Chapter Text
It had been such a long labour, nearly twelve hours of screaming and crying and nurses urging to push, breathe and do all those good things that were supposed to be speeding things along. Still, it had taken so long of a time that at some point doctors had started to stop by and suggest C-sections and epidurals, worried frowns on their faces. She had refused each and every one of them, brows knitted together in equal amounts of pain and focus. She had wanted so badly to be a good mother right from the start and for some reason she’d thought that enduring all of that without the assistance of drugs was part of that, like it would earn her a “best mom” cup in a couple of years, when the child had grown into a being that thought and drew, one that spoke in multitude of words and bought gifts on special occasions.
Vi had desperately wanted to tell her not to worry about that, to take the stupid drugs and slip into that middle place that was safe and comfortable, the one where pain couldn’t quite reach her. Instead, she’d kept by her side, held her hand as long as she wanted, stroked the hair out of her face when it stuck with sweat, breathed with her when it was time to breathe, brought her ice chips and water, a granola bar and chocolate. Most of all she’d kept close, always within arms reach, twelve hours of keeping watch, like a dog, or a guard, like the big sister she was.
At 2:03 AM, it had ended. She’d let out one last huge breath and then the room had filled with a cry, one never heard before, coming from tiny lungs and an even tinier mouth, rosy pink and wet with fluids. When she’d looked over, the baby had been scrunched up and kicking, all puffy and alive, a miracle. Vi had never seen a newborn baby before and she doubted she was ever going to see another one, so she focused real hard to keep herself in the moment, making sure to look at everything: the little hands and feet, the light brown puff of hair on the round head, eyes closed and forehead frowning. When she had turned towards her sister she’d found her doing just the same, exhausted and sweaty, a marvel of her own.
“She’s mine”, she had whispered, and Vi had found herself nodding along, reaching with shaky fingers for Powder’s hand, for her face, blurry eyes and teary mouth, smiling so bright it had lit up the room, whispering “yes, yes”.
Later, when the baby had been washed and clothed, they laid in the hospital bed together. Vi, hanging on the railing at the side, half of her ass sticking out and not caring, arm around Powder’s shoulder, head resting on top of hers. And held in her sister’s arms the baby, rosy mouth and sleeping face, belly full of milk. Powder had stroked her tiny little chin with the tip of her finger, smiled so softly it felt like an echo, looking reverently at the baby.
“What’s her name?” Vi had asked, voice almost a whisper. And Powder, wonderful Powder, Powder who had been a mother for three hours at that point, gentle fingers, careful touch, bleeding and bruised and so, so, tired, had looked at her, breathed the name out as if it was a secret.
“Isha”, and she had smiled.