“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Brad asks me as he pushes the cart.

I roll my eyes. “For the last time, yes.”

I don’t even look at him, just keep my gaze on all the houseware items as we stroll through the market place. Even though I know we’ve gotten a ton of stuff from the various baby showers, I’ve become obsessive about getting all the right things. I want the perfect nest to bring the baby home into.

I also don’t want to look at him because he’s unable to look at me lately without me feeling like I’m under a microscope. He’s been non-stop worrying about me for weeks, which in turn makes me feel worried and that’s the last thing I need right now.

Zen, I tell myself. Think Zen thoughts.

But Brad goes on. “It’s just that the doctor said that during the last week before you’re due, you should be at home resting.”

“Well that’s fine for Dr. Anderson to say, but Lael Ramsey likes to go to IKEA.”

“I’m also concerned about you talking in the third person.”

Now I glare at him. “Lael Ramsey would like you to shut up.”

“Maybe we should go back upstairs and get more Swedish meatballs in you.”

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Plus there’s hot dog and ice cream after we go through the cashiers.”

The truth is, I’m hungry as hell all the time, I’m cranky and I’m huge. I’ve been waddling around in muumuus for what seems like forever and the only thing that’s been helping is keeping myself busy and taking my mind off of it.

I’m beyond ready for our baby girl to come out into the world and the more that I think about it, the more anxious and impatient I get.

Hence why strolling around IKEA seems to help my nerves and I’ll do anything to get through this last week.

“Are you sure?” Brad asks after a few moments, when I’ve grabbed a cheap spaghetti strainer and plunked it in the cart. I already have a few but who cares.

“Brad,” I warn him. “Leave me be.”

“Okay, okay. I just want everything to be perfect, you know.”

I nod. “I know. And I don’t know how perfect things will be but you know it’s going to be fine.”

“I know.”

The only problem, of course, with waddling with my big fat belly around IKEA (other than knocking items off the shelves) is that I get tired easily. My feet are so swollen and sore they resemble appendages belonging to Jabba the Hut.

I decide to call it a day, happy with my impulse purchases, plus the hot dog and ice cream, and Brad drives us back to our place in Sherman Oaks that we now share.

Christy moved out shortly after Brad lost his condo and had to move in. She got a full-time graphic design job in Orange County so she needed to move closer but we still see each other every weekend. And of course, I wanted the father of my child to live with me and Baby Groot.

Needless to say, the last nine months or so have been interesting.

Sometimes it’s been extremely happy, knowing that our baby is on the way. I’ve never felt so lovingly supported before and Brad has been amazing dealing with the pregnancy.

Sometimes, though, it’s frustrating. I never assumed that pregnancy was a walk in the park but the truth is, it’s not as fun as some women make it out to be. I’m not glowing and I never was. I’ve been heavier than I should be and a big sweaty mess, and my morning/afternoon sickness kind of morphed into just an overall feeling of unease that doesn’t go away.

I’ve been bitchy, cranky, and at times it’s hard to find the bright side in all of it. It doesn’t help that I’m tired all the time. Like, pretty much from the first moment I found out I was pregnant, I’ve been exhausted. Then there’s the brain fog that doesn’t go away and the fact that I’m always hungry and yet my taste for food changes frequently. Today the vanilla ice cream at IKEA was delicious, last week the idea would have been revolting. It’s hard to keep up.

I’ve talked it over with my doctor, concerned that something was wrong or maybe I’m just not a good fit for pregnancy. I mean, I’m young, I thought this was the optimal time to carry a child.

But he assured me I’m healthy and the baby is healthy and it’s just not all that it’s cracked up to be. Not every mother glows and feels rested and peaceful, full of rainbows and butterflies. Some moms are sweaty and fat and gross and full of farts that can clear a room.

Poor, poor Brad.

This is what he’s had to put up with.

Needless to say, we’re both happy for when this whole ordeal is over and we can hold our little girl.

Her name is Emma, which was my mother’s middle name.

I’m also excited to start being a mom and get back into the music business. In the early stages of pregnancy, I still had the emotional drive and brain power to write songs. But that all faded pretty quickly.

Once Emma is born, I can get back into it and focus on my music career, whether it’s just writing songs and helping Brad with his solo career, or gearing up for a side project of my own.

Brad’s been doing well. He has plans, especially now with the theater and studio we bought. Things are slowly getting into place. At first he was really adrift, which is only natural after being severed from the only thing he really knew. Like it or not, my father was everything to him and taught him a lot, showed him the ropes, took him under his wing.

It’s just that it was a vulture’s wing, scavenging on the helpless, always looking out for his own best interests in mind, never Brad’s.

It was brave what Brad did. Brave and totally romantic. Picking me, picking Emma, over his band, over his musical career.

But Brad has never been an idiot. And ever since he and my father parted ways, he’s been working non-stop. The band has dissolved for now, though he has talked with Switch about getting together to do something of the same. Calvi, of course, has been hung out to dry, that jackass. My only consolation in all of this is that being a tattle tale didn’t pay off for Calvi at all. He thought he was going to win big favors with my father by snitching on us but the truth is he hasn’t worked since and I doubt he’ll have an easy time going forward. It’s a small town and no one wants to work with a guy like that. Musicians crave their privacy.

Brad’s also been recording some songs somewhere while we wait for our own studio to be completed, and working with various artists. This is the first time he’s ever had total artistic freedom as an artist and I think he’s just taking his time and enjoying all of it.

Besides, it’s nice to have him by my side. He really feels like a partner in all of this and though we have never discussed the possibility of marriage, I know he loves me and is in this for the long haul. He’s proved that to me time and time again.

“Do you mind stopping at 7/11?” I ask him as we turn off Ventura Blvd. “I’m craving some nachos.”

“Lael, that’s not even real food. That cheese is basically plastic. Orange-colored melted plastic on top of GMO chips.”

“I know, but I want them.”

I give him a look that says not to mess with me.

The pregnant lady always wins.

He sighs and pulls into the parking lot and I ease myself out of the car. He’s adamant I stay put but I know it’s not just the nachos that I want, it’s whatever else catches my fancy as I walk the aisles.

I catch a glimpse of the wine and whimper internally. Soon, soon, my precious, I think to the wine bottles. I can’t wait to start having wine again.

I go down the aisles, grabbing whatever bags of chips and junk that catches my eye (there’s no wonder I’m as big as a house), passing them all off to Brad who cradles them in his arms, then head to the snack bar in the middle of the store.

Fake food or not, I want those gross nachos. I grab them, making sure they are drowning in the cheese, then contemplate hitting it up with jalapenos. I haven’t had the stomach for spicy food lately but I know that they can help induce labor (so they say) and at this moment, I want nothing more.

I’m just about to spoon them on top of the nachos when I hear a faint popping sound, like someone has cracked their knuckles.

Only the sound is coming from me.

Then a huge gush of fluid comes streaming down my legs like a waterfall and onto the floor, splashing everywhere.

I drop the nachos on top of it in surprise.

The ultimate mess.

“Are you okay?” Brad asks, then he looks down. “Oh my god! Your water just broke! Oh my god! You’re going into labor! Oh my god! You can’t have a baby in 7/11!”

Meanwhile I’m stunned. A bit mortified that I created the grossest scene to ever grace this 7/11 (and that’s saying a lot) but I’m more shocked than anything.

“Let’s go!” Brad says, putting his arms around me and trying to lead me out of the store. The water doesn’t seem to stop though, it keeps flowing like someone put a hose between my legs. This is nothing like peeing yourself, this is something else entirely and I’m helpless to stop it.

Brad is freaking out, apologizing to the 7/11 employee who doesn’t look as concerned as he should be, and then ushers me out to the car, getting me in my seat.

“Are you okay? Are you in pain? Are you okay?” Brad is panicking.

I nod as he clips in my seatbelt. “I’m okay. I just…I guess this is it.”

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay. We’re one minute from the house, we’ll just go there and get the overnight bag and stuff and oh my god I can’t believe this is happening. Wait, am I being dumb? Should I get you to the hospital first?”

I give him look, trying to get him to calm down. “Let’s go home. You go grab the bag. Call Sally to come pick up Baby Groot. I’m not having contractions yet and you know this can take a long time. In fact, he said if my water breaks, we don’t have to rush to the hospital. We can go later.”

“No, we’re going now. I’m not waiting twenty-four hours to see how this progresses. It’s progressing. It progressed all over 7/11. We’re going.”

“All right.”

I’m amazed at how cool I’m being.

Of course, all of that stops the minute he runs into the house to get the supplies.

Then I’m hit with the mother of all cramps.

It’s like a charley horse on my uterus.

Holy shit.

I grip the edge of the seat and let out a yelp.

Fucking contractions.

I feared them for months and now they’re finally here.

And holy fucking fuck, they aren’t any fun.

Luckily, this one ends by the time Brad comes back in the car so I’m able to be calm and collected again.

Unfortunately, we get stuck in traffic on the way to the hospital and I’m hit by two more of them.

“Ow!” Brad cries out as I dig my nails into his arm, the car nearly going off the road. We’re moving at a snail’s pace but still.

“Ow!?” I roar at him. “You call that painful? Let me show you what pain is really like.” I swear I’m seconds from putting my teeth into his arm.

“No, I believe you,” he says, shrinking away from me. “But that’s three in the last hour, what does that mean? Is this happening quickly? Do we need an ambulance?”

“It’s normal,” I tell him, trying to breathe like they teach you. It’s not really working. What a crock of shit that Lamaze stuff is. “If it’s double this, then we’re getting close.”

“Okay. Okay. You’re sure?”

“Just drive, Brad. Shut up and drive.”

“Okay.”

We get to the hospital just in time. While my contractions didn’t worsen in the car, the moment I’m sitting down in the waiting room they come at me with a vengeance. Powerful ones that make me see stars, nearly have me clawing the walls, and they’re coming five minutes apart.

Brad wrangles a nurse and I’m put into a wheelchair and wheeled off toward a room.

Everything seems to be happening fast and in a blur. I’m put on the bed, the nurses do tests and run things to me, my doctor comes by and says I’m dilated by five centimeters and things are progressing fast but smoothly.

It’s then that I realize that it’s just Brad and I against the world. He has no family. I just have my father. And ever since Brad and him split, ever since he found out I was pregnant, we haven’t been close. Just a text sent on birthdays, that’s it.

For once, I miss him. I miss having a father around, even though my father wasn’t very good at it, he was all I had.

“Are you okay?” Brad asks me as a tear spills down my cheek. “Do you want the epidural after all?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s not that. It’s just…it’s just you and me now.”

He squeezes my hand. “You have a world of supporters behind you, Lael.”

I nod. “I know, I just…”

And then I’m nearly blindsided by another contraction, the worst one yet.

Oh my god.

I thought I could be brave, I thought I could handle the pain. I thought there’s no way in hell I would ever pick getting a needle in the spine over the pain of giving birth and yet here I am yelling, “Give me the needle! Put it in my spine!”

The nurse hovers by me, peering down with a gentle look on her face.

I’d like to spit in that face.

“The anesthesiologist is busy,” the nurse says to me. “We can give you a tranquilizer that will make you sleepy and relax you. Either way, you don’t have long to go. You’re having this baby now.”

“But I want the needle in the spine!” I cry out as she brings an IV over to me. “Not in the vein, put it in my spine!”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Brad says, looking like he’s going to faint.

And then everything gets a bit hazy. I’m still aware of where I am and the pain has subsided a bit but it’s not enough to keep me from screaming with every contraction. And when the doctor starts telling me to push, I’m able to.

Everything really does happen fast or at least the drugs trick me into thinking that.

Before I know it, through the final burst of pain comes euphoria and the sound of a screaming baby.

Emma has been brought into the world.

I’m laughing, crying, overwhelmed by too many things at once. Emma is placed into my arms, her skin pressed against mine, a tiny wrinkled, red-faced little thing.

Brad is beside me, looking down at Emma and I like he’s died and gone to heaven.

I’ve never felt so much love in my life, never felt so complete.

Suddenly the world is whittled down to just the three of us.

Suddenly my heart only beats for my family.

About an hour or so later, after Emma has fallen asleep after her first (successful!) attempt at nursing, Brad leaves the room with an impish smile on his face.

When he comes back, he’s not alone.

There’s Arnie. Christy. And my father. All crowding the doorway.

I’m so shocked, so happy and touched, I burst into tears again.

My father hovers in the background while Arnie and Christy come by and congratulate me and coo over beautiful Emma.

When they’re done, only then does my father come forward.

To my surprise, the moment he looks down at his grandchild, a tear falls from his eye.

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” he says. “She has your mother’s eyes.” He leans over and kisses the top of my head. “I’m very proud of you Lael. I hope you know that now, in case you didn’t before. And I’m sorry about what happened with Brad. I do think our parting ways was for the best. But I won’t stand in the way of you being a family.”

I wouldn’t have let him stand in the way but I’m too exhausted and emotional to say anything except, “Thank you.”

Then I look down at Emma and say the same thing.

“Thank you, little one, for coming into this world. Thank you for everything.”