Stan had seen a lot of bad things. A severed leg, the death of his father, the Star Wars prequels, but this was the worst. If someone had offered him a choice between this and and having his teeth chiselled into dust, he would have gone and found his chisel. If birth was a miracle, he’d rather live in a universe without God.
His daughter was born.
There was goop, and nurses, and someone got in trouble for mentioning cigars in a hospital, but it was all a blur. Nobody would X-Ray Stan’s hand, despite what his wife had done to it.
Finally, it was just the two of them. No, the three of them. There were three of them now. Stan surveyed the room despondently.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Melinda in the tones of a therapist with a knife behind their back.
‘It’s fine. I’m fine,’ said Stan in the tones of someone who wasn’t a very good liar.
‘I just shoved a human through a hole which, despite existing specifically for that purpose, is not big enough for that purpose. You can find the testicles tell me what’s wrong.’
‘Nothing’s wrong. We did it. We made a little Voltron of us. Yay.’
‘A little Voltron?’
‘Voltron’s a giant robot made of lions. We’re the lions.’ He sighed.
‘You just spoke about lions, a giant robot and our newborn child, and then sighed.’
‘I thought there’d be time travellers.’
There was a pause. ‘You what?’
‘Trying to kill her, or protect her, or something.’
‘You’re sad that time travellers didn’t try to kill our baby?’
‘Well, it’s like, you know how if you had a time machine, you’d go back and kill baby Hitler? This means our daughter isn’t baby Hitler.’
There was a look that meant more than words.
‘Or John Connor! I don’t want her to be Hitler. I just want her to be important.’
‘Important enough that time travellers try to murder her.’
Melinda considered this for a long, dangerous moment.
She looked down at their daughter, and then up at her husband.
She spoke. ‘Maybe we should have another baby.’