“Which one is she?”

“Right... there. There. Oh my god.” Blaine pressed his forehead against the glass separating them from their newborn daughter.

“Blaine,” Kurt breathed, taking his husband’s hand and squeezing hard. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s perfect.”

“She’s ours.”

“She’s ours.”

Blaine cried the first time he held Maisie Elizabeth Hummel-Anderson. And Kurt never forgot that moment. Tears of pure, unadulterated joy and love slipped silently down Blaine’s cheeks. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Since he and Kurt had made the decision to adopt. Since the sad but pretty young woman had chosen them to raise her daughter.

They had both been at Burt’s when the call came in. The baby was coming NOW. The entire ride to the hospital, they had been vibrating with nerves and excitement. Kurt checked his phone every two seconds, hoping they made it before she was born.

They hadn’t, but that was OK. Maisie was too impatient. She was ready to see the world. And Blaine and Kurt were ready to show it to her. They were SO ready.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt sniffed, on the verge of tears himself. “Don’t cry on the baby.”

“I can’t help it. She’s... she’s my baby, Kurt.”

“I know,” Kurt choked out, finally letting the overwhelming emotion well up his eyes and heart. “Baby, I know.”

Their first night at home with Maisie was terrifying. They sat up as long as they could, holding each other, eyes and ears trained on the baby monitor, hardly breathing.

Blaine fell asleep first after a few hours. And when he woke with a start to an empty bed, he flew to the nursery.

Kurt was there in the rocking chair, feeding their daughter and singing softly.

“She was hungry.”

“I love you.”

And like all first-time parents, they lived and learned. The need to protect and lead and show and love their daughter came naturally to them. It was like they were always meant to be daddies together, to love and learn and be, together.

For every milestone and every memory, Kurt and Blaine were there.

First steps, first birthday.

First Christmas.

First day of Kindergarten.

First broken bone, the hot pink cast on her tiny arm.

First boyfriend, sleepover, and bike ride.

First cup of coffee. First piano recital.

Kurt wrote them all down in a book and pasted a picture next to each entry.

Maisie found the book many years later, when she was cleaning out her fathers’ house.

The book didn’t end with high school or college or moving out or marriage.

There was a picture of her graduation from medical school. And a picture of her in her white coat on her first day at Mt. Sinai.

There was a picture from the day she opened The Hummel-Anderson Clinic and when she got married.

There was a picture of her and Liam when they moved into their first house together.

There was a picture of Maisie holding her newborn daughter, and one of her newborn son as well.

And the last picture was dated the day before Dad died. It was of Dad and Papa laying side by side on the hospital bed, hands clasped between them. Their smiles were not weary from age or deteriorating health or sadness, but full of love and life and happiness.

And the caption, in Papa’s shaky but still graceful script, read:

“We will always love you baby girl. Love Dad & Papa.”