POV ]

LUCIANA'S FIRST BIRTHDAY is something of a nightmare to organise.

I was afraid of screwing up her birthday. I think first birthdays are important but according to my dad, I never really had a first birthday. It wasn't such a "big thing" when I was a kid which in a sense is understandable. There is no point of having a birthday when you're too young to remember it. However, Lucy won't be the one to remember it. I will.

Which is why I want everything to be perfect.

She deserves everything. Absolutely everything.

Even these obscene pink balloons that I spent all night blowing up only to have my dad "accidentally" pop four this morning. I hang banners with the help of my dad and I spent the morning cooking her cake while she hung out with some of the townsfolk who insisted on celebrating with the girl they're grown accustom to over the last year.

They've been extremely welcoming. Every single person in town has chipped in whenever I need help. They've held her, laughed with her, and some have had to deal with her shrill cries. However, not a single person complains and they have no idea how appreciative I am of them. Sometimes when I have to work long hours at the hardware store to help my dad, people stop by and watch Lucy for me.

I know keeping her in a hardware store isn't exactly safe for a child and I've been told many times by Taylor Doose that a hammer will drop of my daughter's head but I keep her away from all equipment, tools and nails in the store. And when she needs to nap, I take her upstairs to my father's office which is now our apartment.

A week after I officially signed the birth certificate, declaring her name as Luciana Lilia Danes, a name I believe will suit her, me and Lucy moved into my father's office which we turned into an apartment with the help of my dad who insisted he didn't need the office anymore. He hardly used it and I wanted me and Lucy to have our own space, especially since I was feeling guilty about keeping my father awake at early hours of the morning.

I built her a brand new crib with some assistance, realising that my old one was not appropriate. It was seconds away from falling apart. Also, I thought that from this crib, I'd be able to convert it into a toddler bed when she's old enough.

Because she's growing rapidly.

I blink and she's aging. I still remember collecting her in the hospital. I still remember the first night with her when I cried just as much as she did (not that I'd tell anyone that). I just can't believe my daughter- my baby girl- is one today.

It's hard to believe that I'm a father never mind a father to a one-year-old girl. A one-year-old who is the fastest crawler I've ever seen. If she could walk, she'd probably have already sprinted away from me at every opportunity.

She crawls around every inch of the apartment which makes me both excited and nervous. Two months ago when she started to get more comfortable with her surroundings, she crawled under my bed and I thought that I lost her. I was so panicked until I heard her squeal in excitement from the ball that had rolled under my bed, a ball I didn't even realise was there until she grabbed it.

On another note, she's much louder than she was when she was a couple months old. She squeals all the time, even when things aren't exciting or remotely fun. I could be writing down orders for equipment people need and she'd squeal, startling the customers who instantly smile when they realise the noise had come from a baby. In addition to her squealing, she's got the brightest, bubbly laugh I've ever heard and the sound is my favourite thing in the world.

I see quite a few parents with their kids, and people assume that I've grown a liking towards other people's kids but I haven't. I still despise children and refuse to hold most kids. The only kid I want to spend every second with is my own, nobody else's, meaning nobody in this town will be asking me to babysit anytime soon.

I mean, when Liz gave birth to Jess, I was thrilled for her. Of course I was. She's my sister and the baby I held two years ago is my nephew. I'll always be there for her if she needs anything, especially after Jimmy, Jess' waste of space of a father, walked out on her. However, I didn't feel the same pang in my chest when I saw Jess compared to when I saw Lucy for the first time. Probably because she's my daughter but all I know is that I definitely don't like other people's kids.

I love my own more and more everyday though.

She's brilliant. I already know she's going to be smart. I don't know how I know but I know. When I read to her, I feel like she understands. I can see that she wants to say her first words, something I can't wait to hear. She babbles a lot, usually stuttering out a couple letters but they never form a real word. I'm secretly hoping her first words resemble something close to "Dad" or "Dada" but I honestly don't know what the words will be.

All I hope is that her first word isn't some profanity that my father has said.

Sometimes she bursts into tears when she can't get her words out and I sympathise with her in a way. It must be frustrating to not get the words out when you want to but she's a literal baby. She's still got time before her first word will come out and that's okay. I can wait.

I have a lifetime to listen to her anyway.

Lucy is babbling to herself, signalling to me that she's awake and she's ready for a party.

Her first party.

I imagine there's many more to come after this. Well, if she wants more that is.

"Hey, birthday girl." She holds her arms out to me and I lift her out, hugging her closely to my chest. "Happy birthday."

I press a kiss to her head, listening to her laugh when I kiss her cheek sloppily. Her laugh is contagious and I've found that, not only me, but the entire town is swoon for the new one-year-old who has simply stolen everyone's hearts.

She makes a blubbering noise, something she's been doing quite a lot. I've learnt that her blubbering and spitting is something she does to try and get words out before she stammers a letter out. I imagine she'll find her words soon. I can't wait for the day she says her first words and I really hope I'm around to hear them.

She woke up earlier before having a nap which gave me just enough time to prepare everything for her party. The entire town has set up decorations in the square, something that Taylor protests, but even he can't resist Lucy. I can't believe my daughter can just smile and everybody will turn their heads and agree to anything I want.

She's going to break hearts with this smile, the one she's flashing me as we head downstairs to the store where my father is finishing up for the day. It's midday, and he's decided to close early to celebrate his granddaughter's birthday with everyone in the square, under the gazebo.

And from the window of the hardware store, I can see the effort the townsfolk's have put in to make this day special for my daughter. I can see the obnoxious pink from all the way over here. I can see pictures stuck to a board, something that I came up with to document the moments I, amongst others, have shared with Lucy over the past year. I can see the banners and streamers, the giant "Happy 1st Birthday!" sign hanging up proudly for me to grin at.

I know Lucy won't remember this day but I certainly will. For the rest of my life.

"Happy birthday, Lucy." Dad brushes a hand against her dark hair, pushing a kiss to her head. She claps her hands together, her body squirming in my arms.

I bring her out of the store, her body slung over my hip as I begin to walk over to the gazebo. Everyone turns their heads, clapping their hands and cheering for the one-year-old girl in my arms. She laughs, squeals in excitement, and she tries to squirm out of my hold to reach the townsfolk.

I'm pleased that the weather is warm, especially for a day in December. Clearly, the snow is late this year, something I'm excited for now that I have somebody to enjoy it with. Lucy was only a couple weeks old when the snow hit at the end of last year but this year I'll be able to really show it to her.

I place her down, her legs wobbling as I hold her hands above her head and try to tempt her forward.

She doesn't move. She just falls, her body hitting the grass abruptly.

For the last two months, Lucy has been pulling herself up with her hands. She's constantly grasping at surfaces and lifting herself up, hoping that she can eventually let go and walk. Her legs only wobble before she falls back down, and she begins to cry. I don't expect her to start walking for another couple of months. All I'm hoping is that she can spit out something of a word.

When Lucy's party finally kicks off, she's crawling to meet everyone, her hands reaching out to be picked up by every single person.

I watch as Lucy goes from person to person, a giant smile on her face as she looks to each person in the town. Her smile never falters, not even when I reach out to snatch her from Patty's arms. I'm desperate to hold my daughter. If people think she's clingy, they obviously don't know how clingy I am.

I hold her close to me, moving past a couple of people to watch the kids dance. Patty had roped in a couple kids from her recitals to dance for Lucy's birthday. Sure, she won't remember this silly tap dancing routine but it's sweet how prepared these kids are to perform for a one-year-old.

"Oh, Luke. Little Lucy must dance. She's going to have the legs of a dancer, I can already see it." Patty has been trying to convince me to force Lucy into dance lessons when she's of age to dance. I've contemplated it, coming to the decision that when Lucy can talk, she can decide if she wants to dance. It's too big of a decision for me to make, especially when I'm against little kids dancing in every way.

I look to Lucy. "Do you wanna dance, kid?"

She squeals, her hands clapping together in excitement. "She'll be the Ginger Rogers of the town, and she'll find her own Fred Astaire."

I feel sick at the idea. I haven't even considered her dating, mainly because she's a literal baby. "It's her decision, Patty. Stop fawning over my one-year old," I insist, lifting Lucy down so her feet hit the grass.

She's dressed in the pouffiest pink dress, something I never would've considered buying for anyone. This dress is the sort of thing I find obscene in every way, and the town probably can't believe that I've bought something like it. Except, the town knows that, when it comes to my daughter, I treat her like a literal princess, dressing her in these ridiculous pink dresses and tiaras because she loves them.

I imagine that she'll grow out of this colour choice. Well, I hope so.

My side of the apartment contrasts with her wholesome, bubbly pink side of the room. She has thousands of teddies and toys, huge knitted blankets in all kinds of colours because the entire town seems to knit. Everybody but me.

I imagine that, even when she grows up, me and her will be contrastingly different. She'll be the bubbly one, the chummy one while I'll be the cold, broody one in the family, the one that only smiles when his daughter is here. She's the only reason I wake up in the morning, the only reason I laugh and smile during the day, and the only reason I go to sleep feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.

Crazy how one person- a one-year-old girl- can bring a smile out of somebody who has never shown an ounce of enthusiasm in his life.

I love her a ridiculous amount, and I hope she knows that for the rest of her life.

I hold Lucy's hands above her head as she sways clumsily, her legs shaking and I can see that she's close to falling but I keep her upright. According to Patty, she has "dancer's legs" but then she's tripping over her own feet, and I laugh. Thankfully, I catch her, lifting her back up and moving side to side with her.

I'm not a dancer. I never will be, and I don't consider what I'm doing as dancing but I sway with my daughter, listening to her spit and laugh. She's blubbering, blabbering and squealing her tiny lungs off.

"Isn't it sweet to see Luke so swoon over that little girl," Babette comments, and I can't help but smile.

I've settled into being a father over this past year, and it's true. This girl I'm "dancing" with has snatched my heart in a way that nobody ever has and I adore her more than she will ever know. I hope I'm not screwing her up, not when she's made my life ultimately better since she entered it.

I can't believe I ever lived without her.

I snatch her off her feet again, continuing to sway while she rocks on my hip, her tiny fingers grasping at the shirt I'm wearing. She's buried her head into the crook of my neck, a loud noise leaving her mouth again which makes me laugh.

I move her towards my dad who is by the table that's full of presents, presents which range in all shapes and sizes. I'm honestly surprised by the amount of presents that fill the table, and I can't think of where they're going to go when she opens them.

I didn't tell the town that they had to get Lucy a present but, of course, they wanted to get her something seeing as it's a special occasion.

I help her open presents, peeling off the horrid, pink coloured paper. It seems the town all got the same wrapping paper which isn't surprising seeing as the only party store in town sells one shade of pink. Me, on the other hand, decided to be different and wrap her gift in the ugliest colour of green I've ever laid my eyes on.

Babette lifts my gift from the pile and a couple people of laugh at the contrast. I place the present in front of us, Lucy sat on my lap with her hands rushing to peel the paper open poorly. She's darn cute, even if she can't rip it open to save her life.

Lucy squeals, and I help her peel the wrapping off the gift.

I'm not an expert gift giver and now that I have a daughter, I know that I'll need to at least buy a lifetime of gifts for her in the future, something I'm slightly opposed to since I can't buy gifts to save my life.

So, instead of worrying, I opted for getting her a teddy, something I hope she'll prefer over the dozens of other teddies she received today. It seems everybody had the exact same idea.

However, I like to think my gift is somewhat more special than the others.

I bought her a small brown bear, wrapped in a flannel shirt with her date of birth snitched on the pocket. On the bear's paw, it reads, Love, Dada, and some part of me hopes she can actually understand the tiny snitched font. I know when she's older, she'll appreciate it a little more.

But I can see her eyes soften. I can see the smile that begins to overtake her face. Her teeth have been starting to grow, and I can see them clearly. They're shiny, white, and perfectly brushed, something she hates but she'll thank me later when she doesn't have fake teeth.

Her smile is wickedly bright, and I can't resist smiling back at the girl who holds the bear close to her chest. She begins to giggle, only warming my heart. I didn't realise I could be this happy. I mean, I've been told that I'm a cold person my entire life but now, here with her, I feel full again. I feel alive and well and happy.

And it's all because of my daughter. God, it still feels surreal to say, even in my head.

I'm extremely lucky to have this kid.

"Do you like it?" I ask, and her shrill squeal rings through my ears as I close my arms around her in a tight embrace.

When I pull away, my hand still holding her back, she looks at me with those blue eyes that resemble mine and she says, "Dada."

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