Title: Twice Blessed Author: Katchat Rating: G Category: V Keywords: MSR, MPOV, Post-series Summary: A new experience for Mulder Disclaimer: Contrary to popular belief, these characters are not yet past their freshness date. I don't own them, but I don't believe in being wasteful either. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Breathe. Just breathe, I tell myself. It's a strange feeling to have to remind myself to do something that should come naturally at all times, to have to physically will my lungs to fill with oxygen, then exhale. But, I seem to have forgotten this necessary habit as my full attention has been consumed with my wife. My laboring wife. It's probably a good thing I wasn't there the first time around. I doubt I would have been much help in the process, and things were dangerous enough at the time and no one needed my clumsy nervousness to make things worse. Though for years I've felt regret at not being present at the birth of my son, in this moment, I feel a little better knowing that, under those circumstances, I probably just would have gotten in the way. It should be a little easier for everyone this time around. My wife doesn't have to resign herself to giving birth in a dusty old cabin in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia. She doesn't have to rely on a woman with no medical training to deliver her child. She doesn't have to fear for her baby's life and there is no threat of a dozen "supersoldiers" surrounding her bed. We're in a hospital. We're in a comfortable birthing room. There are monitors to keep things in check, trained medical staff to oversee and coach. Dana is healthy, our baby is healthy, everyone seems to be doing fine. So why am I so crazy nervous? I've endured more than my share of dangerous situations. I'm no stranger to violence or blood or situations I can't control. I've looked into the prospect of certain death without blinking an eye. But this is different. This is something I have no training in. This is a situation that has me more uncomfortable than I've ever been. I was just beginning to learn the ropes of being a husband. Just beginning to learn to put my shoes away every night and rinse out my dishes after supper. I was just getting used to calling my wife "Dana". Just getting comfortable with living a shred of a normal life, not having to fight forces not of this world any longer. And then this was sprung on me. A barren womb twice blessed. It is surreal, but wonderful. My wife deserves this. Well, not the intense pain she is dealing with now, but rather the result we will soon hold in our arms. She's made many difficult sacrifices where our son was concerned, suffering wounds that never healed for the good of our child. It seems perfectly right that she should now bring another life into the world, a life that is not in danger, a life that she is free to love and raise in her own home. Our home. The pressure on my left hand increases as she is overtaken with another contraction. The brief coaching lessons I've received kick in, and I begin to count and support her neck as she holds her breath and pushes. We've settled into somewhat of a routine in the forty five minutes she's been allowed to push, me watching the monitor for oncoming contractions, her gathering strength and bearing down as I list all the numbers between one and ten. I hear the nurse at the foot of the bed announce that she can see the head with each push. Won't be long now. A mixture of anticipation and anxiousness fill me at the words. Our child is almost here. The imminent arrival signals a welcome change in our lives. There are no questions concerning this child's paternity, no fears as to who was behind its conception, no reason to think that it won't have a happy, normal life with us. Breathe. Just breathe. How ironic that the Lamaze training seems to aid expectant fathers every bit as much as the mothers. Am I ready to be a father? Granted, I've already been one for years. But William was different. He was more of an idea to me, having only been with him for a few precious days. I never had to change a diaper. I never had to try to get a fussy toddler to eat his peas. I didn't have to endure potty training, or disciplining or the frustrations that accompany parenting. I didn't have to make sure he was strapped into the car properly, or examine the dosage on the Children's Tylenol or monitor what he watched on TV. This time, I won't just be a father. I'll have to be a parent. It isn't going to be easy, I know. I'm older than most first time parents. I'm not as full of energy as I used to be, not in the great physical shape I was twenty years ago. More than that, I've never been fully responsible for anyone but myself, and even that hasn't always gone as great as it could. I study my wife, who is trying to rest between the frequent contractions. I gently wipe the moisture from her forehead with my hand, allowing my fingers to linger on her damp cheek. Her glassy blue eyes look up at me, and in just a glance, she is able to convey a thousand emotions to me, the same that I am feeling now. Excitement. Apprehension. Longing. Love. She is so beautiful, I muse as I clutch her hand in encouragement. Another contraction. Another round of pushing. Suddenly, the medical staff in the room seems to flurry. The past few hours have been relatively quiet in this room, but now there is rushed activity. Hats and masks are donned, lights angled, sterile towels spread across Dana's abdomen. I hear her cries grow more intense, the look of pain more evident than ever. It's time. No free moments to consider all the work ahead. No time to dwell on everything in the past. Right now, there is just this moment, just me and my wife and the baby about to be born. Dana pushes as hard as she can. Tears stream down her cheeks. I feel my own emotion burn in my throat as I press my forehead down to hers and will her the strength to complete the task at hand. Time passes, maybe seconds, maybe a million years, I can't tell the difference. Our reality is suspended as with one final push, our child emerges from the warmth of Dana's womb. I hear the shrill cries of an infant, and in an instant forget all that I was worrying about. The doctor places our wriggling baby on my wife's chest, and we both weep in joy at the realization that we are a family of three now. Gone are the anxious feelings, the what ifs and concerns about the unknown future. All I feel in this moment is love...love for my wife, for my baby, for life. I bend down to kiss them both, relishing this new existence, this new path to be taken. Breathe. Just breathe. The End Feedback (Is anybody still out there?): katchat42@juno.com