Written for the December challenge at forxriver-fic with the prompt "Twas the night before Christmas...". Thanks to happywriter06 for the beta.
It was the night before Christmas when his daughter was born. He’d been waiting for endless hours in a blue and green room, his sole company a small Christmas tree and the erratic visits of a nurse giving him updates – everything was just fine; there were a few complications, nothing too serious, nothing to worry about; they really couldn’t tell him anything right now; fine, fine, you don’t worry, they’re just fine; both of them were safe and sound and looked pretty happy for what it was worth.
Years later, he would still be condemning to Hell the Sixties and their way of keeping men out of delivery rooms.
In the end, they finally – finally – let him into Anna’s room. Anna looked exhausted and glowing altogether, and she put what looked like a bundle of fabric in his arms. He had never been the kind of guy to believe in miracles, but she was there, and she was pink and soft and just perfect, her light breath warming up the cold and rough skin of his hand, and he thought that maybe... If miracles were bound to happen, what better night than the night before Christmas, right?