Page 35 of Holidays are for Suckers
He bellowed at Gorg. “This is all your fault! As soon as this baby is born, I’m going to beat you with the bassinette!”
“Said every Mama or PawPaw who ever gave birth,” Mama whispered to Papa, although Ebbie heard her.
The next pain had Ebbie howling. The cut across his stomach was growing deeper, and blood was beginning to flow. Mama handed Gorg absorbent baby blankets that had been put aside for the purpose of stemming the flow of blood.
Just when Ebbie thought he couldn’t survive another wave of deepening pain, a miracle happened. A tiny hand pushed out of the slit in Ebbie’s belly. It was followed by a plump little tentacle.
“This is it, Gorg!” Papa sang out. “Birth your child!”
Ebbie screamed when Gorg, whose hands had been sterilized with a special liquid, slipped his hands inside Ebbie’s stomach and pulled out a red-covered, squirming baby.
“Oh! Oh, she’s beautiful! We have a little girl, Ebbie. A beautiful little girl.” Gorg used a soft blanket to wrap her in, then laid her on Ebbie’s chest.
The pain he’d suffered was instantly a thing of the past when Ebbie laid eyes on his newborn baby girl. He realized he would gladly suffer it many times over to have such a sweet little miracle in his life.
Mama made herself busy delivering the afterbirth and disposing of it for Ebbie. Ebbie barely noticed — his attention was riveted on his daughter.
His daughter! He had a daughter. He and Gorg had made a living creature, a wonderful, spectacular, miraculous being whom Ebbie knew he would protect with his very life.
Amazingly, the cut across Ebbie’s stomach began sealing itself. He would always carry the scar, of course, but the wound would be gone in minutes.
Not that he cared. All he cared about was the wriggling little girl on his chest. “Does she have tentacles?”
“All eight present and accounted for,” beamed Gorg. “And two arms and two legs and ten fingers and ten toes. She’s perfect.”
“What should we call her?” Ebbie asked.
“On Jizm, it is the PawPaw’s right to name the child.” Gorg smiled at Ebbie. “What name do you think we should give her?”
“Well…considering how much you love the holidays… How about Holly? It’s a name associated with the holidays on Earth. It’s the red berries in the evergreen boughs we useto decorate. It also is associated with strength, resilience, and beauty.”
“I love that name! Little Holly.” He picked the baby up in his arms and turned toward his parental units. “Mama, Papa, may I present to you Holly, your newest grandbaby.”
“Now, may we bring in Gorg’s egg brothers and sisters?” Mama asked Ebbie.
Ebbie reached for his baby girl and cuddled her close. “Yes. I guess it’s time for Holly to meet the family.”
As he waited for the egg brothers and sisters to file into the room, he began to sing to his baby very softly, almost under his breath. “Have a holly jolly Christmas, it’s the best time of the year…”
Holidays, he decided, were not for suckers after all. They were for lovers, for family, and for sweet, newborn baby girls with blue eyes and iridescent tentacles. They were for egg brothers and sisters like Hivery and Listeria and the rest whose names he didn’t yet know.
They were for Mamas and Papas and PawPaws. They were for the dreamers, the hard cases, the ones who believed and the ones who didn’t. The holidays were for everyone to celebrate in whatever way they saw fit.
He smiled as he watched Gorg beam at their baby. Gorg loved the holidays so much that Ebbie couldn’t wait to see what Gorg would do with Easter and Thanksgiving. Maybe roll them all up into one jumbo holiday, where Santa wore rabbit ears, and they served some Jizmite version of turkey for dinner.
If they were fast enough to catch it, that is.
Then there was always Bloober Day to look forward to.
