KATE
“I can’t believe you let your mom move into our guest bedroom.” I let out an exasperated sigh.
“You love my mom, though.” The expression on his face is matter of fact, but it only elicits an unladylike growl from my lips.
“I do love her, but now whenever she looks at me, she gives me this look of sadness. I hate it.”
“Babe, you’re imagining things.”
“I am not.” I stand quickly and wince at the small cramp in my side. Luckily Wes doesn’t notice. “I am not crazy and I am not being dramatic.”
“Kate.”
“Okay, so maybe I am being dramatic, but I am not imagining things.”
“Fair enough.” He walks towards me and slides his hands around my waist until they are resting on my lower back. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Okay.” I nuzzle into his neck and his musky aftershave, makes me start coughing incessantly. “Are you—” cough, cough. “—trying to kill me?”
“Seriously, Kate?”
“Ahh...poor word choice on my part.” I giggle but realize quickly by the fear raging in his eyes, how pissed off he is. Weston steps back and saunters out of the room, shoulders slumped and all. “Great. I fucking did it again.” I mumble to myself.
“He’s just a little sensitive right now, surely you understand.”
I jump at his mother’s raspy voice behind me. “Dammit.” She cocks her eyebrow at me, but doesn’t scold me like she does with Weston. “You scared me.”
She goes on as if I didn’t say a word. “He’s upset and terrified, but can you blame him?”
I wince at the harsh accusatory tone in her voice. She hasn’t ever spoken to me in that way before and it doesn’t feel good. I smile politely and plaster on a blank expression. “With all due respect, this is something I’d rather discuss with my husband.” I won’t get into it right now with her and try to justify my reasoning for why I did what I did. I step away from her, holding my giant belly steady. For some reason if I’m not holding it, I’m afraid I’m going to topple over like an uneven tower of Jenga blocks.
~*~
I can feel a slight cramping in my side and I glance at the clock; I’ve been mentally watching the consistency, but up until now, it’s been all over the place. The cramping has been off and on for a couple hours and I’m beginning to think that I might be in labor, but it’s really hard to tell for sure. My due date isn’t for a couple weeks.
The pain isn’t comfortable, but it isn’t completely unbearable either- more tightening of the muscles than anything.
Weston’s out spending time with his mom and, not wanting to worry him over what may be nothing, I decide to just keep up with my usual routine.
I might not be in labor right now, anyways. For all I know, it could just be wishful thinking. I am so ready to return to my pre-baby weight when I’m not the size of a baby orca whale.
I grab my delivery bag and begin packing it. It’s something Weston and I have put off doing, as silly as that is. With everything that’s been going on, it just hasn’t been on the forefront of our thoughts.
As I’m tossing some baby outfits into the bag, I can’t help but think back to Weston’s mom guilt tripping me. I already feel super guilty over everything I’m putting, and will soon be putting, my husband through.
I just don’t want to even think about it anymore. I feel like, since he’s found out, my cancer is all we talk about or want to talk about.
I’m emotionally and physically exhausted. I’m sick and tired of even thinking about it. I want to focus on our happiness, our love, our child. Is that too much to ask?
Shit.
The sharp pain is back and feeling worse than the one that had appeared before it. I focus on my breathing and slowly waddle into my bathroom.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, because bending is too difficult, and turn the nozzle of the shower to hot. Then I turn on the cold and run my fingers under the water until the temperature feels just right.
I slowly and ungracefully peel off the remnants of my clothing and step into the shower, the steam rising into my face as the warmth of the water washes over me. I let all the stress seep out of my shoulders and back; it feels so nice.
With a couple quarter-sized dribbles of shampoo, I run my hands over my hair, caressing my scalp in rhythmic movements. It feels so good to just relax and feel like I’m being pampered, even though I’m doing this to myself.
I pour the soap on my loofah sponge and rub circles over my body, scrubbing at my skin till it begins to turn pick. With the new oncoming cramp, I drop the sponge and lean against the wall.
I hadn’t expected it so quickly after the previous one, though the warm water does lessen the stabbing pain slightly.
Standing beneath the water one last time, I let all the soap rinse from my body before shutting off the water altogether. I grab the towel hanging on a hook in the bathroom and barely manage to wrap it around myself.
My body feels heavy and walking to the bed and sitting down is a task in itself. I look at the clock, waiting for the next cramp to hit. I have a feeling this is it and I want to be sure. As if on a loop, I gasp at the intensity of the next one as it unexpectedly crashes into me like a tsunami.
4 minutes.
I shimmy some leggings up my legs and grab my phone.
Me: Meet me at the B.C. Charlotte is coming.
The response comes back immediate.
Hubby: You can’t drive, Babe. So help me God, you better not try.
Me: Calm your ass down. It’s called Uber. I’m leaving now.
Hubby: Stay Safe. See you in fifteen.
I grab my bag as the Uber car pulls up into our driveway. I lock the bottom lock and waddle down the steps slowly.
“I’m not telling you to speed or anything, but I think you should know I’m in labor.” I laugh at the worried expression on the gentleman’s face as I climb into the small backseat. “Don’t worry, I promise I won’t be having my baby in your car.”
“Yes Ma’am.” The guy doesn’t say another word as he pulls out of the driveway and changes gears.
On a car ride that should take 10 minutes, we make it there in 5. Not that I’ll tell Weston that, but I appreciate the promptness nonetheless.
“There.” I point to Wes standing outside the front of Baby Love Birthing Center. Once we’re pulled up, in a matter of seconds Weston has my door sprung wide open. I shake my head and push his hands away from me. “No. Don’t you dare try to fucking carry me. I intend to walk my ass in there myself.” I snap.
His rolls his eyes, but he seems to understand that I mean business, because he doesn’t try to object. His mom stands off to the side watching both of us and, while I want to stay pissed at her, I know she’s just as worried about Weston as I am.
Her happiness over our daughter coming is infectious though as she bounces back and forth on the balls of her feet with a big smile stretched across her thin, barely-there lips.
Weston walks slowly behind me as I hobble into the lobby.
“Shit. Fuck. Damn.”
“Kate.” Both Wes and his mom utter at the same time. I have a sudden, insane urge to turn to them both and scream that I’m an adult and can curse if I damn well please, but I don’t. Instead I settle for, “My water just broke.”
The fluid dribbling down the legs of my yoga pants is so uncomfortable. I haven’t peed my pants since I was six years old and this feels an awful lot like that. Gross on so many levels and it’s hard to think about anything but getting out of these soggy things. Give me five seconds and I will be close to stripping down to my cotton panties right here in the lobby.
“The contractions I will handle, but standing in wet pants with amniotic fluid running down into my shoes- no thanks.”
Weston just laughs while I pin him with my serious about to give birth bitch face. I can’t even deal with him right now. I love the shit out of him, but if he looks at me and gives me that face- you know, the one that says I’m being way more dramatic than I should be- I’m going to scream.
I’m having his damn baby, for crying out loud. You’d think he’d be glad that I’m giving him this miracle instead of giving me shit for it. I would pay a billion dollars to see him pop a watermelon-sized baby out of lemon-sized hole.
Weston grabs my waist, holding me up while another contraction rips into me. I can’t help but wince, breathing in and out, then in and out once again. I won’t be one of those moms that screams as if she’s dying, cursing the world and those around her because she happened to spread her legs and get knocked up.
I’ve done my research and talked with other mothers. I was told that you need to stay calm and take it one contraction at a time, but that is way easier said than done. The contractions are horrible, but the staying calm is the hard part; between Weston and his mom, I’m getting whiplash.
The current contraction begins to fade and my breathing becomes less straggled and erratic as I’m escorted to a birthing room separated by a small family room where any guests will get to stay until Charlotte is here.
A decent sized whirlpool tub sits in the center and just behind it sits a large king-sized bed with twinkle lights sporadically placed around the canopy. The lighting gives it a relaxing and magical ambiance.
A rocking chair sits off to the side and my heart lurches at the realization that very soon, I’m going to be holding my squirming daughter and rocking her to sleep in my arms.
My midwife lets me get used to my surroundings first, but it doesn’t take long before another contraction rushes in. She instructs me to sit so she can check my cervix and it’s one of the worst feelings ever, I’m convinced. It feels as if she stuck her whole fucking fist in my hoohah and reached all the way up into my throat. Uncomfortable and fucking painful.
“You’re at 7 cm dilated, Kate. We’re almost there, but not quite yet. Breathe, deep breaths. This contraction will pass.” Weston sits beside me rubbing my waist, easing the pain little by little.
When the contraction is gone, I stand, needing to do something to get my focus off the pain.
~*~
“Please tell me that you are not seriously dancing to the Cha Cha Slide right now?” Jazzy walks in, seemingly rolling her eyes into the back of her head as Weston and I put our hands on our knees and shake our butts to the beat. It warms my heart that he’s doing this with me, since I’m pretty sure most guys wouldn’t dare to.
“To the right!” Weston hollers and I giggle, watching him get into this dance as much as I am. He pumps his strong arms in the air and I follow his lead as he turns the opposite direction, wiggling his hips.
I hold my hands beneath my belly and wiggle and hop to the music, with obvious struggle. The contractions don’t let up, in fact they come on stronger and stronger, but focusing on breathing through them and bopping to the music pulsing throughout the room makes it much easier to handle.
“I was literally dying in the hospital bed with the twins and you’re in active labor, dancing along as if you were back at Prom. Lucky bitch.” She hisses.
“I’m trying to dance this baby out. Bouncing on the ball didn’t help. Sex is off the table and I can’t possibly think of anything else. So, either join in or sit your ass down.” I smile sweetly and she sticks her tongue out at me. “Mature.”
“Cupid Shuffle time, babe.” Weston winks, leaning down to kiss my cheek before singing loudly and very off tune to the new song that just began to play through the speakers.
I’m laughing so hard that I can barely contain myself. Weston is getting so into the song, flailing his arms around as he tries to follow the beat. His mom is laughing and Jazzy is recording the whole scene with her phone. I can already see this as blackmail for the future, poor guy.
“Baby, I love you, but dancing is definitely not your greatest talent.”
“No, it’s yours.” He winks. “Who needs to learn to dance when I’ve got a beautiful wife to do it for me.”
“Gross.” Jazzy pipes in.
“Shut it.” I glance back and forth between Jazzy and Weston’s mom who has suddenly become an emotionless statue, sitting with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Geez, she’s wound up a tad too much.
“Let me show you how this is done.” Jazzy tosses her phone onto the bed and begins to square off with my husband. Her shoulders pulled back and her head held high, I’m already picturing somebody getting hurt.
This won’t be good.
Just as Jazzy pulls out some wiggling dance move I’ve never seen before, the next contraction hits.
It’s the very one that all mothers speak of, the one that rips through your body, making it nearly impossible to breathe or move. Tears swell in my eyes, but I listen to my midwife as she instructs me to focus on my breathing, only my breathing.
Weston begins filling the whirlpool tub with warm water and I’m eternally grateful. He always knows what I need before I do.
I strip down into my lace sports bra and, with Wes’ assistance, step over the side of the tub and into the water. It feels heavenly and the warmth eases the ache I’m feeling in my vaginal area. I’ve already told my husband that, once I begin giving birth, he is not to look down there.
Nope. Not allowed.
Goodness knows that I don’t want to know how loose I’m getting as I stretch for delivery. It can’t be a pretty sight, that’s for sure.
Once I’m seated, I rest my forehead on my arms, taking straggled breaths, but at least I’m breathing. Labor is much harder than I thought it would be. Much more grueling, trying and painful. I really thought that most mothers said it was excruciatingly painful so that you wouldn’t get knocked up.
Boy was I wrong.
Very fucking wrong.
Weston kneels beside the tub and nuzzles his prickly, scruffy face against my cheek, leaving soft butterfly kisses behind. No matter how often I look at him, every time I do I’m amazed at the man he is, how kindhearted and loving he is. How he protects me and looks after me, even puts up with all my ridiculous mood swings.
I’m in pain, but his sweet self is easing some of that weight and doing his best to make me feel special and support me in every way.
Goodness gracious, I love this man.
“It hurts.” I whine, and he smiles sympathetically, running his hand over my messy, sweat-soaked hair, which is no doubt sticking up at various angles.
“I know, my love. You’re tackling it like a champ. I am so proud of you.”
I bury my face in my arms that are holding me tightly to the tub and will the tears not to fall. I want to stay strong through this. Even at its hardest, it’s still much easier to go through than it was with the abortion all those years ago.
I’m not weak and I will get through this.
WESTON
I can see Kate’s shoulders shaking and I know her like the back of my hand; she’s showing so much restraint. Comparing this birth to the birth of Jazzy’s twins, it’s like night and day.
Jasmine went ballistic when she was in labor. She screamed, hollered, and insulted anyone within breathing distance. Most was directed towards her husband and I kind of felt bad for the poor sucker.
Kate is much different. She’s as calm as can be- happy even- despite the obvious pain she’s feeling. She hasn’t said one unkind thing to me and it’s easy to tell how focused she is.
It truly is a site to see.
“You’re fully dilated now, Kate.”
My eyes go wide and the realness of the moment hits me like a freight train. Our daughter is going to be here anytime. My beautiful, strong, fierce wife is tackling this like a warrior and I’m struggling to get my train of thought properly on track.
I’m trying not to panic, but it’s hard to not worry about being responsible for a living, breathing child. It’s a lot to really take in and, as prepared as I am, it doesn’t make becoming a father for the first time easier.
“I want you to breathe the baby out. Let your body do the pushing for you.” Her midwife chimes in. I can see the fear in Kate’s eyes, but her sheer strength is taking my breath away. She’s clutching my hand tightly, her nostrils flaring as she breathes through the contractions, letting her body do what it was naturally intended for.
I don’t know how long we’re sitting here, but it feels like hours of her breathing before any progress is made. Her midwife and doula keep popping their fingers into the water and feeling near Kate’s vagina for progress.
“There you go, Kate. The baby is crowning. With the next few contractions, she should be out.”
“Don’t give up yet, baby. You’re so close.”
“Okay.” she mumbles, finding strength within my eyes, an almost instant determination crossing her brows.
Seconds turn into minutes. It feels as if we’re so close, yet so far at the same time. The next contraction hits and I see Kate cringing. I just wish more than anything that I could take away her pain.
Time slows as our daughter’s entire body enters the water in a gush of blood. The midwife picks her up and places her on Kate’s chest and I see the instant sigh of relief and love flood Kate’s delicate features.
Tears spring to her eyes as she looks over our beautiful daughter and I’m overwhelmed with the love I’m feeling towards the tiny human and my beautiful wife who brought her into the world in the most breathtaking way.
“She’s perfect, Weston.”
I lean down and kiss Charlotte’s little cheek and then pull my wife into my arms, not caring that I’m getting soaked. It feels right holding my entire world.
“As perfect as her mama.” I whisper into her ear.
“Put in for a transfer ASAP.” The midwife ushers to the doula and time stands unexpectedly still yet moves in lightning speed at the same time. “Weston, please take your daughter. Kate’s still bleeding pretty heavily, and we’re concerned about the magnitude.”
My heart drops.
Why can’t Kate and I catch a damn break?