Chapter 14

As the season of Renewal deepened, Gorg’s Mama planned a traditional Pregnancy Dance for Ebbie. Similar to baby showers on Earth, the pregnant party is honored, and the baby-to-be is gifted with many presents.

Unlike most Earth baby showers, the participants are all naked and perform a communal stomping dance around a giant Sacred Penis statue in the yard of the home. Every home has one, and most are patinaed with age, having stood in that spot for as long as the house was in existence.

For Ebbie’s Pregnancy Dance, he and Gorg stood side-by-side in front of the Sacred Penis while Gorg’s family stomped and sang in a circle moving around them. It was a joyous occasion that Ebbie was sure would bring him years of nightmares and possibly therapy in the future.

The season of Renewal passed, and they entered into the Little Death season. On Jizm, the seasons were all relatively mild, although it did get cold enough during Little Death for the leaves to change colors.

All the vehicles on Jizm were hovercrafts, which stayed low to the ground but rode so smoothly it felt as if they were riding on air. Which, of course, they were.

Gorg took Ebbie on a tour of the Wildlands, which were similar to what might be National Parks on Earth, to see the colorful foliage.

Ebbie was beside himself. The colors were gorgeous, every color of the rainbow represented, and a few colors for which he had no names in English. Gorg told him the names in Jizmite, but he couldn’t remember them, and frankly, it didn’t matter. All that did was how beautiful they were.

As Little Death drew to a close and the world readied itself to burst forth with new life in the season of Birth, so did Ebbie. His stomach swelled to the size of a beachball, so big he could balance his teacup and saucer on top of it.

That’s when the baby was sleeping, of course. When the baby was awake — which was almost all the time — he or she would either roll over, kick, or do headstands, and trying to balance anything on top of his stomach would be hazardous.

Every so often, a little hand or foot would push against Ebbie’s stomach, and he could clearly see the outline of tiny fingers and toes, with only a thin layer of skin separating his child from his hand. It was one of the most amazing experiences he’d ever had, and he knew he’d never forget it.

Ebbie got little sleep, though, because the baby was so active. He didn’t mind, not really. It was amazing to feel that beautiful life within him grow and move, and it was certainly worth losing a few hours of sleep over.

Except when the baby began to use his kidneys as punching bags. That hurt, and he had to pee so often that he debated whether he should either start wearing a diaper or just be done with it and wear a bodily fluid eliminator until he gave birth.

Worse, it was beginning to show in his temper. He grew crankier by the day, sniping at Gorg for the smallest of things, then was immediately apologetic.

“It’s alright, little love. It’s the stress of carrying the baby, that’s all. Who could blame you for being a little…irritable?” Gorg rubbed Ebbie’s shoulders and the small of his back, which often ached from counterbalancing the growing weight he carried in front.

“When will I know it’s time? I don’t see any evidence of a pouch on my stomach. What if I don’t form one? How will we get the baby out?” Panic seeped into Ebbie’s voice so sharply that even he could hear it. His voice went up an octave, too, until he sounded practically shrill.

“Mama! Mama! Come talk to Ebbie!” Gorg called. He was worried — it was written all over his face — and that worried Ebbie even more.

Gorg’s Mama hurried into the room. “What is it, boys? Is it the baby? Is it time?”

“No, it isn’t. Mama, what if I don’t develop a pouch? How will we get the baby out?” Ebbie cried, practically begging for an answer that would ease his worst fears.

“In that unlikely event, we shall call for the doctor who will do surgery to get the baby out,” Mama said matter-of-factly as if it was the simplest thing in the world to do.

“Mama! Don’t scare him more than he is already!” Gorg seemed horrified that his mother might suggest such a thing.

“No, Gorg, it’s alright. A C-section. Of course. They do them on Earth all the time. I should have thought of it myself. I’m sure it’ll be okay now,” Ebbie said. He was still terrified but knew he had to calm Gorg down. There was no use in both of them being scared shitless. One of them had to have his wits about him when the baby came.

And Ebbie seriously doubted it was going to be him.

As the Birth season progressed, Ebbie grew increasingly restless. He began nesting, upending all the drawers in the bedroom and repacking them neatly. He took out every stitch of clothing they’d bought for the baby and those given to them at the Great Pregnancy Dance and refolded them, refilling the chest of drawers they’d bought for the baby. He ordered Gorg to move the bedroom furniture around several times, finally settling on the exact order they’d started out with it in.

Finally, probably at wit’s end, Gorg decided a small outing was in order and took Ebbie on a day trip to see the Great Purple Inland Sea.

Ebbie was far more impressed than he’d expected to be.

It was as if someone had built a giant purple mountain and then melted it. The vast sea — Ebbie stood on the shore and squinted but couldn’t see to the other side — was indeed purple, but the water tasted sweet and clear. The sand was the finest sand he’d ever encountered, almost as fine as processed sugar, as white as snow, and tasted sweet with a hint of vanilla.

Although, after tasting a bit on the tip of his finger at Gorg’s urging, Ebbie declined to eat more. People were walking over that sand in their bare feet and dragging their bare tentacles through it, and planting their hot, sweaty butts on it! He was not putting any more of it in his mouth. Yuck.

They ate a picnic lunch — caught and prepared by Mama, for which Ebbie was grateful — on the white sand, enjoying the cool breeze coming off the purple sea.

The day was a good one, but when he got home, there was another surprise waiting, one he didn’t quite appreciate as much. Standing in one rounded corner of the living room was a tree. It wasn’t an evergreen — they didn’t grow on Jizm — but something similar. In a box next to it were all sorts of little doodads and trinkets.

“Since I didn’t have time to make gifts for the baby, Mama brought out the ones Papa made for me when she was pregnant with me. I thought you and I could hang them on the baby tree,” Gorg said.

He looked so hopeful that Ebbie couldn’t hurt his feelings. Gorg could call it a baby tree all he wanted — Ebbie knew what it was. They were going to have a Christmas tree whether Ebbie wanted one or not.

Actually, it was such a sweet thought, using trinkets and toys made for Gorg while he was still in the egg, that Ebbie didn’t mind at all.

They decorated the tree, carefully hanging the antique trinkets and doodads on the branches. There were teeny tiny bassinettes fashioned from splinters of wood and pieces of lace, balls of multi-colored blown glass, wee bottles of sugar sand, and others of purple water from the Great Purple Inland Sea. There were many things that, although Ebbie had no idea what they were, must’ve had sentimental value or meaning to Gorg and his family since he caught Mama wiping away a tear with a tentacle every now and then.

For the top of the tree, Gorg had another surprise for Ebbie. He’d brought the crystal star from the tree they’d decorated on Earth. He carefully placed it on the very top branch of the tree. “I’m sorry the tree doesn’t light up,” he said to Ebbie. “We don’t have singing lights like the ones on Earth, and I didn’t have time to try to have some made.”

“Oh, Gorg. It doesn’t need lights. This is the most beautiful Christmas tree I’ve ever seen. Thank you so much for it! You were right. I did need it, and I need the holidays, too. It’s perfect.” Ebbie burst into tears and then threw his arms around Gorg’s neck, hugging him tight.

“Isn’t that so sweet? Now, stop your crying, or we’ll all be crying,” Mama said, already weeping buckets of tears.

Even Papa’s eyes were moist, and he never cried, or so Gorg said later.

Suddenly, Ebbie froze. There was a razor-sharp pain in his gut, slicing across where his belly button was located. It hurt, so much so that for a moment, it stole the breath from his lungs.

“Ebbie? Are you okay?” Gorg asked. “Ebbie? You’ve gone pale. Ebbie, say something.”

“I need to sit down. No…I need to lay down. Now!” Ebbie cradled his stomach with both arms and, in a half-crouch, hurried to their bedroom, followed by Gorg, Mama, and Papa.

“Oh, I think it’s time!” Mama cried, her tentacles flailing in excitement. “Lie down on your back, Ebbie. Let me see.”

She lifted Ebbie’s shirt and exposed a fine red line traced across his stomach, transecting his belly button. “Oh, it’s begun! Quick, Papa, call all the egg brothers and sisters!”

“No! Mama, please! I don’t want all those people in here,” Ebbie cried. “Just Gorg, and you and Papa. Please? Everyone else can see the baby afterward.”

“Are you sure? That’s not usually the way it’s done here, but…if that’s what you want, Ebbie.” Mama nodded her agreement to Papa, and they both took a step back, letting Gorg get closer to Ebbie.

Gorg took Ebbie’s hand. “Just breathe, love. When the next pain hits, breathe through it.”

The subsequent pain was deeper and hurt worse, and breathing was the last thing Ebbie wanted to do. Instead, he yelled, cursing his life, his predicament, and most of all, Gorg for getting him into it in the first place.

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 use to 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.