Just a few months ago, you had been wrestling around in bed, when his hands had landed on your stomach. He hadn’t noticed until that moment—his eyes were usually on your face or whatever little outfit you had put together for the day—it was just slightly firmer, rounder than it had been before. When he’d stared at your stomach with wide, terrified eyes, you thought he was calling you big, and smacked him. Through vague panic, he had told you that you didn’t look but felt pregnant, halfway in an effort to save his own skin, and then drove you to the drugstore to get a pregnancy test.

After taking a grand total of six, as he was so insistent on, and all six turning positive, he had absolutely freaked, pacing all over the bathroom and bedroom as if he’d just found out that he was pregnant. You were sitting on the bathtub edge with your hands on your head, panicking also, but quietly. After much consideration, and his assurance that the Ministry was financially well, you decided to keep it.

Time passed. A bedroom near yours was converted from storage into a cozy little bedroom with warm decor and soft carpeting, perfect for the new little one. Then more time had passed—the gender was revealed, the announcements were made, and everyone was just thrilled to know that finally, one of the Papas was having children. Nihil, despite his absence, was excited to be a grandfather, and Imperator was happy to be a grandmother. (Her distaste for you had suddenly disappeared upon your announcement.) Eventually, the due date was set.

It all happened so suddenly. You had planned to be induced, until the baby just decided themself that it was time. The medical unit of the Ministry, although charming, was not adequate. He rushed you to the hospital, somehow not crashing into the ditch.

Three hours and one dislocated finger later, he sat on the edge of your bed, looking down over the tiny bassinet that held your new baby. He had been silent for some time, just… staring, until finally, he spoke: “They’re perfect.”