Six Months Later

It’s finally here. After the hormonal changes in my body, the nausea, morning sickness and fatigue, and then the leg cramps and constant heartburn, followed by exhaustion and swollen feet, I’m ready for the baby to be outside my belly. Not that it’s all bad. I love that feeling of helping to create something, a whole new little person. And when he moves or kicks inside me and lets me know he’s there, it’s indescribable. I can’t wait to meet him.

And yes, he’s a him. We got confirmation on that a couple months ago.

Except right now, at the beginning of this labor process, I can’t believe I agreed to a natural birth at home. My water breaks just after dusk, and an hour later the midwife arrives. By then, according to Mom, I’m already dilated to six centimeters. The baby is coming and fast. Fast will be good, because it means this pressure on my back and this pain extending from under my ribcage and down between my thighs will be over soon.

All I want is Tate beside me right now, sitting or pacing or holding my hand somewhere here in Mom’s sitting room, which is where we chose to perform the delivery. It has comfortable lighting, a dimmer switch to make it much darker if needed, neutral colored walls, lots of room to spread out, and it’s closest to the only full bathroom on the main floor of the house.

Where’s Tate, anyway? I text him just as the contractions started and he replied right away that he was dropping everything to be here.

And Christ, why on earth did I agree to two extra pairs of eyes on me during this delivery? Cindy insisted on being here as she’s helped at so many births, and just as she promised, she went ahead and brought over Dean Roman’s older sister, Debbie, also a doula, just in case she needed help.

“Oh God!” Another contraction hits me. I got up to use the bathroom to pee for the fourth time in two hours and am returning to my spot on the mammoth sized day bed on one side of the sitting room. This one is more powerful than the last, and I cling on to the wooden frame of the French doors for dear life. “Where’s Tate? This baby’s not waiting!”

Cindy rushes up to my side and helps me into the room. “He’ll be here soon. Hold your horses.” She helps me back to sit, but I can’t do that. Everything hurts now—sitting, standing, walking. I even try kneeling on the daybed with my arms hanging over the decorative metal side. Dammit, I need drugs, not deep breathing.

“Can you call him for me? At this rate, I’ll be fully dilated in less than an hour.”

Debbie walks in. “Go ahead, Cindy. I’ll help her.”

Cindy finds her phone and sends him a text.

“No, no, no, Cindy…ow…I need to speak to him. Call him, please.”

“Can’t do that, toots.”

“What? Why not. Shit!” Another contraction crashes through my womb. I think I’ll double over and the baby will drop right out. Sweat starts beading on my forehead, and this oversized t-shirt I’m wearing doesn’t feel oversized anymore. It rides up my stomach and making me mad as hell.

Debbie passes me a hot compress to ease the discomfort. “Breathe, honey. You need to breathe.”

“I can’t breathe right now. I want Tate!”

“Calm your childbearing ass down,” Cindy calls out from the doorway. “Tate can’t answer the phone when he’s on his bike rushing to get here as fast as he can. Okay, sweet cheeks? He wouldn’t be able to hear you with the air rushing past him. Listen to Debbie and breathe.”

“Mom!” I scream out.

My mother runs in from the direction of the kitchen with a large container holding more hot compresses. “Yes, honey. I’m here.”

“Pass me my phone, please Mom. I want to call Tate.”

Cindy brings her own phone over and swipes it. “Jesus, girl. Here you go. Hit send and see for your stubborn self.”

I turn my head for some privacy and phone Tate. It goes through to voicemail, so I leave a message. “Tate, honey. It’s Molly, and guess what’s happening, sweetie?” A strong contraction hits me and I scream out, “The baby’s coming and you’re not fucking here!” When it subsides, I’m so weak, I wrap up the call with a quick, “Now please get here before I have to kill you, darling.”

Without hanging up, I pass the phone back to Cindy.

* * *

Less than three hours later, I’m fully dilated and ready to be put out of my misery. The contractions are coming on hot and heavy, my water broke ages ago, the baby will be here any second, and I have no energy left for breathing or pushing or even to brush my soaking wet hair out of my face or behind my ear.

Tate charges into the room. I can kiss him right here and now. He’s a sight to see too. Over the past few months, he’s given himself a self-imposed makeover, replacing his blue hard-to-maintain Mohawk for a low naturally light brown brush cut. He wears a dark polo shirt and slacks to his security gigs, and as usual, that black laptop bag slings over his shoulders. Seeing him like this right now, he almost seems like a different man compared to the one I get frisky with most of the time, but I love it. And Jesus Christ, another contraction is gearing up, and I need his hand right now.

“Where were you, baby?” I ask when it passes. I roll onto my side to recover. I’ve likely crushed every bone in the hand he gave me to hold as he sits on the daybed beside me. He doesn’t seem phased, though. His pain tolerance is nice and high.

“Working, lovely. But I’m here now, and you’re doing great.” He tucks some strands of hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead. “You look gorgeous.”

“Liar,” I breathe out.

He rubs my back, massaging it with his good hand. “Are you ready?”

“I was ready four hours ago.”

“Nice. I can’t wait to see what the little squirt looks like.”

“Me too. I wish he could’ve seen you with the Mohawk.”

“That can be arranged. It just takes a few months to grow back.”

Mom and Cindy walk in. “Molly honey, we’re going to get things going now,” Mom tells me, as though the last four hours were a walk in the park.

I’m feeling so lippy right now. “Okay, Mom. Pop that bag and let’s do this. I’m ready.” I look up at Tate. “We’re ready, right?”

“Fucking right,” he says and hears Mom clear her throat. “Uh, yes we are.”

Mom sets up the camcorder on a side table and starts recording, then moves to the open end of the daybed. Cindy and Debbie stand on either side of Mom, ready to help keep my legs up high to help the baby out. “Okay honey. We need you to roll onto your back now.” Mom parts my legs when I’m settled on my back.

“I’m in labor, Mom.”

“You are, honey. Baby will be here soon.”

“Shit, this is what being in labor feels like. It fucking hurts like a bitch, Mom. No wonder more than half of the women in labor at the hospital maternity ward ask for the epidural. I think I want some of that right fucking now.”

Mom smiles. “And you’re a nurse now, Molly, so you know full well that ship has sailed.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer because she notices I’ve started panting. “Oh good, honey. This is another contraction. I want you to take a breath and push. Right now.”

I reach up for Tate’s hand, squeezing as hard as I can as I push.

“OwwwwwwwEeeeeeeeeee,” I cry through the pain, pushing with everything I’ve got. My vaginal muscles tear and stretch and crack like someone is down there cutting me with a dull, dirty knife.

“That…fucking…hurts. Oh God the pain, oh hell.”

“Yes doll. That looks like it hurts,” Tate says in a soothing voice that only sets me off.

“How the hell would you know!” I shriek. “That’s my vag getting stretched all to hell! Ouuuccccchhhh. Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God!”

“You’re doing great,” Mom says from her spot between my legs. “You’re crowning, honey. Baby just needs another good push. He’ll be here and in your arms so fast. Can you give me another push?”

“I don’t think so,” I pant out. “I can’t. It really hurts.”

“You can do this. Come on. Let’s do it together. On the count of three. One, two, take a deep breath and three. Push.”

“Oh Goddddddddddddddd!” I cry.

“Yes, honey. The worst is almost over now. Baby’s head is out. If we can just get one last push, his shoulders will be next, and that’s it! Come on. I want to meet my grandson.”

“Jesus fuck, another push? I can’t,” I whine, hardly able to pant, let alone get a big enough breath of air to push again.

“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ll count to five this time.”

Mom counts down. I dig deep. I find that lungful of air and give the last push. The ton of pressure on my pelvis eases up, and Mom cries out, “Yes! He’s here! You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“He’s here? Baby’s here?”

“Yes he is, love. He’s perfect. So gorgeous, and he looks so healthy.” She moves over to the basin of water and wipes off the bundle in her hand, clearing the airways as I weakly catch my breath, desperately wanting to see the baby.

My baby.

“Congratulations, kids,” Cindy says. “Your little one looks very sweet. Doesn’t he, Debbie?”

“He does. He’s strong. And those eyes look just like his grandfather.”

I glance their way for a second and take in the scene around me. As strange as it is, with all these virtual strangers here, I know I’m surrounded by people who will love and care for my little boy.

“We have a baby, Tate.”

“We do. You were amazing. He’s looking really good too.”

“Sorry about your hand.”

“It’ll heal,” he tells me, laughing.

“Give him to me, Mom,” I beg.

“Here you go. He’s beautiful.” Mom steps over to me with the little one and places him on my chest.

“Oh my God.” I admire every feature on his tiny face. His eyes are shut tight, his cute little nose wrinkles a bit, his lips are so precious. And goodness he has a small cleft on his chin, just like Tate whenever he does a close shave. “Hi, baby. Look at you. This is our boy, Tate.”

“It is. He’s perfect.”

“He is.”

“Do you want to hold him?” Mom asks Tate.

“Hell yeah. I was just waiting my turn. You know, she did just stretch her vag to kingdom come to get him here… Crap. Sorry Mrs. Davenport… I figure she should have first dibs on seeing what popped out.”

“Not what, honey. Who. Who popped out.”

“Yes, he’s a cutie.”

Mom picks the baby off of my chest and carefully swaddles him and puts him in Tate’s arms. I tilt my head to see Tate holding his baby for the first time. He’s in awe. It makes my heart wrench to see them together like that. Dad and son. Just as I’d hoped, they look amazing together. Like a real family. Something Tate wanted for as long as I’d known him.

“Yes,” he said softly. “He looks just like me.”

“He kinda does,” I agree.

Tate leans over to kiss his newborn. “He does. And I’m not sure I’ll be letting him go anytime soon.”