What I Got for Hearth's Warming
For Hearth’s Warming, mom and dad got me a Daring Do action figure, a Rubuck’s cube, and a baby sister. Well, she’s not actually here yet, but mom says my sister’s already been growing in her tummy, which sounds yucky.
Mom and dad are sitting on the couch while I make Daring divebomb a group of bad guys, which are just leftover branches from the tree. I make do, though. I keep a smile for myself. Mr. Armor would like that joke.
I really like Mr. Armor and Mrs. Cadence a lot. Auntie Luna told me that mom taught Mrs. Cadence how to be a princess and stuff. It’s super fun when Flurry comes over to foalsit me. She’s so nice that I don’t care she has cooties. Sometimes Flurry lets me play up in the clouds with her even though I’m not supposed to. I think she’s the prettiest pony in the whole world, but I haven’t told her that yet. I want to give her a drawing when I tell her, though. Everypony likes drawings.
The rug I’m laying on is soft and it smells a bit like an old cupboard, but I don’t really mind. I like piling up all the little pieces of wrapping paper in my hooves and blowing them in the air so they fall down like snow. It makes it easier to pretend that Daring is trapped in a big storm. I turn my legs into a cave and make her hide from the bad guys. While she’s asleep, I listen to mom and dad.
Mom’s in one of those moods where dad can say anything and she just laughs and laughs and it sounds really pretty and light. It’s the kind of laugh that makes monsters run away and tears dry up. They whisper in each other’s ears and kiss a lot, too, which is double yucky.
It’s about my sister. What her muzzle is going to look like, what color her mane is going to be, what she’ll get for a cutie mark. I try not to let it remind me of my blank flank, but they’re talking about her like she already has one. Ms. Applebloom told me that I shouldn’t worry about it, but it’s hard not to notice how empty the spot is.
Daring beats up the last bad guy and ties them up with present string. The fireplace pops and sizzles on the other side of the room, and I almost throw the bad guys in, but that’s not something Daring would do. She’d probably just let them go and kick their tails again in the next story.
I move onto the Rubuck’s cube. Dad moves into mom’s barrel. Mom’s way bigger than dad, so they look kinda funny when they get all cuddle-bug with each other. They touch horns, and mom uses her big wings to wrap him up. Mom’s wings are so big they can actually fit me and dad when we’re all together. They’re also the softest, warmest things in all of Equestria. When she hugs me, I get the same feeling all over like when I bite into a hot, mushy cookie, and it’s just the best.
It looks really comfortable and I want to join them, but it’s hard to find a break in their talking. Besides, interrupting adults is rude. Instead, I try to mix up the cube by myself. It doesn’t work, though. I already remember all the ways I flipped the squares, so it just goes back to being a colorful box.
Mom and dad are still whispering like they’re planning some big secret, but I know they’re still talking about my sister. They’ve been doing it all day—ever since dad opened up the box with the stick thingy inside. I wish they would talk about something else like Daring Do or buckball or my trumpet lessons, but they don’t.
I feel like a balloon that you let go of by accident.
When mom first told me about her, I got really excited and galloped around the room. Seven years is a long time to be an only colt. Now, mom and dad are acting all weird. All their adult sleepiness is gone and they’re talking about so many things I don’t understand at all! I’m usually really good at figuring out grown-up talk, like when they were all crazy about auntie Luna getting in trouble for dunkin’ disorder-lee conduct (I still don’t know what that means yet, but she was really embarrassed).
Now, they’re saying a whole different world of words, and none of them are even the big ones Mrs. Sparkle teaches me when I see her. What’s the point of learning all this stuff if it doesn’t even help? It’s bad luck to be angry on Hearth’s Warming with all the windigos, but I just can’t help it! I find a crack in the floorboards and try to count all the tiny lines in the wood to distract myself.
It doesn’t work.
Even though I’m at the foot of the couch, it feels like I’m a hundred miles away. It reminds me of the time dad tried to teach me how to swim last year. He let go of me and I wouldn’t stop crying because I thought I couldn’t catch him and that I was going to drown.
We got hot chocolate after, so it wasn’t so bad.
But right now my hot chocolate is empty and mom and dad are so close together that I think they’re going to squash down into a little ball until there’s nothing left, taking my sister with them. They’re looking at each other like there’s nothing else in the world and my chest feels like it’s filled with scared little worms.
I want to be alone but I don’t want them to leave at the same time. It’s confusing and hard to feel two things at once. Sometimes I wish I could poof myself away like mom and dad do when they have grown-up things to do, but my forehead is just as empty as my flank. I don’t have magic like them, or wings like mom so I could just fly away. They told me that dad’s dad’s dad was an earth pony back when he lived in Saddle Arabia. It was something about jeans, but I’m still not sure how wearing pants has anything to do with why I’m an earth pony.
What if my sister has wings or a horn? Or, worse—what if she has both? Would she still want to play with me? Would we be friends? Would she even want to be my sister? I know I have unicorn and pegasus friends at school and stuff, but that’s different. They get to go home with ponies who look like them.
I still don’t get what earth ponies are good at. It feels like we’re here just to get left behind.
Great big tears sting my eyes.
I know I cry too much. Dad always tries to make me feel better by saying that I’m brave for showing my tears, but it doesn’t seem that way. Nopony respects you for crying. One time a mean newspony took a picture of me after I tripped on a sidewalk and bumped my chin. A lot of creatures saw that. I’d never seen mom and dad so mad. I think the pony who took the picture got a really long timeout.
I’m doing really well at being quiet, but then my nose gets full of boogers and I sniffle too loud. There’s a word grown-ups use when they get caught and I’m not supposed to say it, so I think it in my head and feel even worse.
And then that mushy cookie feeling is there because mom’s scooping me up in her wings. Crying is easy after that. Dad’s there, too, running his hoof through my mane and nuzzling the spot between my ears. His voice is really rumbly when he tries to be quiet, like Mrs. Smoulder when she snores.
“Deep breaths, Daydream. We’re right here, okay?” he says, and I wedge myself deeper between them. If they turned into that little nothing ball and went away, it would be ok because I’d go with them this time.
Mom’s kisses feel good on the top of my head. They’re really warm and make me want to go to sleep. I like calling them summer cuddles. It makes sense because dad told me she used to be in charge of the sun. I think it still remembers mom because it follows her everywhere, even when we get cloudy days. It always finds a way to reach her. Sometimes, when she thinks she’s alone, she talks to the morning light in the living room like it’s somecreature sitting right next to her.
The nervous question in my throat bubbles up even though I’m feeling a lot better.
“You’re not gonna leave without me, right?” I ask.
Mom looks at me like the time I broke my leg trying to fly like her. Her face looks like it’s going to break into a hundred sad pieces. Her voice sounds like it, too. I get big tears again, but I’m too tired to cry.
“Oh, honey, we’re not going anywhere—especially not without you. Do you think you can tell me what’s on your mind?” she asks. I nod and lay my head against her chest.
“You told me you and dad moved away from lots of creatures you knew when you had me. You’re not gonna leave me here and make a new house with my sister, are you?” I ask.
They laugh, and then I just feel really silly.
“No, we’re not going to move houses every time we have a foal,” mom says. “Besides, your father hates moving. Remind me to tell you about the time when we toured the Marejave together.”
Dad pokes her neck with his horn in the place that always makes her laugh. “I told you construction magic doesn’t mesh well with me. I had headaches for three straight weeks,” he grumbles.
“Oh, you were miserable to be around. I’ll never forget that pitiful look you had every morning when the group was setting up breakfast,” mom says. She has a big smile that makes me smile, too.
“Pitiful enough for you to marry,” dad says, striking some kind of knightly pose. We all laugh at that. Dad ruffles my mane. “But, no, Daydream. We’re not going to move for a long time. Remember how mommy used to be a very important pony?”
“Used to?” Mom whinnies, but dad ignores her with a sly grin.
“We came out here so we could raise you in peace. If we didn’t, we’d hardly have time to see you in the day! And even if we do decide to move again, we’d make sure to take you with us. I’m sorry if we were talking to each other for so long. Having a foal is exciting, but it also means a lot of hard work and planning,” he says, kissing my cheek. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” I say, but another question pops into my head. “Is she gonna be nice?” I ask, putting a hoof over mom’s tummy.
“Of course she will!” dad says. “And if she’s not, we’ll drop her off in the desert.”
“Hockim.” Mom shoves him with a wing, and he gets a muzzle full of feathers.
“I kid, I kid...mostly,” dad says, giving me a wink.
Mom’s hoof runs down my back and makes small circles on my withers. “I think she will, but part of that will be up to you, Daydream.”
“Really?” I ask. Mom nods all slow and wise.
“Your dad and I are going to give her as much love as we give you, but we can’t tell you how much or how little to love somepony else. That’s a decision everycreature has to make for themselves.”
“What if she doesn’t like me because I don’t have wings or a horn? What if she’s mad that I’m an earth pony?”
“Honey,” mom says, and this time she uses her teacher voice to make me look at her. “Your father and I will tell you as many times as it takes. We love you just the way you are, Daydream, and it’s going to be the same with your sister. She could have eight horns and twelve wings for all I care.” I giggle at that before mom continues. “None of that is going to change how she feels about you. Only you decide how other creatures see you.”
Dad chimes in, pointing a hoof at mom’s tummy. “She’s going to enter a big, new world, Daydream. I know you don’t remember, but it’s quite a fright to be born. There are lots of scary things out there, and it’s up to you to help protect her—just like we protect you. If you show her that you can be kind and compassionate—like I know you are—I’m sure she’ll act the same towards you.”
I feel big all of the sudden. If I had wings, I think I could cover all of us with them with room to spare. Something important happened, and I’m glad it did even if I don’t understand it all the way. Tilting my head, I look at mom and nod. “Alright, I think I’m ready. She can come out now.”
Dad chokes on his eggnog and coughs it into his sweater. Mom’s on her side, slapping the couch with a wing and snorting like a Sweet Apple Acres pig. It’s the hardest I’ve seen them laugh ever. I’m proud it was because of me, even though I don’t know what I said. At some point, mom wraps us up in one giant hug.
“I’m afraid she’s not going to be here for a little while, but you’ll get to meet her soon, I promise.”
“Ok. I hope she likes Daring Do,” I say, and they laugh again.
“Me, too, Day. Want us to read you some before we head to bed?” dad asks, and I jump up from between them.
“Yeah! Can you do your Ahuizotl voice tonight? He’s so cool!”
“Oh, I don’t know. Only if Daring Do can escape my clutches!” His voice gets really low and gruff again, and he and mom start to chase me around the Hearth’s Warming tree and up the stairs to my bedroom, but he’s evil so he makes me go brush my teeth first.
While my mouth is full of foam and water, I ask them if I can get another sister for next year, too.
“Ha! We’ll work on it, kiddo,” dad says, and mom gives him a look that I don’t even know how to describe.
They read a few chapters before I start getting sleepy, and they tuck me in with a kiss each. Mom reminds me to tell Auntie Luna everything that happened today when I have my dream, and I tell her I will.
Even when they turn off the lights, I’m still smiling to myself.
I just know my sister is gonna be the best Hearth’s Warming gift ever.
After six hours of labor, Elmarea is born on a cold April morning in Canterlot castle’s medical wing. Her birth is healthy, but that doesn’t stop Hockim from nearly breaking my hoof with a worried grip. There are few times my husband lets others see him cry, but foalbearing has remained an exception. He heaves the same deep-chested sobs as when we had Daydream, cradling our new daughter in his hooves. He strokes her mane, pink like mine when I was born.
“Look, look, love,” he says, wiping away tears and snot from his crumpled face. “She has your wings.”
He motions to pass her to me, and I hold her for the very first time.
I’m astounded by how light she is. In total, Elmarea weighs just eight pounds, half of what Daydream was when he first arrived. The doctor reminds us of how fragile she is, her small, hollow bones vulnerable to the world. She’ll need to rest in a cloud crib for the first six months of her life.
I nod along with the doctor, the numbness from the epidural still rolling through my body. The room smells of sweat and tears and triumph. I know I must look disheveled and half crazy—some kind of pastel catastrophe—but I don’t care.
There’s a skittering of hooves outside the door, followed by a hushed scolding. Hockim and I brace ourselves as our son bursts into the room. Luna is hot on his tail, trying her best to reprimand Daydream for running through the halls, but our colt has bigger concerns. Rearing up, he lands his front legs on the end of the bed, stretching his neck as tall as it can go. He locks eyes with me like the world’s youngest police interrogator.
“Aunt Luna told me having a foal is harder than doing math. Is that true?” he asks.
Luna’s wings make a midnight curtain in front of her face. “Judge me not, sister. I can only withstand his incessant questioning for so long.”
Luna always slips back to her old way of speaking when she’s flustered. I find it quite charming, actually, but she hates it when I say that out loud.
“You know you can ask him to take a break, right?” Hockim says, walking over to rustle Daydream’s mane.
“You can do that? Just…ask foals to stop speaking?” Luna says, peeking from between her feathers. Her eyes narrow with a distrust only siblings can feel.
“It’s always worth a shot.” I shrug, wearing a tired smile. “Now come here, both of you. Say hello to Elmarea.”
Hockim has to hold Daydream back like he’s an excited puppy, but the earth pony genes in our son are strong. He all but drags Hockim to my side, eyes wide and suddenly quiet. Peering at my hooves, he sees her for the first time.
For once, Daydream doesn’t know what to say.
His face is blankly innocent as he retreats back into Hockim’s embrace, brow furrowed. I share a glance with my husband. He gives me a silent nod and mouths I got this before taking Daydream to sit down. The doctor looks between me and my sister, coughs into her hoof, and tells us she needs to clean her stethoscope.
There’s silence between us, save for the quiet mutterings of my husband and son in the corner. I’m holding my breath without realizing it. She’s hesitant, timid, even after all these years.
Finally, Luna reaches out a wing, brushing it over Elmarea. Her voice is the softest I’ve heard it since we were foals. “Hello there, little one. You’re quite beautiful, you know. You look…so much like your mother already.”
Elmarea shifts against my barrel, a movement so small I wouldn’t have noticed were I not looking at her. She’s weightless compared to me. I have a horrible thought that she’s going to blow away with a light breeze, and it takes everything in me not to crush her against me. A tear of pure exhaustion builds in the corner of my eye.
“I’m proud of you, Tia.”
Maybe it’s my sleep-addled brain, or maybe it’s the fact that I gave birth only a few hours ago, but words jam in my throat. Something unintelligible fumbles out, and Luna giggles like a school-foal. “I imagine it’s been a while since you’ve heard those words, but it’s true, sister.”
By the sun, it has. It’s got a strange sort of joy to it, like unearthing a strange memento you thought you’d lost ages ago. Daydream’s birth was such a rush of creatures and dignitaries and, well, it just didn’t feel very private. It was more of a spectacle than anything else. I think Luna and I celebrated with a very official-looking hug and a nod, which seems dreadfully snobbish now that I think about it. But sitting here just talking like a normal family feels…right.
Before I know it, we’re both giggling like fillies.
“Thank you, Luna. And you’re right, it’s nice to be on the receiving end of that for once.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” Luna smirks, then addresses my daughter. “As for you, Ms. Elmarea, you’re not allowed to grow up like your mother. Equestria can’t handle two Celestias at once, I’m afraid.” Elmarea coos and yawns. My heart melts in my chest. Luna leans in close and whispers in her ear. “I can’t wait for your first dream, little one.”
There’s a new sweetness to her voice that I’ve never heard before. I want to say something, but Daydream interrupts by popping his head between me and Luna. He looks at his sister again, this time confident and stoic.
“Hi. You’re really small. When your brain gets older, I’m gonna read you Daring Do and stuff. It’s one of my favorite things ever,” he states, then looks up at me. “Was that a good introduction?”
We laugh, and I lean down to kiss his forehead. “Yes, Daydream, you did a wonderful job,” I tell him.
I get that sense again—that everything is just as it should be, and it fills me with a warmth I haven’t felt in centuries.
