I lay in the hospital bed, sunlight spilling across the crisp white sheets, and felt a flutter of nervous anticipation mixed with an overwhelming tide of love.
Calix was pacing quietly at the foot of the bed, though I could see the tension in his shoulders, the restless energy barely contained behind his usually playful demeanor.
"You look… radiant," he said softly, trying to smile but failing to mask the worry in his eyes.
I chuckled, weakly, pressing a hand to my swelling belly. "Radiant? I feel like I've been run over by a hundred horses."
He reached out, brushing my hair from my forehead and holding my hand tightly. "You're about to meet the most important person in ourlife. You've got this."
I wanted to believe him.
I wanted to trust that the next hours would pass smoothly, that Celestine Clay, our little miracle, would arrive safe and healthy.
But a part of me remained tense, as if bracing for impact.
By the time my parents arrived, the hospital room was filled with a sense of chaotic excitement.
My father hovered near the bed, fussing over every detail of the room, while my mother tried to smooth my hair and adjust the blanket over my legs as though she could shield me from the pain with a gentle hand.
"Are you nervous, Aurora?" my mother asked, her voice soft, tinged with worry.
"Terrified," I admitted, and she squeezed my hand tightly, offering a smile that finally felt like genuine support rather than expectation.
Before long, Calix's parents arrived as well, carrying flowers, gifts, and an energy entirely their own.
His mother clutched his arm, fussing over the monitors and the sterile environment as though she could control the outcome with sheer presence.
His father stood behind them, scanning the room with a kind of gentle pride, ready to swoop in at any moment to protect and advise.
I looked at Calix, and he simply shrugged, a bemused smile on his face. "We're going to survive this," he whispered.
I laughed weakly, letting him squeeze my hand. "I hope so."
The labor was long, and at times, excruciating. I had Calix by my side, holding my hand, whispering encouragement, and telling me stories in between contractions to distract me.
"You can do this," he said. "Our little Celestine is almost here. I promise, she's going to be perfect, just like her mother."
Tears slipped down my cheeks at his words, his unwavering confidence giving me strength I hadn't realized I still had.
Hours passed.
The room was filled with a mix of urgency, chaos, and laughter, the latter mostly from the grandparents arguing quietly over trivial things:
"What do you mean the name is Celestine Clay?" my mother asked, her tone sharp but not unkind. "She should carry our family name more prominently!"
"She is an Aquino-Lazaro," Calix interjected gently, though his eyes sparkled at the minor battlefield forming around him. "And the name Celestine… it's inspired by Celeste, Aurora's horse. It's meaningful."
"I still think she should have my maiden name as her middle!" my mother insisted, crossing her arms.
Meanwhile, Calix's mother had swooped in. "Nonsense. Clay is perfect. And she will spend weekends with us. We have the best garden for a little one to play in."
"It's not about gardens!" my father muttered, exasperated, while my father-in-law chuckled. "She will decide what she wants when she's older. For now, let's focus on making sure both mother and baby are safe."
I laughed between contractions, feeling a strange mixture of pain and joy.
Even in the chaos, the love surrounding me was tangible,messy, imperfect, but undeniably real.
—
Finally, after hours that felt like a lifetime, I heard it, the first cry of our daughter.
"She's here," the nurse announced, placing the tiny bundle on my chest.
I gasped, overwhelmed by the weight of her tiny body, her perfect little fingers curling around mine.
Calix leaned down, tears in his eyes, brushing my hair from my face. "She's… she's perfect," he whispered. "Celestine Clay… she's ours."
I looked at him, and for the first time in my life, I allowed myself to be completely vulnerable. Tears of joy streamed freely as I whispered, "I love you. I love both of you… all of you."
Calix kissed the top of my head, and I felt him press a soft, gentle kiss against mine. "I love you too, Aurora. And I promise, we'll make sure she grows up surrounded by love, just like you deserve."
The grandparents continued their playful arguments even as I cradled Celestine, but their voices were now background music to a moment that felt sacred.
"Who gets her this weekend?" my mother asked, half teasing, half serious.
"Clay! She'll stay with us," Calix's mother countered.
"I should teach her our family traditions first!" my father-in-law added.
I laughed, holding Celestine closer. "She will learn all of it," I said softly. "And she will know love from both sides. That's the most important thing."
Calix pressed a kiss to my temple. "She has the best parents and grandparents in the world," he murmured
.
And in that chaotic, joyful room, I realized that life didn't need to be perfect. It didn't need to be calm, or controlled, or exactly as I had planned.
It only needed love.
Love, laughter, messy debates about names and weekends, and a family that would hold her, and us, together.
I looked down at Celestine Clay Aquino-Lazaro, my tiny miracle, and whispered, "Welcome to the world, my love. You're going to be so cherished."
Calix leaned close, pressing his lips to mine in a gentle, lingering kiss. "Welcome, little one," he whispered. "We'll protect you, always."