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Happy wasn’t exactly the first word that popped into your mind, when you looked at the stick in your hand. Two blue lines were shown inside the little display. You would probably say that ‘dread’ was the first word you thought of. Were you even ready to become a mother? Was your husband ready?
What a stupid question. Of course, your husband was ready for children. He had been since before you started dating him. He had been announcing that he wanted more children than his own father, who had eight - seven sons and one daughter. Ergo, he wanted NINE children. You had nearly passed out when he told you. You had thought he had been joking, but looking at his face, he was dead serious about having nine kids or more.
You cursed in 10 different languages as you paced your bedroom. Your Great Dane walked with you around the room, which comforted you a bit. Eventually, you sat down on the massive bed and cuddled up with your loving dog.
“What do I do?” You asked him. He just looked confused at you with his big blue eyes. You sighed and decided to google a few ways to surprise fathers-to-be.
A few days later
“Something smells amazing,” you heard your husband say from the front door. He walked in with a bouquet of red roses.
“Better be. I’m making your favourite pasta dish,” you told him. He snooped closer and wrapped his arms around your torso. He planted a kiss to your shoulder, another on your neck, then your cheek, and lastly, he turned your face to kiss you right on the lips. His beard tickling you.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
“I’ve missed you too. How was New York?”
You stirred the sauce and looked down at your cardigan, hoping it hadn’t unbuttoned while he hugged you. You didn’t want to ruin the surprise.
“It was lovely, but you weren’t there, so I was quite lonely,” he pouted. He kissed your cheek once more and went to put the flowers in water.
“Maybe next time,” you said and pulled out a string of pasta, chewing on it to feel if they were al dente. “Pasta is ready. Will you grab a few plates, please?”
“Of course.”
An hour later dinner had been eaten, you were sitting on the sofa. Your tall, blonde, and blue-eyed husband was pouring two glasses of red wine. You fiddled with your cardigan. It was now or never. You unbuttoned it, shook it off and tossed it over the back of the sofa. You stretched out your homemade T-shirt, flaunting it in front of your husband, who was oblivious to what was happening.
“Do you like my new shirt?” You asked cheekily. He turned towards you with a wicked smile, but the smile disappeared as he read what was on your shirt.
“1 out of 9 in the making.” He read out loud, looking confused, then it dawned on him. “You’re pregnant?”
You nodded nervously. He downed his glass of wine, put the glass on the coffee table before inching closer to you. He splayed his large hand over your still flat belly. His other hand cupping the back of your head. He put your foreheads together, closing his eyes as he took in the moment.
“I didn’t think I could be happier than the day you married me, but this moment might have surpassed that,” he whispered.
“You, Alexander Skarsgård, are going to be the best father in the entire world.” You told him matter-of-factly.
Seven months later
Alex was standing at the window overlooking the city. In his arms were his new-born daughter, who was happily content in his arms. You looked at your husband, really looked at your husband. He wore a simple mustard-yellow T-shirt and a pair of grey jeans. His hair was a mess from having run his hands through it a million times during the birth of your little girl. He hadn’t wanted to hold her, afraid he would break the tiny baby, but you had put her into his arms, carefully of course, and he hadn’t wanted to part with her ever since, except for the few times she needed to be nursed. You had slept a few hours like a rock. That’s what 36 hours of being in labour, trying to bring your daughter into the world, would do your body.
You had more than once blamed all the pain of the contractions on Alex. You even told him that this was the only child you would ever give him, during a really bad one. He had taken it as the ‘pain’ talking. You would give him a hundred children as you looked at him now. Your little girl stirred in his arms and her cries slowly got louder.
Alex moved back towards the bed, his eyes catching yours in a tender moment. He handed you the tiny bundle of joy.
“So, what should we name her?” He asked.
“You shut down all the names I had on my list,” you told him.
“They were all… how do I say this directly, but kindly?”
“Oh, just spill it.”
“Non-Swedish.”
“Then come with Swedish girl name that will fit her.”
He motioned for you to scoot over a little, so he could sit on the hospital bed with you. He wrapped an arm around you. The tip of his fingers caressing the top of your daughter’s head as she nursed.
“How about Alva?”
You contemplated for a moment. Looking down at your tiny baby girl. Alva. It was a good name for her.
“Alva it is,” you said and kissed the soft little head.
Back home
You carefully lifted the car seat and moved towards the front door of your home. You heard your dog scrambling inside, which made you giggle, but Alex was having doubts about bringing your new-born home. What if something happened to her? What if she got sick? What if you left for a few hours and she started crying for food? Alex stopped you before you got to enter the house.
“What is it?” You asked.
“Are we ready to be alone with her?” He whispered nervously. You could feel the anxiety pouring out of him.
“Stop doubting. We’ll be fine. You’ll be a great father. Trust me,” you reassured him and walked inside. Your dog was sniffing the car seat, wondering what you had brought home for him. You carefully sat your daughter down, so your dog could get to know her. Alex was wearily looking, he was ready to grab the collar of your dog if he became too rough. But your sweet loving giant dog put his snout atop your baby’s legs and just stared at her with love in his blue eyes.
“Good boy,” you said and petted him across his back. Alex let out a breath of relief.
Later that day you were napping, when you heard Alva screaming her lungs off. Alex was walking around the living room, trying to calm her down. He looked up as you entered.
“I’ve fed her, changed her, bounced and walked around for half an hour, nothing is working,” he told you. You could hear the panic in his voice. None of the baby books he had read, had prepared him for a baby that kept crying even though he had tried all the soothing methods.
You smiled softly at him, as you led him to the sofa. You pushed him gently, so he was sitting with your daughter cradled in his arms. You moved your daughter from his arms to a vertical position, with her head on his chest where his heart was.
“Now, sit still, calm down, chill, relax. She’ll be soothed by your heartbeat in no time,” you said. “I’ll go make you a cup of coffee. You look like you need one.”
The baby’s cries slowed down to a whimper, and when you came back with the coffee, she was soundly asleep on Alex’s chest. His hand was rubbing her tiny back in a soothing motion. He accepted the mug with his other hand, taking a slow sip.
“How did you know this would work?” He asked you curiously, as you sat down with a cup of tea.
“My mum told me. Whenever my siblings or I were fussing as babies, she would let us listen to her or our father’s heartbeat. The baby remembers the sound from before she was born.”
“Huh, a trick I need to remember next time you take a nap. Thank you, älskling.”
He leaned in to kiss your cheek, which moved your daughter, who started fussing again.
“She’s hungry.”
Alex moved the tiny baby to your open arms, watching curiously as she suckled on your breast.
“Any more tips to calm a baby I need to know about?” He asked and kissed your temple.
“Call your mum, love. She’ll be your best friend when it comes to kids, and you do want nine, right?”
Alex huffed. Not so sure if he could handle nine kids anymore. He had some serious thinking to do.