I know all this because they told me.
But I know some other things too.
I know that she has dark hair like me. And blue eyes like her.
And I know that she’s small. She’s so very, very, dangerously small. I don’t know how I’ll keep her safe. I don’t know how anyone can keep a baby safe when they’re so small and fragile.
So breakable.
And it looks like Halo might break if I touched her even with a finger.
Good thing I haven’t.
Not yet, seeing as they took her straight to the NICU after surgery and stuck her with all these tubes. So I haven’t gotten to hold my daughter yet.
My daughter.
She’s my daughter. I have a daughter.
Over the past months, I thought I was preparing myself. I had questions. I asked them. I had a list of things to buy for her. The list of things she’ll need when she arrives.
And yes, I’ve been afraid.
Of course I have been. Of what kind of a father I’ll be. Given I always had a shitty one.
But I never thought I’d feel so incompetent. So blind as to what to do next.
What am I supposed to do now? With her.
How am I supposed to contain all this love? All this rush of love that I’ve never felt before.
Not this kind of love.
It’s like I’ll burst. My skin will fall apart with the kind of love I feel for my baby.
So yeah, I don’t know.
Except the only thing, the only person in this whole world, that has the power to calm me down, to give me peace, is sleeping. Doctors say that she’s doing great.
Except the normal post-op pain and recovery and the weakness that she’ll feel.
Oh, and her ankle’s sprained from the fall.
And I know she’s going to be fine but with her eyes closed and her blonde hair fanned over the white pillow, she looks just as fragile as Halo.
Just as beautiful and small and mine.
But then those eyes flutter and open, pure and shining blue, and my heart skips a beat.
“Hey,” I whisper, leaning over from my chair by her bed and squeezing her hand that I’ve been holding for the better part of the last two hours.
She smiles, those fairy-like eyes roving over my face. “Hey.” Then she frowns slightly. “You look completely destroyed.”
A tired chuckle escapes me. “And you look like a fairy.” She chuckles slightly too and I swallow. “How do you… how do you feel?”
“Good. I had a dream.”
“Yeah?”
