"Ah swear befo' God an' country, Remy, if ya evah get me pregnant again, ya bettah run fo' the high hills 'cause Ah'm gonna kill ya!" Rogue backed all of this up with a harsh glare, gritted teeth, and a numbingly painful grip on Remy's hand.
Remy bravely smiled at her through the pain and nuzzled a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll remember dat, chère."
"Don't ya 'chère'—" But her exclamation was cut off by another sharp scream as a contraction hit her.
Remy glanced at Hank for reassurance.
"She's doing fine," Hank replied. But he didn't really look up from his task of trying to get the baby out of Rogue, which was fine by Remy.
Remy may not have had a lot of experiences with childbirth (and certainly not in the delivery room), but he knew enough to know that he was to be moral support for his wife, as unannoying as possible (considering said wife's hormones were still at godzilla response levels), and generally out of the way. This meant he had to allow Rogue to cut off all blood flow to his fingers, yell at him if she so pleased, and try to not to distract the doctor. In other words, bloody torture.
Another shriek from Rogue and he cringed.
He had a new respect for mothers. After all the pain and grief required to bring a new child into the world, they certainly had the right to exact a little in spankings and rolling pins later. (Not that Tante Mattie had given birth to him, but the concept remained.)
He had a new respect for fathers too (at least any that had been corralled into delivery room moral support service). Surviving such an experience without allowing any misplaced protectiveness to attack the doctor and tell him to get his wife out of pain was incredibly more difficult than he had expected.
Of course, Logan didn't think so. He was mutely laughing at Remy's expense from the other side of Rogue's bed. Remy cursed the healing factor (and heartlessness).
In every book that Remy had run across during the last nine months (under the bed, in the bathroom drawer, in a linen closet, once in the refrigerator—his femme needed to stop stressing, he decided when he found that one) about pregnancy and raising kids and birth itself (no one ever said his chère was anything less than thorough either), it said that new mothers could experience panic, pain, shock, and breathless wonder (among plenty of other things he tried to quickly forget) before, during, and after the whole process of bringing a new life into the world.
None of them said much about new fathers.
He was rapidly discovering they should have.
Remy bravely smiled at her through the pain and nuzzled a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll remember dat, chère."
"Don't ya 'chère'—" But her exclamation was cut off by another sharp scream as a contraction hit her.
Remy glanced at Hank for reassurance.
"She's doing fine," Hank replied. But he didn't really look up from his task of trying to get the baby out of Rogue, which was fine by Remy.
Remy may not have had a lot of experiences with childbirth (and certainly not in the delivery room), but he knew enough to know that he was to be moral support for his wife, as unannoying as possible (considering said wife's hormones were still at godzilla response levels), and generally out of the way. This meant he had to allow Rogue to cut off all blood flow to his fingers, yell at him if she so pleased, and try to not to distract the doctor. In other words, bloody torture.
Another shriek from Rogue and he cringed.
He had a new respect for mothers. After all the pain and grief required to bring a new child into the world, they certainly had the right to exact a little in spankings and rolling pins later. (Not that Tante Mattie had given birth to him, but the concept remained.)
He had a new respect for fathers too (at least any that had been corralled into delivery room moral support service). Surviving such an experience without allowing any misplaced protectiveness to attack the doctor and tell him to get his wife out of pain was incredibly more difficult than he had expected.
Of course, Logan didn't think so. He was mutely laughing at Remy's expense from the other side of Rogue's bed. Remy cursed the healing factor (and heartlessness).
In every book that Remy had run across during the last nine months (under the bed, in the bathroom drawer, in a linen closet, once in the refrigerator—his femme needed to stop stressing, he decided when he found that one) about pregnancy and raising kids and birth itself (no one ever said his chère was anything less than thorough either), it said that new mothers could experience panic, pain, shock, and breathless wonder (among plenty of other things he tried to quickly forget) before, during, and after the whole process of bringing a new life into the world.
None of them said much about new fathers.
He was rapidly discovering they should have.
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