"Waaaaaah! Waaaah! Waaaah!"

That sound...

"Waaah! Waah!"

Was that really...? Could it really be...?

"Nurse!" I heard Mr Ambrose bark a command. Over the buzzing in my ears, he sounded very far away. "Get over here!"

"Y-yes, Sir!"

"Waaah! Waaah!"

Yes! Yes, it could be! It was! I'd done it!

"I-is she all right?" I demanded. "Is she—"

"Here!" A beaming Nurse Selby deposited a squalling bundle in my arms. "He's beautiful, Ma'am."

He?

Blinking, I stared down at the adorable reddish radish of a face that peeked out between the folds of white linen. Finally, I pulled aside the blanket, and...she was right.

My baby wasn't an adorable little girl. He was a little macho tyrant in the making! A chief chauvinist-to-be, and...and...

And I couldn't care less. He was mine. He was a marvel. He was perfect.

As I stared at the ugly little face that was the most beautiful thing in the world, I felt a smile split my face apart. He was beautiful. So very beautiful. And what was even better...

"Waaah! Waaah!"

...he was healthy! He was bursting with energy! His vigorous balling was enough to tell me as much. Such a sweet, eardrum-torturing voice he had. I wonder what Mr Rikkard-Silence-Is-Golden-Ambrose was going to think of—

Thud!

A dull thumping sound tore me from my reverie, and I suddenly remembered. Mr Ambrose! He'd been there with me throughout it all! Unlike any other man would have, he'd toughed it out, more than that, he'd practically single-handedly delivered our baby! True, the entire time, he'd been an ice-cold, chauvinistic son of a bachelor...but he'd been there. He'd held my hand. He'd helped me through the hardest times. He'd been stronger than I ever thought a man could be.

He deserved to share this moment with me.

"Mr Ambrose...Rikkard, I..." I looked up, a tender, almost shy smile on my face—only to stop in mid-sentence, when I was faced with an empty room, sans a certain industrial magnate. "Um...Mr Ambrose?"

No answer.

"Mr Ambrose? Dicky Darling? Hello?"

Silence once more. Even Ambrose Junior was keeping quiet for some reason. Confused, I glanced over at the nurse, who gave me a nervous smile and pointed down. Straining to look over the side of the bed, I glanced down—and saw Mr Rikkard Ambrose, face ashen, eyes closed, flat out on the floor.

Before I could do so much as blink, the door at the other side of the room flew open with a crash. My head whipped around and, there in the doorway, stood Patsy Cusack and her happy horde of fellow feminists, a medical bag in one hand and an iron-tipped parasol in the other.

"We're here, no need to fear!" she proclaimed. "Now, where's my cute niece? And where is that bastard of a father of hers so I can beat him up?"

Turning back to the other side of the bed, I glanced down at the prone body on the floor. "Um...about that..."

***

"Awww...! He's just cuuuute! Cute with a capital C!"

"Coochie coochie coo! Coochie coochie coo!"

"'e's a boy. I don't think 'e's got a coochie."

"Not that kind of coochee, Amy!"

"Aah! Give him here! I can't help it anymore, I've got to cuddle him!"

"No, me first!

"No, me!"

"Um..." I cleared my throat, trying my best to gain the attention of the gaggle of women that surrounded my son's cradle in a circle—yet to no avail. "You do remember I'm still here, right?"

"Coochie coochie coo!" Eve exclaimed. Somehow, I doubt she was talking to me. "Oh, he's such a sweet baby!"

"And he also happens to be my baby," I added, just in case anyone might hear.

"Aww...I just want to cuddle him forever."

"No, me!"

"No, me, let me!"

I glanced over at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. "Tell me...have I suddenly become invisible?"

My darling husband didn't answer, probably because of his taciturn nature. Of course, it might also have had something to do with how he was still out cold on the floor.

Tut-tut...napping during a work day? How despicable, Mr Ambrose!

Turning towards the young woman beside me, I gave her a bright smile. "Nurse?"

"Um...yes, Ma'am?"

"Don't you think this room could use some brightening up? How about a nice vase of flowers?"

"Err...yes, Ma'am. You're quite right, Ma'am."

"Then why don't you be a dear and fetch one for me? And be sure to give the flowers enough water, please."

"Yes, Ma'am! Right away, Ma'am!"

The nurse hurried off, clearly eager to do anything for the poor pregnant lady. If only she knew my diabolical plan. Mwahahaha!

Shortly after, the nurse returned with a vase full of beautiful flowers.

"Give that here for a moment, will you?"

Before she could react, I snatched the vase and peeked inside. "Hm...a bit too much water, don't you think?"

"But, Ma'am, you said—"

"Yes, definitely too much water." I tilted the vase to the side, just enough for half of the contents to spill right on Mr Rikkard Ambrose's face.

"Blrgrpffft!"

"Ooops, how clumsy of me."

Sputtering and coughing, Mr Ambrose pushed himself up into a sitting position. "What the—!"

"Thank you so much." With a happy smile, I handed the vase back to the openly staring nurse. "They're very pretty flowers."

"Um...yes, Ma'am."

"Mrs Ambrose..." From his position on the floor, Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent me an arctic stare—only to be interrupted by a drop of water dangling from his eyebrow. "Did you just pour cold water on me?"

That was my cue! Making my lips tremble in despair, I reached out to clutch his hand.

"Y-yes, it was me. Help! Help, please! S-someone took my child."

He jerked, ice-cold fury flashing in his eyes. "What! Who?"

"Th-they c-came in and..." Swallowing, I did my best to pretend to suppress my tears. "Th-they took him. C-can you..."

"Consider it done." In a blink, he shot up from the floor. "Who are they? I'll take care of it."

Mwahahaha! Sucker!

"Why, thank you so much!" Beaming, I batted my eyelashes at him—then pointed at my gaggle of friends around the crib, led by Patsy with her steel-reinforced parasol. "They're over there."

Mr Rikkard Ambrose followed my outstretched arm with his gaze.

A moment of silence reigned over the room. Except for the cooing and baby giggles, that is. Then, slowly, very slowly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose turned back towards me.

"Mrs Ambrose...!"

"You promised," I reminded him. "And I remember you saying that a good businessman should never break his promises, right?"

His jaw worked for a moment—then his head jerked in what was the most reluctant nod in the history of head movements. "You, Mrs Ambrose, are a devious ifrit."

I beamed. "And proud of it! Now off with you into the baby battle!"

During the last few hours, there had been more than one point at which the pain I had felt had been so intense I thought I might want to die. But now, looking at Mr Rikkard Ambrose wading into battle for me, at my best friends tickling and spoiling my baby...

I had never been so glad to be alive.

***

Roughly five minutes later, I found myself in a fresh bed, inside a bright and cheerful room with a nice view of the bustling entrance hall through two large, arched windows. I had to give props to whoever picked the room. After what I had just experienced, watching this many people labouring so hard who weren't me was doing wonders for my soul.

I had wanted to come up here myself, but Karim had been rather insistent that a lady who had just given birth should not be marching up stairs. Instead, I, along with my new bed, had been pushed into a cargo elevator and rolled down a labyrinth of corridors until I had finally reached my new throne room, from whence I could now survey my kingdom.

Reaching out, I grabbed a cup of hot cocoa on the bedside table and took a long sip. Ah...this was the life.

My bliss was interrupted by the click of a door opening. Turning my head, I saw the stone-faced (and rather roughed-up) figure of Mr Rikkard Ambrose striding into the room, a bundle of blankets in his arms.

"Ah!" I exclaimed. "The valiant warrior returns!

He speared me with an icy gaze, and readjusted his top hat, which had been knocked askew in his scuffle with the fierce feminist baby snatchers.

"Never again, Mrs Ambrose," he stated. "Never ever again."

I grinned.

Oh yes, I was right earlier. Never so happy to be alive indeed.

When, however, a moment later, Mr Ambrose pressed a cheerfully giggling bundle into my arms and for the first time I got a really good look at the face of my child, I amended that statement. Did I think I'd been feeling happy before? It was nothing compared to how I felt now. Exhilarated. Ecstatic. Blissful.

"Hello there, little one," I whispered, tickling the reddish button nose sticking out from between the folds of linen. "I'm Lilly. What's your name?"

"Wah! Waaah!"

"That," Mr Ambrose stated from beside me in a tone that brooked no argument, "is not going to be his name. Don't even think about it, Mrs Ambrose."

I widened my eyes in innocence. "Would I ever do such a thing, Dicky Darling?"

The look he gave me in response...it almost seemed as if he doubted my integrity! What kind of distrustful scoundrel did I marry?

Probably the smart kind.

Quickly silencing that annoying inner voice of mine, I opened my mouth to extol the virtues of letting young people make their own decisions in life, even if those decisions might be to name themselves Waaah Waaah. However, just at that moment, the door to the room suddenly flew open and a certain band of baby-snatchers stormed in.

"There you are! We've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Just checking...are you talking to me," I pointed at the baby in my arms, "or him?"

In answer, I was enveloped by enough arms for an octopus.

"Congratulations, Lill!" My little sister Ella whispered, clearly fighting back tears.

"Yes, congratulations! He's so cute and tiny!" Patsy smirked. "Just like his father."

From Mr Ambrose beside me came a choking noise.

This...this warmth. So many of my friends here to hold me and support me...

Wiping a bit of moisture from the corner of my eye that was most definitely not a tear, I decided to forgive them their baby-napping. After all, why not? I had heard babies did a lot of napping anyway.

For a while, I simply continued to bask in my friends' hugs and congratulations. Then, however, I suddenly remembered what Mr Ambrose and I had just been discussing, and a brilliant idea occurred to me.

Throwing a look at Mr Ambrose out of the corner of my eye, I smiled at my two best friends, the fanatical feminist and the promiscuous prostitute. "Before you came, we were just discussing names. You wouldn't happen to have any amazing suggestions, would you?"

Beside me, Mr Ambrose stiffened.

-------------------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Regarding Amy's joke in the above chapter - while looking up the correct spelling of baby talk, I stumbled over an extremely weird fact: "Coochie", besides being an indispensable part of baby talk employed by parents, is also a slang term for a lady's private parts. Makes one wonder what kind of person came up with the idea of using a word such as this as baby talk.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob