Cave Man Make Baby (The First Mountain Man)

Fancy gasps, amazed, and pushes again, and again, and again. And then there's a cry.

A loud, beautiful cry of a baby born in a cave in a paleolithic place.

"You did it, Fancy. You did it. It’s a baby girl."

Fancy's shaking as I place our infant on her chest. Fancy's hair is long and sweaty, curling around her forehead. Her eyes glisten with tears, her face glistening with sweat. She looks like a goddess, a real cave woman. Mine.

"She's perfect," Fancy gasps. "Look at her. She's so perfect."

I kiss my girls on their foreheads before reaching for the knife. I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to cut the cord and make sure she delivers the placenta, but I'm going to have to figure it out. There is no doctor to rely on, no first aid kit – it's just me and my strength.

I can't let my girls down.

I do what needs to be done. Trying not to freak the fuck out. Hell, if Fancy just gave birth in a cave, I can sure as hell do this part.

After, I wrap our daughter in a blanket made from the leftovers of a sleeping bag, the softest fabric we own.

"Oh, Flint," Fancy says, crying in amazement. "We did it. She's here."

"And look at her," I say, "the goddamn spitting image of you. I couldn't be any luckier."

"We made a baby." She laughs. "I can't believe it!"

Outside, A.B. growls in happiness, letting us know he understands what's just happened.

A new life, a new generation in this untamed and reckless place, a beachside jungle paradise that's our home.

"What should we name her?" I ask Fancy.

She smiles. “Remember that T.V. show, The Flintstones? The little girl was named Pebbles. Too much?”

“It’s pretty damn cute.” I kiss my daughter’s cheeks. “Good to meet you, Miss Pebbles.”

“Now one day we’ll have to find her a Bam-Bam,” Fancy jokes. Even though it feels like a far-fetched dream to find other humans here, you never know. We sure as hell never imagined finding one another or making a baby. But we did.

Here we are, at the dawn of man, carving out a future, all our own.

Epilogue 1

Fancy

Five years later…

For five beautiful years we’ve lived here on the beach in peace with A.B., our bodyguard.

Pebbles is growing up so fast. And her little sister, Eva, is now two years old. Flint has been a fierce protector of his family, working hard to provide for his girls. Meanwhile, I've been tracing letters in the sand, trying to teach Pebbles to read. Our life is a bizarre mixture of never-ending vacation and the constant threat of making sure our resources are accounted for and our needs are being met.

A.B., Pebbles, Eva and I are at the lagoon for a morning swim after several stormy days that kept us indoors. I've been working diligently on teaching the girls how to hold their breath under water.

I may not have dozens of picture books for them, or educational toys, but I am doing my best as a mom. Teaching them things like swimming, counting, and the alphabet feels monumental in a world where there’s no such thing as basic necessities. But, the kids are thriving. And honestly, I'm thriving too.

I went to school to be a paleontologist and sometimes I wish I would have studied ancient history instead. Because I wish I truly knew what it meant to start a civilization. That's what we're doing here, starting a world from scratch. There are no other people to get to know, no friends to make, no religion or culture to speak of.

Just what we're making on our own.

Flint rings the bell from the beach. It's what we use for our messaging service, and I dry the girls off. Our few pieces of cloth are treasured items. And while I don't necessarily want to use them for towels, I do know Eva gets real fussy when she is wet.

"Come on, babes. We got to go. Papa is calling for us."

"Mama, fish." Eva turns, pointing to a giant blue-tailed fish that’s leaped from the water.

"Yes, that is a fish," I say. “Big girl.” I pick her up and tie her into the sling on my back. Not the same one that I used for A.B. when he was an egg, but similar.

"All right, let's see what Papa's got going on," I say. A.B. trots beside us. The path to camp from the lagoon is much wider than it originally was. Before, it was just big enough for Flint and me. Now, it needs to accommodate a dinosaur the size of a Prius.

I run my hand over A.B.'s head, scratching him. "Good boy, and thank you," I say as I pick Pebbles up and place her on the back of the dino. Flint made a saddle and fashioned a handlebar for her to hold. "Hold on tight," I say, always the nervous mother. I guess, no matter where you live in the world or in what time, that doesn't change. Between anxiety and mom guilt, I really am a modern mom.