I look over at my pottery wheel and sigh wistfully. Ever since I started my third trimester, my belly has been too big to work around. There’s no way I’ll be able to work the clay up, like magic, from a lump to a beautiful vase or cup or bowl. Not until this little one is born. I rub my hand over my belly and feel a big kick against my palm.

The baby has been so active the last little while. I guess we’re both getting excited to meet each other. With only a couple of weeks to go until my due date, I’m practically counting down the seconds until I get to hold my baby in my arms.

Pottery can wait. I’m sure I’m not going to have much energy for slinging mud when I’m up all night with feedings and diaper changes. Even with three of us here, it will be a big change. It’s a small price to pay for having a newborn of my own.

I flick off the light switch to my studio and close the door. Walking across my boutique, I have an overwhelming sense of pride hit me as I realize just how far I’ve come in the past year. Almost three hundred and sixty-five days ago today, I was packing the last of my earthly belongings onto a moving truck and driving off into the great wide unknown.

Sure, I had dreams and even plans about how I was hoping to make all of this work, but I had no clue my life was about to become the beautiful chaos it did. Moving here, it literally changed my life. Now I’ve got Zach and Desi, two of the most attentive and protective dads-to-be. Every night they take turns rubbing oil on my big belly and rubbing my swollen feet. Every day they tell me how beautiful I am, and I can see in their eyes that they mean it.

I’ve also got my business. It was a risk to believe I could be so bold as to make my living off my art. Yet, a year later, it’s clearly the right decision. Sales have never been better than the boom I’ve been having these past few months. I’ll definitely be taking some time off after the baby is born, but I won’t be shutting down the store for too long. Word of mouth seems to be bringing new customers into this shop every day and I don’t want to miss out on that.

And then there’s the baby. I tenderly press my fingers into my stomach and smile down at my unborn child. It’s literally a dream come true that I’m going to be a mommy soon. This moment, giving birth, it’s something I’ve dreamed about for so long. It’s almost surreal that this is all working out for me like this. I guess, when you grow up with a father who pretty much hates you and calls you ugly and fat in drunken stupors, you don’t really envision yourself finding true happiness.

But here I am.

Truly happy.

I’m waddling as I walk across the store and go through the door that leads into my house. Being so late in my third term of pregnancy has really thrown me off balance. I don’t walk the same. I can’t sleep the same. I even have to sit down and get up out of chairs differently. All the things I used to take for granted, like tying my shoelaces, have become impossible.

And I don’t mind one bit.

Every single time I’ve hit some kind of milestone that most women complain about, like needing a hand to stand up or my feet swelling up like balloons by the end of the day, I’ve taken it in stride. None of it matters. None of it is permanent. All I care about is giving birth to a happy, healthy baby.

Smiling, I make my way to the kitchen to make myself a little snack. Lately I’ve been really digging fried egg sandwiches with peanut butter. It’s basically just like if you made yourself some toast with peanut butter spread over it and then slapped a fried egg between the slices and ate it like a sandwich. The guys always look at me with crinkled noses and judgment when they see me cooking one up, but they don’t know what they’re missing.

I pull the frying pan out from under the cupboard when a ripple of pain trembles over the surface of my belly. It’s minor, but it makes me pause and take notice. All of a sudden, a deep, twisting pain, like my muscles are tearing inside makes me drop the pan on the floor and double over.

Gasping for breath, I fall to my hands and knees and become prisoner of an intense pain I’ve never felt before. It’s so fast and so overwhelming, I know right away I need to get help.

As soon as it subsides, I get my breathing back under control and quickly slide into my Crocs and walk over to the station. Desi and Zach are going to be on opposite shifts once the baby is born so I’ll always have one of them here with me to help me out. However, right now they’re still fire team partners.

I make it just out to the front step when another crippling, wrenching ache makes me cling onto the door handle for dear life and struggle to breathe. I thought contractions were supposed to creep up slowly. That they built up over time, each one becoming a bit more powerful than the last until it was time to push. These feel like someone has tied my stomach muscles around a pipe and they’re twisting it up until the fibers are so tight they might just shear off.

Somehow, I manage to keep my feet under me and I try so hard to breathe through it like I learned in prenatal class, but it’s next to impossible. When the pain passes, I hurry over to the firehouse, panicky that another contraction will hit and I’ll fall to the ground.

“What’s up, gorgeous?” Zach sees me first and gives me a boyish grin.

I can’t return his smile. Not when I know another wave of intolerable agony is going to hit soon.

“What’s wrong?” Desi stops cleaning the truck and jogs over to my side as soon as he lays eyes on my face.

“I think the baby is coming.” I grimace and another sensation assaults my body. My pants feel wet and I look down in horror as I realize I’ve pissed myself. No, wait, that darkening stain soaking into my pants isn’t urine, it’s my water breaking. It’s very warm and very wet. I look up at the guys. “We need to go. Now.”