Dylan’s x-rays don’t take long at all. He just has a sprain, so they put his ankle in a boot and pull up a seat for him next to my bed. I’m wearing one of those hideous gowns that hospitals provide. I mean someone who died must’ve worn this at some point, right? I should’ve been like one of those moms that brings her own hospital gown. I just couldn’t be bothered, but now I’m regretting my decision for fashionable hospital wear.

The contractions are stacking up and I’m feeling the urge to push. This girl feels like she’s coming out whether we’re ready or not. “Oh, we haven’t decided on a name, Dylan!” We’ve been in a disagreement on what to call her since we knew she existed. We’ve also both changed our mind so many times, it’s hard to keep up.

“It’s okay, princess. Maybe, once we meet her we’ll know.”

I sigh in relief. That makes total sense. I mean what if we decided on Gertrude and she comes out and looks more like an Emily or something. I smile at him. My husband is so thoughtful. Another contraction comes and I bear down and squeeze his hand.

“Shit.”

I let go of his hand and see it now resembles a lobster claw.

“Sorry.”

He just shakes his head and kisses mine. “It’s okay, baby. You’re in a lot of pain. Give me some too.” He laughs.

The doctor flitters in light as a fairy and snaps on her gloves and before I know it, she has my legs spread and is telling me to push. I wail and scream through every one of them. Dylan’s face is priceless. He looks terrified. I wish I had my phone so I could take a picture. Then, I’m pushing again. Five more pushes and she’s out.

“Welcome to the world, little one,” my doctor says.

I smile at the little blob of goo, blood, and hair. She’s so precious. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dylan crying. I pretend not to see. The delivery nurse rubs her down, weighs her, checks her vitals and makes a little foot print on paper with ink. Then she’s bundled in my arms with her eyes closed.

“She’s so beautiful,” Dylan says as he looks down into my arms. I nod and look at her small little face, trying to think of a name fit for this little girl.

“What should we name her?” I look up to Dylan. He shakes his head.

“I just keep thinking of the word beautiful,” he replies.

I smile and look down at my girl. Her eyes are open a little. I tilt my head and think of the perfect name for her.

“How about Rose?”

Dylan gives me a huge grin.

“You’re naming our baby girl Pink?” He laughs.

I nod my head completely serious. “I love it.”

Dylan kisses me on the lips. “Well done, Mama.”

“How are you doing, Daddy?”

Dylan kisses me again and grins. “I like that.”

“I’m sure you do.” I giggle. He leans his head against mine and we stare down at this little human we made together.

Rose Petal Ryder came into our lives and made it so much better. Birdie adores her. She like to sleep next to her on the couch. Any kind of coo that Rose makes, Birdie comes running, as does her father. The next day he went out and got a tattoo with her name and a beautiful pink rose on his chest. Yup, Dylan Ryder has a pink tattoo. Three points for Team Pink!

Dylan rocks our sweet Rose to sleep every night. I love watching them together, my husband and my child, our little family. We’ve been talking about getting a bigger place for our growing family. I’d love to decorate a place that belongs to both of us, and of course there will be pink.

Our parents never ended up marrying, thank God. Shortly after our confrontation, they broke up. I guess they saw the error in their ways. My dad calls me sometimes to check on baby Rose. He hasn’t made a visit yet, but I told him he’s always welcome.

Dylan’s mother on the other hand, hasn’t contacted us at all. That’s how we like it. She’s probably out on the ocean on a cruise. Maybe she’s more of an Ursula? If only an iceberg would come around and bump her off the ship. I feel bad for her really. She didn’t know how good she had it. Elizabeth probably still doesn’t realize what she lost. Dylan’s wonderful. I couldn’t imagine having this baby without him. He’s been so supportive and caring.

I think back to those days not long ago when we fought at our old accounting firm. We really were crazy about each other. The numbers might not have added up but we figured it out between the spreadsheets.