I’m in the nursery, rocking in the glider and reading a romance book. I’ve spent all morning washing, folding and hanging his tiny clothes, and I need a break.
All of a sudden, I feel some low, subtle pains in my lower abdomen. It feels like mild menstrual cramps.
Contractions? I think.
Don’t be ridiculous, I answer myself. It’s far too early.
But still. It makes me think of what lies ahead: labor, delivery, a baby.
Ramsey’s baby. That he doesn’t even know about. And why is my stomach feeling tight and painful like this?
It’s just practice labor, I reassure myself, thinking of the labor and delivery and parenting classes I took at the hospital. I even received a certificate, certifying that I’m prepared to be a parent, I suppose. Or at least to give birth.
Maybe these are the Braxton Hicks contractions they told me about.
A tiny ripple of fear goes through me, and I can’t help but wish Ramsey were with me. The thought makes no sense, since I hadn’t even told him I was pregnant, let alone having his baby.
I think about living a lifetime of secrets: the baby not knowing who his father is, Ramsey not even knowing that he is a father. Or worse, what if Ramsey were to die while he’s deployed, like my brother did?
I suddenly feel regret, and a strong urge to tell everyone everything and let the chips fall where they may. Who am I to decide anyone else’s destiny, just because I thought this was what was best for me, and probably Ramsey too?
How can I deprive my baby of a father? I hadn’t wanted to take the chance that Ramsey wouldn’t be interested in getting to know him, and my baby would have to grow up knowing that his father hadn’t wanted him. But wasn’t I making that possibility a reality by not giving Ramsey the information? Shouldn’t it be up to Ramsey to decide?
I wish I could call him right now. But I don’t have his number. The one time I talked to him, he didn’t seem too interested in having me be able to get a hold of him.
I shake this notion out of my head, before I can let second thoughts take over. I guess a letter will have to do. It will take a while to reach him, but it’s my only option at this point.
I walk across to my bedroom, where I keep stationery and envelopes in a desk. My mother taught me good manners, and I still write old- fashioned letters. Thank you notes mostly, but also just “I’m thinking of you” notes to friends of my parents and grandparents.
Dear Ramsey,
I pause, the top of my pen in my mouth, trying to think about how to tell him. And wondering whether his mail will be read by anyone else but him. The last thing I want to do is get him into trouble.
I guess I’m going to have to tell him in code. Too bad we don’t both know a foreign language.
My mind resorts to the one language we both have in common: music.
There is something I need to tell you. I trust you can figure it out by this musical riddle of sorts. We once lamented that a certain male pop star was the voice of music for a new generation. He sings a song with a rap star who is famous for singing about wanting to do what you’ve been rated a ten out of ten for doing to me.
What I need to tell you is that something unexpected is coming our way, and its name is in the title of the song that those two singers collaborated on.
Suddenly, though, before I can write any more, I feel like something’s ripping through my body. I’m doubled over in pain.
“Susan!” I call out, grabbing my belly. “Come quick!”
She rushes into the room, holding Mason. “What is it?”
“My stomach. It hurts so bad. Like period cramps, only a hundred times worse.”
“Contractions,” she says, with authority.
“But isn’t it too early?”
The pain radiates around to my back, and I can even feel it gripping my thighs.
“I don’t know,” she says. “But I’ll call 911. And I’ll come to the hospital as soon as I can find someone to watch the kids.”
“Okay,” I say, for lack of anything better to say.
Am I going to be all right? I want to ask. Is the baby? What’s happening?
But I know she doesn’t know the answers to these questions any more than I do. A fear overtakes me that feels even stronger than the pain. I just want to get the hospital, where they can give me some answers.