Bikers and Tinsel

I have no doubt he will.

~*~*~*~

Another Three Months Later

“Muff,” I cry, gripping my stomach and crunching over.

“You’re doin’ real well baby, real well,” he says, rubbing tiny circles into my back.

“It hurts,” I whimper, lifting the gas and pressing it to my lips, inhaling.

“You’re nearly there,” the midwife says, encouraging me. “Keep pushing.”

“I...oh....please, get it out,” I wail as another contraction rips through my body.

“Come on, you’re doing good. Push, Janine,” the nurse keeps encouraging.

“Come on baby, you got this,” Muff says, stroking my back again.

I close my eyes and I push, and I push, until I hear the words I’ve been dying to hear. “We have a head.”

It’s so close, so close, and I get to meet my baby. It’s what spurs me on; it’s what gives me the strength to take another deep breath and push again. I give it everything I’ve got, and when I hear that crackly little cry, I know I’ve done it. I slump backward, sobbing with relief as I hear those three beautiful words. “It’s a boy.”

A boy.

A baby Muff.

I smile through my haze, and lift my blurry eyes to see Muff staring at the tiny bundle in the nurse’s arms. His mouth is open, his eyes are wide and filled with tears, and his chest is rising and falling with deep shaky breaths. He walks over slowly, leaning down to stroke a finger across our baby’s head.

“He’s...he’s got red hair,” he chokes.

I laugh hoarsely, and meet his gaze when he turns to me.

“He’s...fuckin’ perfect.”

The nurse gives him a shocked look, but my heart simply melts. In Muff’s world, that means there’s nothing better. When the nurse walks over and places him in my arms, I feel my eyes well with tears. Muff is right; he’s fucking perfect. He’s got locks and locks of thick red hair, and his skin is creamy and soft. His eyes are still the dark blue all babies’ eyes are, but I bet they’re going to be just like Muff’s. He’s divine. I feel a tear slide down my cheek as I stroke my son’s face.

“He’s perfect,” I rasp.

“He’s ours,” Muff whispers. “All ours, baby.”

“W...w...what will we call him?”

Muff lifts his eyes to meet mine. “He looks like a Max to me.”

I smile, stroking my son’s red hair. “Max it is.”

“Welcome to the world, little buddy.”

I look at my son, and my man, and I know one thing in that very moment.

Life isn’t always perfect, and sometimes it takes us on paths we don’t understand.

But there’s always a reason.

Everything has a reason.

And the thing I’ve learned in the last year of my life is that Muff is my reason.

It’s as simple as that.

The End.