The whole world has turned on its head and it's wonderful and terrifying, and Dick isn't sure what to do.

Well, like, aside from the obvious. Like... 'take care of his new child' is a given. But the side stuff? Does he jump for joy? Throw a damn parade? Run cheering through the city streets? Curl up in a corner and have a li'l panic attack? All of the above?

He thought he'd prepared for this. As much as, y'know, anyone can 'prepare' for parenthood. He'd been feeling ready and confident and excited. And now the baby's here, and 'excited' stuck around, but 'ready and confident' flew right out the window.

His brain is mush and his heart's all aflutter and his stomach is full of butterflies doing loop-de-loops. He's so full of emotions he's not sure how to process them all. He feels jittery, like he drank way too much caffeine - like Tim levels of caffeine - and even though it's like the middle of the night he can hardly fathom sleeping right now. Which is only one small part of why he'd sent you to go get some sleep while he sat up with the baby. Lord knew you deserved the rest.

His baby. Yours and his. He's a father. He's a dad. Every time he looks over at the little swaddled bundle in the cradle, that thought runs through his head again, and he's sure he's been grinning like an idiot all night. It's absolutely terrifying, and it's quite possibly the best thing that's ever happened to him.

And even when the baby wakes and starts fussing, he just can't quite get rid of the smile. He scoops up the little bundle, rocks his child in his arms, hums a soothing little tune as he fumbles for one of the little bottles in the sack of baby supplies the hospital had sent you all home with.

Focused on the little one as he is, Dick's still an alert sort, and the click of the nursery door opening doesn't escape his notice. He glances over his shoulder, and smiles a little wider when he sees you. "Hey, hun. I got it, you didn't have to get up."