Ice Princess Baby Born
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Elsa’s hands trembled slightly as she placed the positive test on the kitchen counter, her breath catching when Jack Frost wandered in, snowflakes still clinging to his hair from an early-morning patrol. "Jack," she murmured, voice soft but steady, "we’re going to have a baby." His icy-blue eyes widened, a flicker of panic darting across his face before he swept her into a hug so tight it lifted her off the floor. "That’s… incredible," he stammered, though his smile didn’t quite reach his gaze. Over the next few weeks, he fussed endlessly—rearranging furniture, stockpiling firewood, even attempting to knit booties (a disaster involving frozen yarn). But his jokes felt forced, his laughter a beat too slow. When Elsa suggested the hospital check-up, he nodded too quickly, fingers drumming restless rhythms on his knees during the drive. The waiting room was warm, fluorescent lights glinting off frost patterns he’d unconsciously etched into his chair. A nurse called their names, and Jack’s hand found Elsa’s, his grip firm as the ultrasound wand glided over her stomach. The heartbeat thumped—a tiny, relentless drum—and suddenly, he was laughing, tears melting into his scarf. "That’s our kid," he whispered, awe cracking his voice. Months blurred into midnight cravings (his quest for pickles-and-ice-cream became legend) and nursery prep—Jack painting constellations on the ceiling while Elsa folded onesies, their quiet teamwork weaving anticipation into every corner. When the baby finally arrived, squalling and pink-faced, Jack cradled her like she’d vanish if he blinked. Sleepless nights followed, but he mastered diaper changes with frost-powered speed, soothed colic with silly snowman dances, and learned to nap in three-minute bursts. Elsa watched him one dawn, their daughter asleep on his chest, his hair defying gravity even in exhaustion. "You’re not so bad at this," she teased, and he grinned, weary but bright. "Told you I’d thaw out eventually."
