I caress her hair, rub my thumb over her almost completely shut eyelids.
And when she goes back to sleep, her breathing calm, easy, I kiss her forehead, smell her sweet scent and promise, “I won’t let her be. I won’t let Halo be afraid. Or you. Ever.”
Halo Cora Jackson is beautiful.
She’s the most beautiful baby to ever be born. I know I’m biased because I’m her mom, but I don’t care. She’s got the darkest hair and the bluest eyes, even bluer than mine, and she has the rosiest cheeks.
And she’s small.
Even now, four weeks later.
She was small to begin with. Because she wasn’t supposed to arrive so early, see. She was supposed to be here in July but she came in May.
But I’m not complaining.
I’m not complaining at all.
Even though she had to spend the first four weeks of her life in the NICU.
We didn’t expect that however. Because even though she came early because of my accident, the delivery was more or less without complications. And the doctors were hopeful that we might be able to go home within a week.
But then she developed breathing problems and her body temperature would fluctuate. So they decided to keep her and somehow my baby had to stay in her incubator for four weeks.
Those were the longest four weeks of my life.
The longest and the toughest.
Every second of which I spent hoping and praying and wishing to God that it was me. That I was the one who needed to stay at the hospital, rather than my baby who’s just so… small and precious and innocent.
That it was my body they were sticking all those tubes into instead of her fragile one.
But it wasn’t.
I’ve only been a mother for four weeks but I think I’m going to spend the rest of my life now, wishing for the same thing. That if something bad were to happen to Halo, I wish it would happen to me instead.
I was sent home after three days with a bunch of information about post-op care that I really didn’t pay attention to because I was leaving the most precious thing behind, my baby.
But there’s one person who remembered.
Him.
He remembered that I had stitches on my stomach. The stomach that was once tight and smooth but now will have a scar where they cut Halo out of me.
He remembered that I couldn’t take a bath until my incision was healed, only showers. Or that I couldn’t lift anything heavy; he didn’t let me lift anything heavy when Halo was inside of me anyway so this wasn’t anything new. Plus my ankle was twisted, so he wouldn’t let me carry anything, period.
Not to mention, he remembered that my scar would hurt in the weeks to come.
And so he made a note to stock up on all the over-the-counter pain medications that are safe for me to take. He made a note to help me move around the glass house and stretch my muscles.
Oh, and he made a note to help me. When I initially breastfed Halo and I didn’t know how to hold her and find a comfortable position that wouldn’t hurt my stomach.
He made a note of everything.
He’s not here right now though, at the glass house.
Even though he wanted to be because today’s Halo’s first day out of the hospital and he wanted to be here for every single second of it.
And he was here for most of it, before he got called away.
We went to the hospital together; brought her back to the house together. The house that was decorated to the fullest, courtesy of all Halo’s aunts and uncles.
God, she has a lot of them.
Four uncles who’re going to be as overprotective as they were — are — of me, Conrad, Stellan, Shepard and Ledger. Four aunts too, actually. My St. Mary’s girls, Salem, Poe and Wyn, and of course, my oldest best friend and Reed’s sister, Tempest.
And together, they all decorated the house to welcome Halo home.
She slept through most of it though.
All the festivities and all the laughter.
But then they started to hold her. One by one.
First went Shepard. Because according to Shep, he’s going to be her favorite uncle. Ledger objected to that of course. But then Shep said that Ledge didn’t have a say in it because first, Shep is older and so he had authority over these things. And second, look at how Halo was already smiling up at him.
When I told him that Halo’s only a month old, she can’t smile right now, Shep told me that I was jealous that my baby was smiling at him instead of me.
Anyway.
After Shep came Tempest. Somehow Ledger was okay backing off for her; isn’t that interesting, that my rowdy, angry brother backed off for a Jackson?
Then it was my St. Mary’s girls’ turn, especially Wyn, because my oldest brother, Conrad, declared that ladies would go first and then the guys. Also interesting that Con would tell everyone to back off so Bronwyn — that’s what he calls her — could have her turn. Not to mention, he keeps staring at her.
But anyway, somewhere between Poe and Salem, my sweet baby had decided that she’d had enough so she started wailing.
I rushed over to grab her, but someone else was there first.
Again, the guy who’s been there for everything since the beginning.
He’d been standing off to the side, letting everyone have their turn with Halo while he kept an eye on things. But as soon as Halo started crying, he broke into action.
And then I got to see a sight that I die to see every day. I crave to see it. My little ballerina heart waits and craves and aches to see it.
Him holding our baby.
And he does it so well, too.
Like he knew right away, right from the beginning, how to angle his arm, how to hunch his shoulder, how careful he should be with her neck, how wide he should splay his fingers on her teeny tiny body to give her the maximum support and protection.
Maximum safety.
Her protector. Her hero.
Anyway, as soon as he took our Halo in his arms, she calmed down. She started flailing her fists too, making noises, kicking her tiny feet in those booties I’d made for her.
Like she used to do whenever he was near, even when she was still in my belly.
You know what, Shepard and Ledger and everyone else can go suck it.
I know, as I’ve always known, he is going to be her favorite.
There’s magic in him. Dark magic. All girls, including my four-week-old baby, can’t resist him. The one with the vampire skin and wolf eyes.
Reed Roman Jackson.
The guy who gave me Halo. She looks like him, actually. Except for my eyes, Halo got everything from him. Her hair, her nose, her chin. Her forehead. Even her ears.
She’s a carbon copy of her daddy.
And he’s just pulled into the driveway.
As usual, I hear the screech of his tires before his car door bangs shut. It’s not his Mustang though. He got a new, baby-proof car from the shop, his shop.
Auto Alpha.
Oh yeah, he told me.
The very next day, when I finally woke up and had enough sense to ask things and hear things and go see Halo. He told me that he bought the garage. It’s his now and he’s going to work there and I guess I was so emotional about everything, I started crying.