Whoo boy, I haven't worked on One Piece in a loooong time. Oh well, here goes nothing! XD

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece, it belongs to Eiichiro Oda! I only wrote this story and I own any OCs in it! Enjoy!~

Prologue

This isn't the first time my body has been wracked with this agony. It's actually the third time now. I've always hated this part. Out of all the up and downs of this experience, this part of it has always been the worst. Sometimes I think of myself as a fool, and this is certainly one of those times, as I silently yet furiously ask myself why I didn't learn my lesson already.

Yet it's always worth it in the end. It was for the first two times, and I already know that it will be the same this time.

It's certainly painful—right up there on the most painful things that have ever happened to me in my life, including the incident with your dear aunt all those years ago—but even so, I can't wait to meet you.

My husband is right at my side, supporting my through every second and refusing to leave me alone, and I'm torn between wanting to kiss him for his love and devotion to me, and wanting to kick his ass for putting me through this agony. I hate when that happens, I really do.

Our doctor is also here, telling me I'm doing well and that I'll be out of the woods soon enough. He's dealt with this plenty of times over the years—the first time he did it was actually with me—and I trust him, though right now I want to yell at him, as he's not the one going through this pain right now.

But just like the past two times, he's right in the end. Because suddenly the agony is over and you are placed on my chest. Everything bad about the experience is instantly forgotten as I hold you in my arms, as all you can do is cry and cry.

You're a boy. My son. You are my third child and my first son. And I couldn't be happier to see you.

You've inherited most of your father's features, I can instantly tell, but my genes are obviously there as well. You have my eyes, the same color that reflects back at me in the mirror every morning is there as you stare up at me for the first time.

My husband—your father—is still at my side, already madly in love with you as we observe your first few minutes in this crazy world. You sink into immediate silence as I feed you with my body; you clearly got your ravenous appetite from me. My husband reaches over as you nurse hungrily, brushing a finger against your tiny hands, and I swear I see tears of joy trickle down his face as you squeeze his finger with a surprising amount of strength.

After a few minutes, once you've eaten your fill, our doctor gently pries you from my arms and takes you to the other side of the room to check you over—check your weight, record your date and time of birth, and make sure that you're a healthy baby overall—and then clean and swaddle you before you're given back to me. You cry in his arms, unhappy from being torn from the comfortable warmth of my arms and the sound of my familiar heartbeat, but soon you return and you quiet down as you snuggle up to my chest and fall asleep.

Our doctor asks for your name, wanting to write it on your birth certificate. Your father and I have already discussed you name in the months before your birth, and we don't even look up from your tiny, slumbering form as we tell him.

Ocha. Your name is Ocha. Our perfect, beautiful son.

Some more time passes, I'm not sure how much, before your father decides that it's time to tell all your aunt, uncles and cousins that you've arrived. I can hear him open the door and excitedly announce to everyone that you're hear and that you're a healthy little boy. He tells your two big sisters that they have a baby brother now.

You're not like your sisters. Unlike you, they weren't planned, especially your eldest sister, she was one of the biggest surprises we ever got. You, however, were planned. I'm not sure what made me do it. Maybe it was a case of baby fever, silently missing the days when your sisters were just as small and dependent on us as you currently are; maybe it was watching my youngest nephew, just a little toddler, run around that got the wheels in my head turning. Whatever it was, it still made me tell your father those four simple words: "I want another baby."

Whatever it might have been, I'm glad that it pushed me to do so. If someone told me all those years ago that I'd be here right now, that I would be married and have my third child with one of the most infamous men in the world, that I'd be a part of this crew and be happier, humbler, and more compassionate than I was back then, I would have punched them in the face and yelled that they were absolutely insane.

And yet here I am, and I wouldn't trade a single moment of it for anything.

Your father returns with your sisters, along with aunts, uncles and cousins right behind them. All of them coo over you, noting how small and cute you are, how much you look like your father, and I already know that they've fallen in love with you, just as your father did earlier.

Times continues to tick by, and a few days after welcoming you into the world, I'm here in the nursery your father and I created for you. I'm currently alone with you, your father is out with the others right now, and I'm watching as you sleep peacefully in your crib, my heart still full of the love I felt for you the moment I found out you were growing inside of me.

But as I stand over your crib, watching as your little chest rises and falls with every soft breath you take, I can't help but think back to everything that's led up to this moment, every choice that got me to where I'm standing. You won't live the same experiences as I have, I already know for sure, and I certainly don't want you to live through them.

Even so, I want to tell you my stories. I want to tell you everything—all the ups and down, all of the choices I made, both good and bad, all the mistakes I made so that you won't have to repeat them. I want to tell you about all of my adventures and how everything has shaped me into the woman I am today.

I've done this with your sisters, and now I guess it's your turn. I dash out of the nursery and return with a notebook and a few pens in hand. I settle down onto the rocking chair close to your crib. You're still asleep, still in my full line of sight as I open up the notebook, taking in the empty pages before me.

I've never written my experiences down before, to be honest. Every moment of them is still fresh in my memory, as if they all happened just a heartbeat ago. I've already told your sisters my stories, not missing out on a single detail, so I never saw any reason to write them down. But as much as I don't like to admit it, I'm definitely getting older, and I'm not sure how good my memory will be to tell you my stories when you're finally old enough to understand them, and I'm not taking any chances.

You continue to snore, softly and heavenly to my ears, blissfully unaware of the world around you as I uncap one of the pens and begin to write down the words. I'm going to tell you, not just about my stories, but about the blood that runs through your veins. You'd be charged as a criminal for your blood if the wrong people found out about your existence.

But I don't want you to be afraid or ashamed or anything like that. I want you to be proud of the red river flowing through your body, the red river that I couldn't have been happier to pass down to you.

Beginning of the reboot of my One Piece stories. Let's hope the third time's the charm, huh? XD