Roxy

The struggle is real.

The one to get comfortable.

The one to sleep without feeling like a beached whale.

The one to fit through a freaking doorway.

Nine months and five days.

This baby does not want to leave her house. That’s what I am now. One gigantic home for a girl who seems to think the elephant’s gestational period is fine and dandy.

September rolls into town, and it’s time for Ben to start kindergarten.

“Please roll me to the Helen Williams School,” I say at the breakfast table on his first day.

“You don’t have to take me to school, Roxy,” Ben says. “You should take a nap. Nap time is cool.”

“I plan on sleeping all day long once she’s here, since you’re going to take care of her, right?” I tease.

He laughs. “I’ll help out if she’s not smelly.”

“It’s good to have lines, son,” Miles says in mock seriousness.

“Also, I’m not missing your first day of school.”

Miraculously, I manage to take him to school without waddling the whole way, but as Miles and I leave, we walk one block, chatting about how well the expansion of Fluffy & Fabulous is going, and then my water breaks.

* * *

Contractions are no joke.

But as determined as this girl was to stay inside me, she’s just as determined to make her great escape.

When we reach the hospital, the nurses whisk me to a labor and delivery room and administer an epidural.

Bring it on.

And I love it because everything people say about the pain of labor should be multiplied. That stuff hurts like hell.

But nothing hurts now, thanks to drugs. Yay, drugs.

“You’re almost there,” Miles says, cheering me on.

The curly-haired nurse squeezes my hand. “Just one more push, honey.”

Panting, I grit my teeth and try again.

“You can do it,” Miles urges, and I think this is where I’m supposed to yell at him, but I don’t feel like yelling. I feel like meeting my baby. I’m so damn ready.

The next time the nurse tells me to push, I focus all my energy on what I’ve wanted so badly these last several months.

Her.

“You’ve got it. You can do it,” my husband says confidently, like he believes so deeply in me.

And in my ability to pop out a watermelon.

I bear down. With a primal scream, my little girl announces her arrival into the world, and relief and joy flood me.

“She’s perfect,” the nurse says proudly.

“She’s magic,” Miles whispers, complete wonder in his voice as he gazes at the little creature who’s been setting up shop in me for the last nine months.

Tears leak down my face, and all I want is to hold her and love her. My arms reach for her. The nurse hands her to me, and I’m clobbered by so much emotion and by the instant bond I feel with my baby. I’m going to love her wildly for my whole life.

I tear my gaze away from the gorgeous creature to look at my husband, who’s staring in awe at our baby.

He strokes her hair as tears slide down his cheeks too. “What should we name her?”

I smile at him and then her. “Sarah.”

He kisses her and then kisses me. “Thank you for letting me be her dad.”

And I fall in love with him all over again.