Page 25 of Barbells, Broomsticks & A Baby

She withdraws a tiny crystal vial from her pocket, filled with a shimmering golden liquid. “One drop on her forehead before bedtime should suffice.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely, accepting the vial, “For everything, Mother. These past few days... You’ve been incredibly helpful.”

She waves away my gratitude with a dismissive gesture, but there’s a faint flush of pleasure on her cheeks. “I’m a grandmother now,” she says, as if this explains everything. “It’s my prerogative to be useful.”

A soft whimper from the crib indicates Lyra is waking, and all attention immediately shifts to her. As Atlas gently lifts her, her eyes open fully, revealing irises of swirling silver and purple, a perfect blend of her parents’ magical signatures. “Hello, little philosopher,” he murmurs, cradling her against his chest. “Did you have inspiring dreams?”

Lyra responds by waving her tiny fists, sending small sprays of purple and silver sparks into the air. The mobile above her crib begins to spin of its own accord, and the stuffed animals arranged along the nursery shelf perform a brief, synchronized dance before settling back into immobility. Mr. Snuggles spins in a circle three times and lets out a puff of smoke before curling up to go back to sleep, once again appearing to be just a stuffed animal.

“Someone’s feeling energetic,” I say with a smile.

“And hungry, I suspect,” my mother adds. “That particular magical signature often indicates a need for nourishment.”

Within moments, Lyra’s face scrunches up in preparation for a demanding wail. Atlas hands her to me as my breasts gently orient toward Lyra’s position with a small tug, and I settle into the rocking chair to feed her.

As Lyra nurses contentedly, her magic sinks into a gentle glow that surrounds us both like a protective cocoon. My mother watches for a moment, then discreetly withdraws from the nursery, leaving Atlas and me alone with our daughter.

“Your mother is warming to me,” he says quietly, perching on the window seat nearby.

“I’ve noticed. I think she’s impressed by your philosophical quotes and your extensive reading on magical childcare. She respects knowledge and preparation.”

“And perhaps she’s realizing that love takes many forms?” He smiles. “Some less conventional than others.”

I look up from Lyra’s peaceful face to my husband, who defies all stereotypes, combines physical strength with intellectual depth, and handles both ancient philosophical texts and newborn diapers with equal competence. “I’m so glad we met.”

“Technically, you walked into my gym first,” he reminds me with a smile. “Looking for troll sweat, if I recall correctly.”

“For a fertility potion.” I laugh quietly. “Life has a sense of irony.”

“Or purpose,” he suggests. “As Marcus Aurelius said, ‘Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.’”

“For once, I think your philosopher has it exactly right,” I say, looking down at our daughter’s perfect face. “With all my heart indeed.”

***

THE FOLLOWING MORNINGbrings our first visitors—a carefully selected few friends allowed past my mother’s protective screening at the door. Bella arrives first, bearing enchanted pastries that adjust their flavors to match the eater’s nutritional needs. Hecate trots behind her, jumping onto the side of the bassinet with a little magic and nods approvingly after sniffing her. “Excellent addition to Evershift Haven,” she says knowingly before jumping down.

“Oh, she’s gorgeous.” Bella takes Hecate’s place, leaning over the bassinet, where Lyra sleeps. “Look at those little fingers, and that silvery hair! Oh, and she’s already casting dream sparkles.”

Sure enough, tiny motes of magical light drift upward from Lyra’s sleeping form, creating miniature constellations that hover briefly before dissolving.

“Dream manifestation already,” says my mother with poorly concealed pride. “Most magical children don’t display that ability until at least three months.”

“She’s advanced,” Bella says diplomatically, “Though my cousin’s twins turned their crib into a sailing ship at two days old, so magical babies can be full of surprises.”

Atlas, who has been hovering protectively near the bassinet, finally relaxes enough to offer Bella tea. As they chat, my mother pulls me aside.

“I’ve been considering my departure date,” she says without preamble.

My heart sinks unexpectedly. Despite our complicated relationship and the tension of her visit, the thought of her leaving creates a hollow feeling I hadn’t anticipated. “Oh?” I manage. “I thought you planned to stay a month.”

“That was the original plan, but you seem to have things well in hand here. The baby is thriving, your recovery is progressing normally, and your household appears...functional.”

This last word, from my mother, is high praise indeed for the home Atlas and I have created.

“You’re welcome to stay,” I surprise myself by saying. “Lyra should have time to get to know her grandmother.”

My mother appears surprised by this invitation. “You want me to stay?”

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