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Rumple sees their son first and Milah resents him quietly for it. She never throws that in his face and is fully aware that the little bit of jealousy she has towards him is petty, but she can't help it. After nine months of being patted, congratulated and lectured by strangers, and of handling changes she didn't even know her body could handle, when the time finally arrives they don't even allow her a natural birth. They want to cut her open, as if her baby were an inflamed appendix.
Aunties Fauna and Flora insist it will be safer and Dr. Whale knows what he is talking about, but Milah just feels like a failure. This isn't how women are supposed to have babies. Her own mother (as she liked to remind Milah repeatedly) suffered through eighteen hours of labor, and Milah still ended up hating the crazy bitch. She can only hope her child won't resent her for it, on top of everything else.
Teenage mom with a bad reputation. Resentful grandfather who'd like nothing more than to kick them out of town. Unemployed father with no prospects and nothing more than a high school diploma to show for himself.
“I didn't think this through,” she whispers when the anesthesia starts making her drowsy.
“It's alright, love,” Rumple whispers back, and she can barely hear his voice behind the mask. God, the whole thing is so clinical. It's not the way she wanted it to be. None of it is.
“I should have waited,” she weeps. “It's too soon. I should have waited.”
“Too late for that now, honey,” says one of the nurses, doing her best to sound judgmental, despite the fact that both are married and of age. It's only been a month, but, by all accounts, they are doing things properly.
Rumple throws the nurse an angry look but says nothing, as it's his way of handling things. He's a bit of a coward. He's full of good intentions, but he's even more lost than she is.
Milah cries. On the other side of the sheet, they have started to cut her.
“He's going to resent me.”
“She won't resent you, Milah.”
She wants a boy and he wants a girl. Milah is terrified of having a girl. She'd be a terrible mother to a girl. Her daughter would very likely end up like her, and it wouldn't take her eighteen years.
Milah cannot handle medication, a trait she shares with her husband, and the anesthesia that is supposed to make her numb and drowsy puts her out completely. They take her child and she isn't even awake to see it.
She wakes up to Rumple's soft voice, saying, “Your Papa is here.” It feels like losing a race, as petty as that may sound.
Her husband hands the baby over as soon as she's strong enough to ask for him – a boy! She knew it would be a boy!
“He's beautiful,” Rumple says, choking up. “Thank you.”
“Sorry it's not a girl,” she jokes.
“Don't say you're sorry. He's perfect. My boy.” He passes an arm around her and strokes the tiny, delicate head with his thumb. “The most beautiful boy.”
He's crying more than she is and Milah finds it endearing. He is a good man. He's trying his best. And he will never, ever leave them.
“I want to call him Baelfire,” Milah says.
Rumple is puzzled for only one second, but instead of saying it's quite an unusual name, he beams with pride, “A strong name.”
“It was my grandfather's name,” Milah says. “He was good to me.” She coddles her son and says, “Hi, Bae. I'm your mommie,” and the title feels very natural to her.
She will be a good mother. She will give Bae the most wonderful childhood she never had. Bae will never hate her the way she hates her mother. Bae will be her sweet little baby forever.