Gorg’s Mama hurried into the room. “What is it, boys? Is it the baby? Is it time?”
“No, it isn’t. Mama, what if I don’t develop a pouch? How will we get the baby out?” Ebbie cried, practically begging for an answer that would ease his worst fears.
“In that unlikely event, we shall call for the doctor who will do surgery to get the baby out,” Mama said matter-of-factly as if it was the simplest thing in the world to do.
“Mama! Don’t scare him more than he is already!” Gorg seemed horrified that his mother might suggest such a thing.
“No, Gorg, it’s alright. A C-section. Of course. They do them on Earth all the time. I should have thought of it myself. I’m sure it’ll be okay now,” Ebbie said. He was still terrified but knew he had to calm Gorg down. There was no use in both of them being scared shitless.Oneof them had to have his wits about him when the baby came.
And Ebbie seriously doubted it was going to be him.
As the Birth season progressed, Ebbie grew increasingly restless. He began nesting, upending all the drawers in the bedroom and repacking them neatly. He took out every stitch of clothing they’d bought for the baby and those given to them at the Great Pregnancy Dance and refolded them, refilling the chest of drawers they’d bought for the baby. He ordered Gorg to move the bedroom furniture around several times, finally settling on the exact order they’d started out with it in.
Finally, probably at wit’s end, Gorg decided a small outing was in order and took Ebbie on a day trip to see the Great Purple Inland Sea.
Ebbie was far more impressed than he’d expected to be.
It was as if someone had built a giant purple mountain and then melted it. The vast sea — Ebbie stood on the shore and squinted but couldn’t see to the other side — was indeed purple, but the water tasted sweet and clear. The sand was the finest sand he’d ever encountered, almost as fine as processed sugar, as white as snow, and tasted sweet with a hint of vanilla.
Although, after tasting a bit on the tip of his finger at Gorg’s urging, Ebbie declined to eat more. People were walking over that sand in their bare feet and dragging their bare tentacles through it, and planting their hot, sweaty butts on it! He wasnotputting any more of it in his mouth. Yuck.
They ate a picnic lunch — caught and prepared by Mama, for which Ebbie was grateful — on the white sand, enjoying the cool breeze coming off the purple sea.
The day was a good one, but when he got home, there was another surprise waiting, one he didn’t quite appreciate as much. Standing in one rounded corner of the living room was a tree. It wasn’t an evergreen — they didn’t grow on Jizm — but something similar. In a box next to it were all sorts of little doodads and trinkets.
“Since I didn’t have time to make gifts for the baby, Mama brought out the ones Papa made for me when she was pregnant with me. I thought you and I could hang them on the baby tree,” Gorg said.
He looked so hopeful that Ebbie couldn’t hurt his feelings. Gorg could call it a baby tree all he wanted — Ebbie knew what it was. They were going to have a Christmas tree whether Ebbie wanted one or not.
Actually, it was such a sweet thought, using trinkets and toys made for Gorg while he was still in the egg, that Ebbie didn’t mind at all.
They decorated the tree, carefully hanging the antique trinkets and doodads on the branches. There were teeny tiny bassinettes fashioned from splinters of wood and pieces of lace, balls of multi-colored blown glass, wee bottles of sugar sand, and others of purple water from the Great Purple Inland Sea. There were many things that, although Ebbie had no idea what they were, must’ve had sentimental value or meaning to Gorg and his family since he caught Mama wiping away a tear with a tentacle every now and then.
For the top of the tree, Gorg had another surprise for Ebbie. He’d brought the crystal star from the tree they’d decorated on Earth. He carefully placed it on the very top branch of the tree. “I’m sorry the tree doesn’t light up,” he said to Ebbie. “We don’t have singing lights like the ones on Earth, and I didn’t have time to try to have some made.”
“Oh, Gorg. It doesn’t need lights. This is the most beautiful Christmas tree I’ve ever seen. Thank you so much for it! You were right. I did need it, and I need the holidays, too. It’s perfect.” Ebbie burst into tears and then threw his arms around Gorg’s neck, hugging him tight.
“Isn’t that so sweet? Now, stop your crying, or we’ll all be crying,” Mama said, already weeping buckets of tears.
Even Papa’s eyes were moist, and he never cried, or so Gorg said later.
Suddenly, Ebbie froze. There was a razor-sharp pain in his gut, slicing across where his belly button was located. It hurt, so much so that for a moment, it stole the breath from his lungs.
“Ebbie? Are you okay?” Gorg asked. “Ebbie? You’ve gone pale. Ebbie, say something.”
“I need to sit down. No…I need to lay down. Now!” Ebbie cradled his stomach with both arms and, in a half-crouch, hurried to their bedroom, followed by Gorg, Mama, and Papa.
“Oh, I think it’s time!” Mama cried, her tentacles flailing in excitement. “Lie down on your back, Ebbie. Let me see.”
She lifted Ebbie’s shirt and exposed a fine red line traced across his stomach, transecting his belly button. “Oh, it’s begun! Quick, Papa, call all the egg brothers and sisters!”
“No! Mama, please! I don’t want all those people in here,” Ebbie cried. “Just Gorg, and you and Papa. Please? Everyone else can see the baby afterward.”
“Are you sure? That’s not usually the way it’s done here, but…if that’s what you want, Ebbie.” Mama nodded her agreement to Papa, and they both took a step back, letting Gorg get closer to Ebbie.
Gorg took Ebbie’s hand. “Just breathe, love. When the next pain hits, breathe through it.”
The subsequent pain was deeper and hurt worse, and breathing was the last thing Ebbie wanted to do. Instead, he yelled, cursing his life, his predicament, and most of all, Gorg for getting him into it in the first place.
