"Happy suppose to be birthday, baby"

Rory is looking at the tiny sleeping baby in the bassinet. She doesn't remember Gigi being so little when she was first born, or Will, or Jaime, or even Steve and Kwan. She looks at Laylee, and has to remind herself that yes, she is hers. That tiny little thing, with big blue eyes and a tiny bit of brown hair is, actually, her baby girl. She is so tiny, yet so big. They brought her home only yesterday, 12 weeks minus a day old, and weighing 4Lbs, 5OZ. Itsy bitsy little thing- yet so big already. Rory looks at her, and notices that the little preemie sized sock is actually staying on her tiny foot and not sliding off. Cloths seem to fit her better, and she doesn't seem lost in her diaper anymore. She looks at the little miracle sleeping calmly and she knows, she just knows, something is wrong.

They have only been home for a day, and Rory is already feeling trapped. Its May, it's so pretty out and Rory is trapped inside and cannot leave. In her, errr, no, in their cute little house, that now feels like a little prison cell. She hasn't seen her mother or Lane or even Honor in days and will probably not see them in weeks and she can't help but think that it could have all been different. Laylee is so little and fragile that they were told upon discharge from the NICU that she should be around other children as little as possible and really, around as little people as possible. "If you want to avoid having to come back into the hospital, I would suggest just sticking to home and walks with the stroller for the next couple of months" The professor said. She was too afraid to take Laylee out in the overpriced, top-of-the-line stroller her grandmother got them, because she didn't understand how it folded, unfolded, buckled or even fit the handle to her height. She was all alone, away from her mother and Luke, her Dad, her best friends. They all had children, or as Logan referred to them "little bacteria carriers".

Logan. Her Logan. He holds her at night as she cries and tells him that she can't do this. She can't be a mother to that little, tiny thing, she can't possibly be responsible for it. He understands when she is too scared to hold Laylee and that even feeding her, the thing that is supposed to be the most natural thing in the world, is just an anxiety filled experience. One that will repeat every 3 hours- even at night, until Laylee reaches 7Lbs, or so they are told. He has been so good, understanding her fears and trying to navigate around them. They have only been home for a day, and he has already taken over care for his little princess. He changes her diaper, he bathes her, rocks her when she cries. If he could, he would feed her, and he even does that at 1am when he sees that Rory is just too exhausted to get up. He goes to the fridge and takes out a bottle of pumped breast milk and feeds Laylee.

As if to approve that she is truly Logan's child, Laylee calms in his hands immediately, while with Rory it takes her forever to stop screaming. Logan tells her it is because she is nervous, that Laylee senses her fear to hold the little screaming red child and just nestle her to her chest. He works from home now, and he sits at his desk, the monitor on, and the minute Laylee makes sounds of waking up he will come up to their bedroom, take her out of the bassinet, put her in the wrap-around-baby-carrier, and go back to work with her nestled closely to him.

Rory knows that something is wrong. She knows that she is suppose to be the one person in life that is there for Laylee, no matter what, but she just cannot bring herself to admit that this is her daughter. It's funny, really, because Laylee is everything Rory has ever wanted. Lorelai says that Laylee is a copy of Rory when she was an infant, though, you know, minimized, and when Rory sees her reflection in Laylee's baby blues she thinks for a minute that this was all a bad dream and that everything is as she's always wanted. But no. Laylee is still here and not inside her, Laylee is still itsy bitsy, and Rory blames herself. Her body failed to do exactly what it was programmed to do. What kind of women is she if she can't even provide a safe environment for her baby inside her? And what kind of mother is she if she can't get over herself and care for her child?

It started when she first saw Laylee. After she was born, she didn't hear her cry. They wheeled her out of the delivery room and into the NICU before Rory could even see her, and all Logan could tell her was that she was tiny. She sent Logan to follow them, and make sure that their baby was going to be ok. She knew that everything can happen now, they prepared her for the worse possibilities. Her water had broken suddenly a week before and she was in the hospital, 27 weeks pregnant, and scared out of her mind. A week later and two hours after Laylee was born, she was on a wheel chair in the NICU, in front of an incubator, and Logan was showing her that between the mess of tubes and equipment was their daughter, exactly 2Lbs of sweetness or as Logan called her "My bag of sugar".

She stared at her, and then read the tab attached to the incubator. 'Baby girl Huntzberger, 2/18/09 6:55am, 28+0 weeks, 2Lbs 0Oz' and she remembers looking at that thing, that was supposedly her baby, so tiny it could fit in her hand, thinking that as of today, nothing will be the same.

A/N:

This story has been in the works for a while now. There is at least another chapter coming, if not more. Please review- it is my first actually published story and I need some opinions, and well, a beta if you know one. Enjoy :)