This is a collection of links to various posts concerning fundraisers I've vetted and instructions on how to submit fundraisers to me. These are primarily ones for Ghazzan families although some fundraisers for Sudanese families are also listed (I'm more familiar with my own country's politics and dialect and am more capable of vetting fundraisers for Palestinians as a result). Each post will have a time stamp indicating the latest date of update. And fundraisers will have colour-coded disclaimers according to the particularities of their case.
I know that people do not like clicking on links or navigating between posts, but please actually look through these posts and choose a fundraiser to donate to. Please.
Instructions on how to submit a fundraiser. (for those not Ghazzan)
تعليمات لتقديم طلب توثيق و نشر حملات التبرعات الخاصة بالغزاويين و عائلاتهم (للغزاويين فقط)
ملاحظة خاصة نشر الحملات.
List of fundraisers for my direct contacts from Ghazzah & Sudan. - PRIORITY.
Vetted family evacuation fundraisers list 1. - Particularities Listed.
Vetted family evacuation fundraisers list 2. - Particularities Listed.
Unvetted but highly likely legitimate fundraisers.
it does suck that the government defunded PBS but it's also so fucking funny that now that they don't take uncle sam's slavery dollars they're running videos like "How america's foundation was built on genocide"
Nader is a young adult. He just turned 18 this year. He's had to sacrifice all of his dreams and comforts due to the escalating genocidal occupation of Gaza by the zionist project. His house was destroyed, his education was taken from him, and he has become the sole provider for his family of 8 through fundraising on tumblr. I want you to think about that weight. To be made responsible for the survival of your whole family as a teenager, and for this to depend on getting and maintaining the attention of people in the global north every day for years.
Israel has systematically worked to disable the population, and to destroy all means for disabled people to survive. Nader's father has experienced his health conditions become increasingly severe. He has stents in the main arteries of his heart due to blocked arteries. He was diagnosed with bladder cancer and needs surgery to remove a tumor. However, medical evacuation from Gaza is extremely expensive. Coordination costs can be over $12,000 per person, and Nader's father cannot make this journey alone.
Earlier today, Nader's father had to be brought to the Intensive Care Unit at their nearest hospital. He is now on life support. The systematic destruction of Gaza's healthcare system has left 94% of hospitals destroyed, and none of the remaining 36 are able to operate at full capacity. There are medicine and medical supply shortages. In this state, healthcare bills for this care are even more expensive. Please help Nader (@naderalanqar2007) to raise funds to save his father's life, and to support his family through this traumatic situation.
My father is suffering, and our lives are very difficult. I'm a borderline player, and about two weeks ago, my main blog was deleted, which has made our financial situation extremely difficult. For some time now, I've been trying to recover my blogs and create new ones, but Tumblr keeps deleting them or blocking messages from them. Please donate now. We haven't received any donations for about 14 days. We need a lot of money to pay my father's medical bills. I beg you, please donate.
Nader urgently needs help right now because his blogs keep getting deleted. Please follow his blog and donate to him and his father. Contribute whatever you can. If each of my followers donated $10, we would raise a great amount to help Nader and his family.
If you rely on a hidden phone for your safety, be aware that Australia’s new emergency warning system, AusAlert, can send alerts that override silent and “Do Not Disturb” settings.
If safe to do so, turn off any hidden device before the scheduled test and only switch it back on after the test period has ended.
A national test alert will be sent at 2pm (AEST) on 27 July 2026.
Request - so... hurt/comfort wise...how do you feel about any male character and new mama!reader where the baby favors their dad, and she feels unworthy of being called a mom or like she wants at least one thing to be hers bc the baby has everything else of their father (except maybe their nose and skin tone). AND THEN FLUFF AT THE END BECAUSE THEIR FIRST STEPS WERE TOWARDS HER! :)
The first thing people noticed about your daughter was her eyes. They were Robby’s eyes. Dark and warm, framed by thick lashes that somehow looked unfairly long on a ten-month-old baby.
The second thing people noticed was her hair. Those same dark curls that had started appearing when she was barely six months old now sat in soft wisps around her tiny face, forever falling into her eyes and forever making everyone laugh because she looked exactly like her father after a twelve-hour shift.
And then there was the expression. That little furrow between her brows. That look of deep concentration whenever she was trying to figure something out. That tiny pout.
All Robby.
You had heard it so many times by now that you could practically recite it yourself.
“Oh my goodness, she’s his twin.”
“Look at that face. That’s all Dr. Robinavich.”
“You copied and pasted your husband, didn’t you?”
You laughed every time. Because you loved your husband. You loved his smile, his eyes, his ridiculous humor and his stubborn streak. Of course you didn’t mind that your daughter looked like him. At least, you hadn’t.
Now, though…
Now it seemed to be all anyone said. You sat on a blanket spread across your living room floor while your daughter played with stacking cups, her tiny fingers trying—and failing—to fit one inside the other. She looked up at you, serious and determined. Exactly like her father. Your mother smiled from the couch.
“She gets that concentration from Robby.”
You smiled back.
“Maybe.”
“No, honey. That’s definitely him.”
Your daughter squealed when one of the cups rolled away, then immediately started crawling after it. Your mother laughed.
“Oh, look at that. Even the way she crawls reminds me of him.”
You blinked. Even the way she crawls? How exactly did one crawl like another person? But you didn’t say anything. You simply smiled.
Again.
Because people meant well. Because they loved your little girl. Because none of this should bother you. Your daughter finally captured the runaway cup and held it triumphantly above her head. Your mother reached down and scooped her up.
“There’s Daddy’s little clone.”
You looked down at your hands. Little clone. Your husband walked into the living room then, having just gotten home from the hospital, still wearing scrubs and looking exhausted.
The second your daughter spotted him, she lit up. Actually lit up. Her entire face changed. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and she let out a squeal so loud it made everyone laugh.
“Dada!”
Your mother’s face softened.
“Oh, look at her.”
Robby grinned despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
“Hey, bug.”
Your daughter nearly launched herself from your mother’s lap. Robby quickly crossed the room and took her, and she immediately wrapped her tiny hands around his neck. He laughed softly.
“How’s my girl.”
She buried her face against him. You swallowed. Your mother smiled again.
“She’s such a daddy’s girl.”
There it was. Again. Daddy’s girl. Robby didn’t seem to notice. He kissed the side of your daughter’s head and sat beside you on the blanket.
“How was she today?”
“Good,” you answered.
“Only good?”
You smiled softly. “She threw peas at the television.”
He nodded solemnly.
“That’s my girl.”
Your daughter giggled. You laughed too. But something in your chest tightened. Because of course she giggled for him. Because of course she reached up and patted his cheek. Because of course she looked so content in his arms.
You hated yourself a little for even thinking it. Because this was good. This was beautiful. This was exactly what you wanted.
A husband who adored his daughter. A daughter who adored her father. So why did it hurt?
******
Later that night, after dinner and bath time, the three of you sat in the nursery. The room glowed softly from the nightlight shaped like a moon. Your daughter sat between you and Robby in footie pajamas covered in little stars. Robby held up one of her books.
“Again?”
She slapped the cover enthusiastically.
“Again.”
He laughed.
“You’re really milking this whole reading thing.”
She grinned. You watched them quietly. Watched your husband do the voices. Watched your daughter laugh at every single one. Watched the way she looked at him. Like he hung the stars themselves. And God…you loved them.
You loved them so much your chest ached. The story ended, and your daughter immediately reached for him.
“Dada.”
He smiled.
“One more cuddle, huh?”
She nodded. You looked away. You didn’t mean to. You just… did. Robby didn’t notice. He was too busy tucking her against his chest.
Eventually it was bedtime. You stood and held out your arms.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Your daughter looked at you. Then immediately turned back toward her father.
“Dada.”
You froze. Robby chuckled softly.
“I know. Momma’s no fun.”
The words were innocent. A joke. But they landed harder than they should have. He stood and gently transferred her into your arms. She whined. Actually whined. Little hands reaching back toward him.
“Dada.”
Your throat tightened.
“She’s okay,” Robby said softly.
You nodded. Of course she was okay. She was just tired. Babies did this. You knew that. You knew that. Still…
Still, as you carried her into her room and settled into the rocking chair, something deep inside you cracked just a little. She curled against your chest, sleepy and warm. Beautiful. Perfect. You brushed your fingers through her dark curls. You touched her little cheek. Her father’s eyes. Her father’s expressions. Her father’s smile. Your eyes burned.
“What did you get from me, huh?” you whispered.
She blinked sleepily. You smiled through the sting in your throat.
“You’ve got my nose.”
She yawned.
“And maybe my love of sleep.”
Silence. You kissed her forehead.
“But everything else is your daddy.”
She made a soft little noise and tucked herself closer. You looked down at her and suddenly felt something you hated.
Jealousy.
Not of your husband. Never of him. But of how easily everyone seemed to see him in her. Because no one ever seemed to see you. No one ever said she had your smile. Or your laugh. Or your kindness. You had carried her. Loved her before you ever saw her. Brought her into this world. And somehow, lately… it felt like you were disappearing from the picture.
A tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly. The nursery door creaked open. Robby leaned against the frame, looking tired and beautiful and completely unaware that your heart was quietly breaking.
“Everything okay?”
You looked up and smiled. A practiced smile.
“Yeah.”
He studied you for a moment. Then smiled back.
“She asleep?”
You looked down. Your daughter had finally drifted off, one tiny hand still fisted in your shirt.
“Almost.”
He nodded.
“I’ll make some tea.”
“Okay.”
He disappeared down the hallway. You looked back at your daughter. Then down at that little hand clutching your shirt. Your chest tightened again. Because even now…even now…you couldn’t help but wonder if she was only holding on because you happened to be the one rocking her. And not because you were her momma.
******
The next few days only seemed to make it worse. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. That was the terrible part. No one was trying to hurt your feelings. No one even knew your feelings were hurt. But somehow every little thing seemed to dig the hole a little deeper.
You and Robby took your daughter to brunch that Saturday morning with a few friends from the hospital. It had been months since you’d seen everyone, and they practically descended on your little family the second you walked through the restaurant doors.
“Oh my God, she’s gotten so big!”
“Look at those cheeks!”
“Those curls!”
Dana was the first one to scoop her up, grinning from ear to ear.
“I haven’t seen this kid in months. Let me look at you.”
Your daughter blinked up at her. Then smiled. Dana gasped dramatically.
“Okay, first of all, she’s adorable. Second of all…” She looked at Robby. “I swear you cloned yourself.”
Everyone laughed. You smiled. Again.
“Seriously,” one of the nurses said. “She has your whole face, Robby.”
“I feel bad for her then,” he deadpanned.
Another round of laughter. Dana adjusted your daughter on her hip.
“No, look at this little expression.” She pointed at the baby. “That’s him. That’s the exact look he gives people when they’re annoying him.”
You glanced over.nUnfortunately… she wasn’t wrong. Even you had to laugh a little.mYour daughter looked at Robby then, her entire face brightening.
“Dada!”
“There it is,” Dana said. “She’s obsessed with you.”
“I know,” Robby sighed dramatically. “It’s exhausting being this popular.”
She giggled and reached for him. He took her without hesitation, kissing her temple.
You took a sip of your coffee. Then another. The conversation moved on, but you found yourself growing quieter. Because no one had looked at her and said she had your smile. No one had said she had your laugh. No one had even said she had your nose. She was simply… Robby’s.
And you hated yourself for caring. You really did. Because what kind of mother gets jealous over something so silly? You should be happy. You were happy.nWeren’t you?
“Hey.”
You blinked. Robby was looking at you.
“You okay?”
You smiled immediately.
“Of course.”
He frowned slightly.
“You got quiet.”
“I’m just tired.”
He studied you for another second before nodding.
“Okay.”
Then your daughter leaned over and patted his cheek.bHe smiled at her instantly.nAnd somehow, ridiculously, that made your chest ache.
******
The drive home was quiet. Your daughter had fallen asleep in her car seat, one hand still clutching the stuffed giraffe she’d been carrying around all week. Robby glanced over from the driver’s seat.
“You sure you’re okay?”
You looked out the window.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you say you’re fine but your voice goes all weird.”
You almost laughed.
“That’s very scientific, Doctor.”
“I’m an excellent diagnostician.”
You finally looked at him. He smiled softly. You returned it, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. His smile faded.
“Talk to me.”
You looked back out the window.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
He didn’t push. Which somehow made you feel worse.
******
A few days later, he got called into the hospital for a few hours. Some staffing issue. A physician had called out sick. He’d kissed your forehead, apologized profusely, and promised he wouldn’t be gone long. So it was just you and your daughter that afternoon.
You sat on the living room floor while she played. Or rather…while she destroyed the living room. Blocks were everywhere. Books had somehow ended up under the coffee table. One sock had disappeared entirely. You watched her crawl toward the television stand.
“No, ma’am.”
She ignored you. You gently turned her around. She blinked. Then immediately went right back toward it. You laughed softly.
“You’re stubborn.”
She looked up. And for one beautiful second, you thought maybe…Maybe there it was. Maybe that was yours. Because you were stubborn too.
Then she scrunched her face. Exactly like Robby. And the thought disappeared. You sighed. Your daughter crawled back over and pulled herself up against your legs. You smiled and brushed her curls away from her eyes.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
She grinned.
“Dada.”
Your smile faltered.nYour husband had only been gone for forty minutes.
“Dada?”
She looked around.
“Dada.”
“Oh.” You swallowed. “He’s at work.”
“Dada.”
“I know.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Dada?”
Your chest tightened. You picked her up. She immediately twisted in your arms, looking around the room.
“Dada.”
“I know, baby.”
Your voice sounded strange. She looked at you. Then back toward the hallway.
“Dada.”
You hugged her a little closer.
“I’m right here.”
She blinked. Then rested her head against your shoulder. You closed your eyes. Because she was cuddling you. She wanted comfort. She was perfectly happy. But your brain was being cruel today. All you could hear was that tiny little voice asking for him. Asking for her father. Not her mother. Not you.
Your eyes burned. You sat down in the rocking chair by the window and held her close. She played with the sleeve of your sweater.
Eventually she looked up at you. A tiny smile. You smiled back.
“Hi.”
She touched your cheek. Your heart melted.
“Dada.”
You looked away before the tears could come.
******
When Robby got home that evening, she nearly launched herself out of your arms.
“Dada!”
He laughed, dropping his bag.
“Whoa there.”
She reached for him desperately. You handed her over. Because of course you did. And because you loved seeing them together. But tonight…tonight it hurt. Robby kissed her cheek.
“Miss me?”
She babbled happily. He looked over at you.
“You two survive without me?”
You forced a smile.
“Barely.”
He chuckled. Then paused. Because your smile disappeared too quickly.
“Hey.”
You busied yourself gathering toys.
“Can you grab her dinner plate?”
A beat of silence.
“Sure.”
You nodded. You didn’t look at him. Because if you did…you might cry.
******
That night, after your daughter was asleep, you found yourself standing in the nursery doorway. The moon-shaped nightlight cast a soft glow over the room. She slept peacefully, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Dark curls spread across the mattress.
She looked so much like him. You stepped closer. Sat beside the crib. And just watched her. Your beautiful girl. The baby you had prayed for. The baby you loved so much it physically hurt.
A tear slid down your cheek. Then another.
“I don’t know why this is bothering me so much,” you whispered.
Your voice trembled.
“I know you’re mine too.”
You reached through the slats and touched her tiny hand.
“But everyone sees your daddy.”
Another tear slipped free.
“And I…” You swallowed hard. “I just want one thing that’s mine.”
The words hung in the quiet room. You immediately felt guilty. Ashamed. Selfish. Your daughter stirred softly but didn’t wake. You wiped your face. Took a shaky breath. Then whispered the thing you hadn’t dared say out loud before.
“I don’t know if I’m enough for you.”
The nursery was silent. And somehow…that silence felt unbearably loud. You didn’t hear the floor creak behind you. You didn’t hear the bedroom door open. So you had no idea that your husband was standing in the hallway. And that he had heard every single word.
******
The first thing you noticed was the warmth. A hand. Large and familiar. Resting gently against the back of your neck. You startled, turning quickly.
Robby stood there in the doorway of the nursery, his face soft in the dim glow of the nightlight. His hair was still damp from his shower, a gray T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, and yet there was something in his expression that made your heart sink. He’d heard you. Every bit of it.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
You immediately wiped beneath your eyes.
“Hi.”
Neither of you moved. Then his gaze flickered to your face.
“You’ve been crying.”
You looked back at your daughter.
“I’m okay.”
He sighed softly.
“No, you’re not.”
The words were gentle, not accusing. That somehow made them worse. You looked down at your hands. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your daughter’s soft breathing.
Then the mattress shifted as Robby sat down beside you. He didn’t speak right away. He simply slid his hand over yours. Waited. You knew that patience. You’d seen him use it with frightened patients and grieving families and nervous residents. He never forced. He just… stayed.
“How long?” he finally asked.
You frowned.
“What?”
“How long have you been feeling like this?”
You swallowed.
“Robby…”
“How long?”
His voice remained soft, but there was something underneath it now. Concern. You stared at your sleeping daughter.
“I don’t know.”
He squeezed your hand. You let out a shaky breath.
“A while.”
A beat.
“A few weeks maybe.”
He was quiet for so long that you finally looked at him. And your heart broke a little. Because he looked devastated. Not angry. Not confused. Devastated.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
You tried to laugh. It came out watery.
“Because it sounds ridiculous.”
“Sweetheart.”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does,” you insisted, your voice cracking. “She’s a baby, Robby. She can’t help who she looks like.”
“I know.”
“And I love that she looks like you.”
“I know.”
“But…”
Your throat tightened.
“But?”
You looked away. The tears started all over again
“I don’t know.”
“Talk to me.”
You shook your head.
“I can’t even explain it.”
“Try.”
The word was so gentle. So patient. You let out a trembling breath.
“I just…”
Your voice faltered. Robby’s thumb rubbed softly across your knuckles.
“I carried her for nine months.”
Your eyes stayed on the crib.
“I felt every kick. Every hiccup. I was sick and exhausted and swollen and miserable and I would’ve done it all again because I wanted her so badly.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“And now she’s here and everyone looks at her and all they see is you.”
You laughed shakily through your tears.
“She has your eyes. Your hair. Your smile. Your expressions. Your little grumpy face.”
A tiny smile touched his mouth despite himself. You looked at him.
“I can’t even blame them because they’re right.”
“Hey.”
“No, they are.”
You looked back at your daughter.
“And I know it’s stupid, but…”
Your voice broke completely.
“I just wanted one thing.”
The room went still.
“One thing that was mine.”
Robby’s face crumpled. You covered your mouth with your hand.
“I know how selfish that sounds.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“It really doesn’t.”
You shook your head.
“It feels like she has everything of yours.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“And I know she loves me, I know she does, but lately…” You swallowed hard. “Lately I feel like I’m just… there.”
Robby’s hand tightened around yours.
“You’re not just there.”
You looked at him then. Your eyes were red. Tired.
“I don’t even feel like I’m her favorite parent.”
The words hung in the air. You laughed softly, miserably.
“Listen to me. I sound insane.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t, I promise.”
Your chin trembled.
“Sometimes…” You looked away again. “Sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m a very good mom.”
Silence. Absolute silence.
“What?”
You blinked. Robby was staring at you. Actually staring. Like you’d just spoken another language.
“Where did that come from?”
You shrugged helplessly.
“I don’t know.”
“No.”
His voice had changed. Still gentle. But firmer now.
“You don’t get to throw something like that out there and then say you don’t know.”
You looked down.
“Look at me.”
You didn’t. A hand came up, fingers gently tipping your chin upward.
“Look at me.”
You did. And your heart squeezed. Because he looked heartbroken.
“You think you’re not a good mom?”
A fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks.
“I don’t know.”
“Sweetheart.”
“I don’t know.”
“You are the best mother I have ever seen.”
You shook your head immediately.
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I don’t even think she likes me most days.”
His eyebrows shot upward.
“Are you kidding me?”
You sniffled.
“Robby…”
“No, seriously. Are you kidding me?”
You stared at him. He looked completely bewildered. Like the idea itself made no sense.
“She cries when you leave the room.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“She follows you around the house.”
“She’s a baby.”
“She lights up when you sing to her.”
You opened your mouth. He kept going.
“She calms down the second you pick her up.”
“Robby—”
“She reaches for you all the time.”
“Not like she does for you.”
He stared at you. Then his expression softened.
“Oh.”
Just one word. But suddenly he understood. Understood all of it. The reaching. The asking for him. The daddy’s girl comments. Everything. You looked away.
“I know it’s ridiculous.”
“No.”
“It is.”
“No, sweetheart.”
He shifted closer.
“So this is about her asking for me.”
You said nothing.
“So this is about everyone saying she looks like me.”
Your eyes filled again.
“I just…” Your voice trembled. “I wanted one thing that belonged to me.”
The room fell quiet. You looked back at your daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib.
“So much of motherhood already feels like giving pieces of yourself away,” you whispered. “Your body changes. Your time changes. Your whole life changes. And I would do it all again because I love her.”
Your lip trembled.
“But I just wanted one little thing.”
You looked at him.
“Just one.”
Tears spilled down your cheeks.
“And I don’t know why that makes me feel so awful.”
For a long moment, Robby said absolutely nothing. Then he reached for you. You went willingly. Because you always did. He pulled you into his chest, and the second his arms wrapped around you, you broke. A sob escaped you. Then another.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, holding you tighter.
Your face buried in his shirt.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
“This.”
He kissed the top of your head.
“You never have to apologize for telling me you’re hurting.”
“I feel stupid.”
“You aren’t.”
“I do.”
His hand moved slowly up and down your back.
“You know what I think?”
You sniffled.
“What?”
“I think you’ve been carrying this around by yourself for way too long.”
You closed your eyes. Because unfortunately…he was right. And as he held you there in the soft glow of the nursery, your daughter sleeping peacefully a few feet away, you had a feeling your husband wasn’t finished.
Not even close.
******
For a long while, neither of you moved. Robby simply held you. One hand rested at the back of your head while the other slowly rubbed up and down your spine, the same soothing motion he’d used countless times over the years whenever life became too heavy. Your tears eventually quieted, leaving behind only the occasional sniffle. Still, he didn’t let go. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear. Steady. Familiar. Home.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered again.
Immediately, his hand paused. Then he tipped his head back just enough to look down at you.
“If you apologize one more time, I’m going to be offended.”
A tiny laugh escaped you. It sounded watery and broken.
“There’s a little laugh,” he murmured.
You rolled your eyes weakly and pulled back enough to wipe your face.
“I’ve cried all over your shirt.”
“I own more than one.”
“You like this shirt.”
“I do.”
“And I ruined it.”
“You absolutely did.”
A soft huff of laughter escaped you. He smiled. Then his expression gentled again.
“Can I say something?”
You nodded.
“You don’t get to decide what makes you important to her.”
You frowned.
“What?”
He brushed a strand of hair from your face.
“You don’t get to decide that because she has my eyes or my face, somehow I’m more important to her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
You looked down. A finger slipped beneath your chin.
“Look at me.”
You did. He looked almost… offended. Not at you. At the idea.
“You carried her for nine months.”
Your eyes softened.
“You grew her.”
He brushed his thumb across your cheek.
“You gave birth to her.”
A second tear slid free.
“You are the reason she exists.”
You swallowed.
“Robby—”
“No. Let me finish.”
There was no bite in his voice. Only gentle insistence.
“You know what our daughter knew before she knew my face?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“Your heartbeat.”
You went still.
“She knew your voice.”
His hand settled against your cheek.
“She knew the way you laughed.”
Another tear escaped.
“She knew how you sounded when you talked to her in the middle of the night because you thought I was asleep.”
You let out a soft, surprised breath. He smiled.
“I wasn’t, by the way.”
“You were supposed to be sleeping.”
“I know.”
A tiny laugh escaped him.
“You’d put your hand on your stomach and tell her all these things.”
Your eyes filled all over again.
“You’d tell her about the world and how much you loved her and how excited you were to meet her.”
You looked down.
“I remember.”
“I do too.”
Silence settled between you. Then he gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.
“She knew you before she knew anyone else.”
Your chin trembled.
“Even me.”
The tears came again. Not hard this time. Just quietly.
“You are her first home.”
You covered your mouth. Robby’s expression softened even more.
“And sweetheart… she doesn’t reach for me because she loves you less.”
You looked at him.
“Then why does she always want you?”
He smiled softly.
“Because you are always here.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“I leave.”
You blinked.
“I go to work.” He shrugged lightly. “Sometimes for twelve hours. Sometimes longer.”
Your eyes stayed on his.
“You are her constant.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“When I come home, it’s exciting.”
He smiled sadly.
“I’m the fun thing that just walked through the door.”
You stared at him.
“But you’re her whole day.”
Your lip trembled.
“You’re breakfast and lunch and naps and books and songs and cuddles.”
You swallowed hard.
“You are every safe thing she knows.”
The nursery suddenly felt very quiet.
“You think she asks for me because she needs me more.”
He gently brushed away another tear.
“No, sweetheart.” His voice softened. “She asks for me because she already knows you’re not going anywhere.”
You broke all over again. A sob escaped you. His face crumpled immediately.
“Oh, honey.”
You covered your eyes.
“Oh my God.”
He gathered you back into his arms without hesitation.
“You are her safe place.”
You cried harder.
“She reaches for me because I’m exciting.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I don’t know if exciting is the word I’d use.”
He snorted softly.
“Fine. Novel.”
You laughed again. A shaky, tearful sound.
“Please trust me,” he whispered, kissing your temple.
You stayed tucked against him.
And after another minute, you whispered, “Everyone says she’s your twin.”
“I know.”
“It hurts.”
“I know.”
You looked up.
“No, I don’t think you do.”
He was quiet. Then he nodded.
“You’re right. I probably don’t.”
Your eyes softened.
“But I do know what it’s like to want to see yourself in someone you love.”
You frowned.
“What do you mean?”
He looked toward the crib.
“I look at her every day and pray she got your heart.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“I hope she got your kindness.”
Your breath caught.
“Your patience.”
He smiled.
“Your empathy.”
You stared at him.
“Your ability to make people feel safe.”
A tear slipped free.
“I hope she gets your laugh.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“Your stubbornness too, unfortunately.”
You let out a watery laugh.
“Or maybe she got that from both of us?”
He kissed your forehead.
“I don’t care if she looks exactly like me.” His voice softened. “I hope she’s like you.”
Your face crumpled. Because there it was. The thing you hadn’t realized you needed. Not to hear that she had your nose. Not to hear that she had your skin. But to hear that maybe… maybe the things that mattered most couldn’t be seen.
“You really think that?” you whispered.
He looked almost confused.
“Of course I do.”
Silence. Then you looked toward the crib.
“She’s beautiful.”
“She is.”
“And kind.”
“Very.”
“And happy.”
“The happiest.”
You swallowed.
“Maybe she already has some of me.”
He smiled.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
His hand settled over yours.
“She has all kinds of you.”
You looked back at him.
“Really?”
He looked downright offended again.
“Have you seen the way she reaches out to pet every dog she meets?”
You laughed softly.
“Okay… maybe.”
“The way she watches people when they’re upset.”
Your smile faded.
“The way she leans against you when she thinks you’re sad.”
Your throat tightened.
“The way she giggles when she hears music.”
Another tear escaped.
“Those things didn’t come from me.”
You stared at him. He smiled softly.
“They came from her mama.”
The room blurred. And for the first time in weeks…the ache in your chest eased. Just a little. Robby reached over and wiped away the last of your tears. Then he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.
“Besides,” he said softly, “you’re forgetting one very important thing.”
You frowned.
“What?”
A slow smile spread across his face.
“You gave her your nose.”
You laughed. A real laugh this time. He grinned.
“And honestly? Thank God.”
You smacked his arm.
“Robby!”
“What? My nose is huge.”
“It is not.”
“It absolutely is.”
You laughed again, shaking your head. He looked at you like he’d hung the moon. Then he kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose.
“You’re a good mom.”
You closed your eyes.
“You’re an incredible mom.”
A tear slipped free.
“And our daughter adores you.”
You leaned into him.
“I love you.”
His arms tightened.
“I love you too.”
The two of you sat there for a long while after that. Just holding each other. Watching your little girl sleep. And when you finally stood to leave the nursery, Robby slipped his hand into yours. You looked up at him. He smiled softly.
“Come to bed.”
You squeezed his hand.
“Okay.”
As you stepped into the hallway, neither of you noticed the tiny pair of eyes blinking open inside the crib. Or the little girl watching her parents walk away. Watching her mama. And smiling.
******
The next morning felt lighter. Not perfect. The little ache in your chest hadn’t completely disappeared overnight, but it no longer felt quite so sharp. Maybe because you had finally said it out loud. Maybe because your husband had held every ugly, insecure feeling in his hands and hadn’t laughed or dismissed it. Maybe because he’d looked at you like you were the most important person in the world and reminded you that motherhood wasn’t measured in genetics or who got the first smile.
It was measured in love. And you loved your daughter more than you had ever thought possible. You stood in the kitchen, making coffee while morning sunlight streamed through the windows. A few minutes later, you heard the familiar shuffle of feet.
“Mama?”
You smiled. You turned to find Robby standing in the doorway, your daughter balanced on one hip. His hair was a mess, his T-shirt wrinkled from sleep, and your little girl looked equally disheveled. The sight nearly made you laugh.
“Good morning.”
Your daughter’s entire face brightened.
“Mama!”
She reached for you. Your heart fluttered. You took her from him and kissed her chubby cheek.
“There’s my girl.”
She giggled. Robby wrapped his arms around both of you from behind, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“She woke up and immediately demanded breakfast.”
“Demanded?” you asked.
“Yes. Quite aggressively.”
Your daughter babbled.
“See?” he said. “She’s defending herself.”
You laughed. And something inside you eased a little more.
The day passed quietly. No visitors. No comments about whose eyes she had. No mention of who she resembled. Just your little family. The three of you played in the living room, ordered takeout for lunch, and spent most of the afternoon on the floor surrounded by blocks and books. Your daughter had recently started pulling herself up on everything. The couch. The coffee table. Your legs. Robby. Mostly Robby.
“You’re going to walk before we’re ready,” he informed her seriously.
She smiled. Then promptly tried to eat one of her blocks.
“Never mind,” he sighed.
You laughed. By early evening, the sun cast golden light through the windows. You sat on the rug folding tiny laundry while your daughter played near the couch. Robby was stretched out beside you, absently sorting through baby toys. It was peaceful. Quiet. The kind of ordinary moment you knew one day you’d miss.
Then you looked up. And froze. Your daughter was standing. Not holding the couch. Not holding the table. Standing. Completely on her own.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
Robby looked up immediately.
“What?”
Then he saw her. His eyes widened.
“No way.”
The two of you became perfectly still. As though even breathing too loudly would ruin it. Your daughter looked between the two of you. Proud. Wobbly. A tiny smile spread across her face.
“Oh, sweetheart,” you breathed.
Robby slowly sat up.
“I think this is happening.”
“I think it is too.”
Your daughter swayed. Regained her balance. Then looked directly at you. Your breath caught. She smiled. And took one tiny step. You gasped. A second step.
“Oh my God.”
A third. Robby’s hand found yours. A fourth. Then she tipped forward. Straight into your waiting arms. You caught her with a startled laugh, immediately gathering her against your chest. For a second, everything went silent.
“Oh my God!”
Tears instantly filled your eyes. Your daughter giggled. You looked at her in complete disbelief.
“You walked.”
She squealed.
“You walked!”
Robby let out a strangled sound beside you. You looked over. Your husband was crying. Actual tears. You burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, you’re crying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m having an emotional response.”
You laughed harder.
“That’s called crying.”
He wiped at his eyes.
“I wasn’t prepared.”
Neither of you could stop smiling. You looked back down at your daughter. And she looked back at you. Then she reached up with both tiny hands and cupped your cheeks. Your breath caught.
“Mama.”
The world stopped. Everything stopped. Your heart. Your breathing. Time itself.
“Mama.”
A sob escaped you.
“Oh.”
Tears spilled freely down your cheeks. Your daughter smiled.
“Mama.”
You pulled her against you and held her close.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Your voice broke completely. Robby was openly crying now. Neither of you cared. You kissed your daughter’s curls. Her forehead. Her cheeks.
“I love you so much.”
She laughed and patted your face.
“Mama.”
You let out another tearful laugh. Then strong arms wrapped around both of you. Robby gathered you and your daughter into his lap until all three of you were tangled together on the rug. Your daughter happily squished between you.
You looked up. Your husband was staring at you. Not at the baby. At you. And his expression was so soft it made your chest ache.
“What?” you whispered.
He smiled. Then he reached over and brushed away your tears.
“Looks like she knew exactly where she wanted to go.”
Fresh tears filled your eyes. You laughed softly.
“Robby…”
“No.” His own eyes glistened. “I think she just picked her person.”
You shook your head immediately.
“No, she—”
“She did.”
His voice was gentle. Certain.
“Because she could’ve gone anywhere.”
You looked down at your daughter. She was now chewing on your sleeve.
“But she walked to you.”
Your lip trembled.
“You.”
A tear slipped down your cheek. Robby reached over and kissed your forehead. Then another kiss to your temple. Then your cheek.
“So I think we can officially retire the whole ‘she doesn’t need me’ thing.”
You laughed through your tears.
“Maybe.”
He grinned.
“Maybe?”
You smiled.
“Definitely.”
“There we go.”
He kissed your forehead again. Your daughter looked between the two of you and giggled. Then she reached up and smacked her father’s face. He blinked. You burst out laughing.
“Well, that’s definitely your child.”
He looked offended.
“My child?”
“Absolutely.”
Your daughter did it again. He sighed.
“I stand corrected. She has your sense of humor.”
You laughed harder. Then your little girl leaned forward and buried herself against your chest. Your laughter slowly faded. Because there she was. Curled against you. Warm. Safe. Home.
You looked at the dark curls on her head. The eyes that looked so much like her father’s. The tiny fingers. The little expressions. And suddenly…you didn’t care. Because she had just taken her very first steps. And she had walked straight into your arms. As though there had never been any other destination.
Robby watched your face soften. He smiled. Then he wrapped one arm around your shoulders and pulled you close. You rested your head against him. Your daughter tucked safely between you.
The three of you sat there on the living room floor as the evening sunlight poured through the windows. No one said anything for a long while. Then your husband pressed one final kiss into your hair and whispered softly,
“She has my eyes.”
You smiled.
“She does.”
“My hair.”
“Definitely.”
He looked down at the little girl asleep against your chest. Then back at you.
“But she knows exactly who her mama is.”
Your eyes filled one last time. You looked at your daughter. Then at the man beside you. Your family. Your whole heart. And as your daughter sighed in her sleep and curled even closer against you, you finally believed it. She had never needed something of yours. Because from the very beginning she already had your heart.
Imagine if trauma could be transferred instead of just multiplying. Being able to heal yourself by returning the trauma to sender. Feeling yourself getting mentally and physically better by traumatising your parents right back.
Cure your PTSD in one afternoon with this one simple trick: Chase your dad around the house with an axe.
Chat But Never Gpt @im-okay-mj - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
