9
I wish I could fly out to be with Alejandro right now, but it’s not possible—both financially and due to my current state of pregnancy.
Once again, I’m living off texts and anticipation. It’s a good thing both are frequent and potent, otherwise I might not survive.
The memories of our last encounter also help to keep me company, which are currently racing through my brain on a constant loop as I lie here in bed, contemplating getting up and actually doing something with my day or sleeping an extra hour or ten.
I feel my lips turn up at the corners as I remember Alejandro’s hands on my body, their heat and strength touching me everywhere. The sound of his voice, that smooth, sexy accent, those whispered words of Spanish in the dark as we moved together.
I stretch and wiggle around beneath the sheets, groaning my protest and lamenting that he’s not here to wrap me up in his warmth. I long for the taste of his lips on mine again. Memories are great, but they’re no substitute for the real thing.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I’m instantly awake and in a better mood than two cups of coffee could ever put me in.
I know exactly who it is.
A: Buenos dias Mami
Me: Good morning handsome
A: Sleep well?
Me: Mmm not as good as I do when you’re here
A: Did you dream of me?
Me: Always
A flood of hearts fills my screen. I return them along with every heart emoji available.
Me: You forgot to say good morning to the baby
Me: He’s kicking me he’s so mad
I’m teasing of course. The baby is always awake the instant I am. It’s as if he has some sort of sixth sense. Right now his feet are protruding from my left side, his head wedged against my right as he arches his body across the entire expanse of my stomach.
A: lol Tell him I said good morning
Me: Aha! So you finally admit he’s a boy
A: I did not say that lol
Me: Doesn’t matter. I’m always right.
A: Sure Mami
Me: Is that doubt I hear?
A: Not at all ;)
Me: Uh huh
Rolling sideways, I allow my feet to touch the floor before I attempt to stand fully. It’s always a struggle, this whole moving, walking, breathing thing. I’ll be glad when I can finally hold my little man in my arms instead of carrying him around on my bladder.
A sudden rush of wetness runs down my inner thighs when I’m finally upright, and for a minute I think I might have actually peed myself. It’s been close a few times, especially having had children before. My pelvic floor isn’t as in shape as it used to be, no matter how man Kegels I do. But I can feel that my bladder is still full.
Rushing to the bathroom, I relieve myself and when I’m still leaking fluid, I’m certain of what’s happened.
Retrieving my phone, I’m in a slight panic when I text Alejandro back.
Me: Water just broke.
A: Don’t play Mami
Me: I’m not lol there’s water everywhere
Me: You’d better book a flight. Looks like you’re gonna be a dad again soon
A: OMG
A: Are you okay?
Me: Fine. Just freaking out a little
A: Me too
Me: You’d better be here when this baby comes
A: I’ll try my best Mami
Me: Try harder lol
A: lol
A: Did you call the doctor yet
Me: No, I’m talking to you
A: Call the doc
Me: I will. Don’t worry
A: Now
Me: I will. I am. This is me calling.
With a sigh, I look up the number for the midwife and am immediately connected with a woman who assures me that the midwife on call will contact me right back.
I start packing the bag that I should have already packed with the essentials, then I text Mark and let him know what’s going on. We’ve already discussed the plan and decided that when I had to go to the hospital, he’d step in and watch after our kids.
I don’t like the idea of him being around when I’m not, especially in my home where I can’t ensure he’ll stay out of my things, but I don’t have much of an alternative.
It’s still early, so I don’t hear back from him right away, but I’m not worried about it. The kids are old enough to be alone for a while, especially with a teenage brother to keep a lookout on things.
When the midwife calls, she asks a few quick questions about contractions, but when she hears that my water has broken, it’s a done deal. At the risk of infection, the baby is coming out today, one way or another.
She gives me directions on what to do, where to go, and who to speak to at the hospital, and I agree to meet her there within the hour. Then I hit the shower, hating the idea of being seen by anyone looking like I was just dragged through a sewer. I end up going through my entire routine, even slapping on some makeup and drying my hair. I draw the line at curling it though—I don’t want to look like I’ve tried too hard.
The kids are bleary-eyed when I tell them what’s happening and what I need from them. The youngest wants to come with me, but I talk her into staying home and helping keep the house together and watching over the pets instead. Then I’m driving myself to the hospital, feeling more than a little alone and a whole lot scared for what’s to come.
Alejandro and I texted until the pain grew too much for me to focus on typing. Last I knew, he was still trying to find his way back to me, assuring me he’d be here one way or another. The problem is that neither of us know when that will be. He could very well miss the birth of our child, and that makes me anxious as hell.
I don’t want to do this alone, and nurses, like family and friends, only provide a small amount of comfort during a time when there’s only one person in the world who can give you what you truly need.
I pray through unrelenting waves of contractions that he’ll make it in time, but a little voice inside of me says he won’t. I’m on my own here.
Naturally, I’m upset. I feel like everything this last year has just been working against me. The universe must hate me. It’s as if every roadblock and pit in the road it can throw at me, it has. Yes, there have been some good things to come out of it all, but why does every damn thing have to be such a production? Is it really necessary for life to be this hard? All I want is for the father of my child to be by my side through this, to offer me what little comfort he can and to witness our child enter the world—it’s a moment you can’t ever get back, and I want more than anything to share it with him.
Unfortunately, that’s not to be the case.
As I bear down, focusing on the task in front of me, Alejandro is nowhere in sight. I knew it was a longshot, especially when he’s halfway across the country and it’s such short notice. Especially because this is my third birth and things just go faster each time. Especially because it seems that anything that can go wrong will.
I shouldn’t be so disappointed that I begin crying when they pull my bundle of joy from my body with a rush and lay him on my chest.
“Congratulations, momma, it’s a boy!”
A son. I have a precious little boy. I smile through my tears as I touch his slimy, wrinkled body and think of how I can’t wait to tell Alejandro I was right.
Curled up on my chest, his little hands are in tight fists and his face is scrunched as if the lights are too much, but he doesn’t make a sound. Not even as the nurse jams a nasal aspirator down his throat and up each nostril. Not even as she ruffs him up with a blanket.
The moment my little guy starts crying is when she whisks him away to get his measurements and do all the little checks they do to make sure he’s as perfect as my eyes tell me he is.
The nurse returns a few moments later, handing over my baby who is freshly wrapped in a standard hospital blanket, complete with an itty bitty knit hat that regretfully hides a mat of black hair that perfectly matches his dad’s. He stops crying immediately.
“He knows his mommy,” she says with adoration. “Is there anything I can get you before I leave you two alone?”
I look down at my boy, stroking a finger across his pale, chubby cheek. “No, I’m fine.” But only in the sense that I don’t need anything that she can offer. What I need is out of everyone’s reach and capability.
“Okay, then. I’ll be back in a while to check on you, but if you need anything in the meantime, just push that button.” She points to the side of the bed where there are all kinds of controls to operate the bed and the television, as well as call the nurse’s station.
“Okay, thanks.”
As soon as I’m left alone, I feel the tears slip again. I shouldn’t allow it. Honestly, I knew it was going to be this way. I’ve gone over it all too many times to count. All the days alone, all the times he’ll miss, all the lost memories, sleeping alone, and the list goes on. This day was a distinct possibility right out of the starting gate…and I thought I could handle it.
I can. I will. I just didn’t expect for it to be this hard.
Reaching for my phone, I use what’s left of my battery to take a picture of the little person sleeping in my arms. Then I send it off with a text:
Me: He’s perfect
I don’t get a response.