(no warnings - i THINK!!!! - i left smut city and went into fluff valley to write this one)
—he’s always been soft with you, but during your pregnancy, he’s something else entirely: the epitome of patient empathy and understanding when your hormones where particularly ‘hormone-y’. never once becoming frustrated or disappointed for the ways that you reacted when something just ground your gears a bit too much, only ever seeking the quickest, most efficient solution. no matter what it might be.
practically dedicated his entire being to comforting you in all the ways he knew how whenever something bothered you: holding your hand and squeezing it three times, gliding his thumb over your knuckles or wrist gently in that delicate way you adore, getting you whatever seemed to be the craving of the hour - ice cream sandwich? he’s already digging through the freezer like a man on a mission. greasy burger? he’s opening his phone in an instant to order from your favourite place. some vile combination that makes him gag if he takes in the smell? he’ll clench his jaw and hold his nose as he swiftly prepares it for you. he will do anything for your comfort. and he makes sure that you know that, that you’re never scared or worried about having to ask for something.
“my angel comes first,” is what he said softly, stroking your hair back through all those awful bouts of morning sickness. it’s what he’d said in his vows before sliding the silver band onto your finger. it’s what he’ll say whenever he feels you need reminding.
he’s the singlemost perfect reflection of strength and steadfastness you’ve ever seen when something entirely inconsequential has happened and all of a sudden it’s like the world is falling apart around you. he’ll hold you close in his huge arms and whispered softly to you until your breaths are regulated and the heartbeat beneath your chest is at its usual steady th-thump again.
once you’re calm, he’s on cheer-up duty - perhaps one of his favourite pastimes, as if often involves crouching down and talking softly to your baby as if you’re not even there, as if he’s gossiping with an old friend. and he loves how it makes you giggle every time.
he even slightly changes his approaches depending on what it was that upset you - you realised you could no longer see your feet past your belly, and he was soon enough whispering to the bump, “you’re makin’ your momma real big. she’s gorgeous. so beautiful. yes, indeed she does have the glow, you noticed that too? mm, i notice it every day.”
one time, it had been over a misplaced book and once you were placated enough and reading after he’d found it for you, he mused, “she’s so smart, your momma. whole package, i swear. you’re gonna be so happy when you meet her.”
he’s so much the attentive husband whilst your pregnant, helping you bathe, rubbing your ankles when they’re sore, making sure there’s not a single doubt in your mind as to how much he loves you at any given moment.
you say jump, he doesn’t even ask how high, he just leaps and soars. every time. without fail. heck, he’d move heaven and earth for you, so what harm is all the attention and care he can muster? well, to him, that’s purely the standard.
“as it should be..” he mutters when you dare try to claim he’s too generous with his time, knowing there are a thousand other things he could be doing. “why would i wanna do anything other than take care of my beautiful wife, the mother of my child?”
and when the baby’s born? good god, you thought you’d seen it all, but no. he’s extra everything, juggling all that he can to please you both at every opportunity.
when you’re beside ma kent walking out of the hospital for the first time since birth, you look ahead at clark, eyes fixed and glistening with unshed tears at the sight of his new dad walk.
it’s not like the others you’d seen on various social media apps. gosh, no. he’s holding the car seat in one hand and in the other, he’s cradling your newborn close to his chest, constantly looking back at you, sometimes to grin proudly, other times to check that you’re okay. and every time your heart melts when you see how your darling girl is all scrunched up against his chest.
absolutely 100% takes time off (from the planet, supermaning is another monster entirely and a far bigger beast to escape, even as a new father) to spend time supporting you in your endeavours to not only be the best possible mother, but also keep up with your workload on the side.
those months might have been the best of his entire life. while there was the odd disturbance or problem, for the most part, there were easily solutions - the most frequently-reliable being uncle bruce!!
he’s counting his lucky blessings when he comes to the realisation that his little girl will be 10 months old for your first mother’s day, and though he’d never rush his little princess, he has been working morning, noon, and night for the past two weeks to work a little influence into her first word.
“can you say mama? c’mon, babygirl, you can do it… oh, you’re so close. say mama. mama. mama.”
it felt like a long process but when he woke up early that morning, kissed your cheek as gently as he could so as not to wake you, and scooped the girl from her cot in the next room into his arms for a quick cup of cold cow’s milk (now that you’re starting to wean her off your breastmilk), all the while cooking your favourite chorizo and mozzarella omelette, he’s still whispering to her: “this is your time to shine, kiddo. mama… ma-ma… can you say that? mama?”
holding her against him, he sits on the edge of your bed and smiles as you drift back into the land of the conscious, looking entirely like you didn’t know the time or date and finding it ever so amusing.
he’ll stroke your hair and whisper, “good morning. happy mother’s day, beautiful.”
he watches you lazily chew down your omelette until it’s all but a few crumbs on the plate. and then you notice the plate, brows furrowing as you looked down and see the little pink and purple handprints and the messy yellow border and the small red hearts and the blue writing, ‘happy mother’s day’. your smile brightens and you look up at him. “when did you do this?”
“y’know,” he shrugged casually, clearly not wanting to give away his secrets. “you like it? we worked real hard, didn’t we, babygirl?” he smiles, gently nudging your daughter in his lap, where she’s leaning back against his abdomen.
the little girl giggles in response and you grin. “it’s perfect. thank you so much, clark.”
“of course, sweetheart. but that’s not all. our little princess here has something she wants to say.. right, sweetie?” he gently pokes the back of her hand. “c’mon.. c’mon…” he whispers.
your eyes fall to her face as she looks up at him, bemused beyond belief and your gaze softens at the sight. you shake your head softly and uttered, “what are you doing..?”
“shh. wait. she can do it. c’mon, honey, you can do it. do it for momma. please, please, please…”
when her gaze settled on you and you saw her gummy grin, you smiled back. “hi angel..” you cooed, giggling as she reached out for you.
clark gently set her atop you and chuckled, before leaning down and kissing atop her messy curls. “c’mon… you can do it princess…” he urged her on gently once more and the little girl’s face scrunched up in some form of what looked like deep contemplation and effort.
“is that my big present, then?” you laughed softly, shooting a pointed gaze at clark. “i get to change her diaper?”
“no- shoot. she was, actually, not supposed to do that, believe it or not…” he huffed softly and pouted, lifting her off you and moving to the top of the dresser that’s become a sort of makeshift baby-change station, dealing with the messy diaper quickly before returning to your side.
“so.. what was your actual plan there?” you giggled, reaching out and brushing your fingers gently over your daughter’s chubby red cheek.
“not telling..” he muttered, pout prominent. “sorry she.. pooped on you.”
“it’s okay. though it did feel somewhat like a coordinated attack,”
“i promise it wasn’t,” he chuckled. “now.. i do have two plans today. it’s your choice which we go with. one’s all-out, whole shebang, we go to that museum you like, to see the new exhibits, i get my mom to look over this little fiend and take you to your favourite restaurant, after, of course, a massive shopping spree… or we can just have a nice, relaxed day at home. it’s entirely your choice, honey.”
at the end of the day, you’re nestled into bed with clark, kissing him softly. “you’re really not gonna tell me what your big plan was this morning?”
“i’ve been dying to find out all day, don’t be silly.”
“fine,” he huffed, exaggerating his dismay. “i wanted to get her first word, wanted her to say ‘mama’ for you,”
“no. no baby, that’s so sweet. and.. i appreciate the effort. by the way, i am totally stealing that for father’s day,”
a/n: not entirely happy with this tbh but im a bit of a perfectionist and probably never will be, so idk im just going for it and posting🤷♀️🤷♀️
