Reese

I’ve been pushing for hours. I don’t know how people do this. I can’t take much more. The doctor keeps telling me to push. Just one more big push and she’ll be here. What if I’m not ready to for her yet? What if I’ll be a horrible mom? Can’t she stay in there a little longer?

My conversation with Tyler from last night answers that question for me.

* * *

“You’re forty-one weeks, Reese. Being induced is not a bad idea. She can’t live in there forever,” he laughed.

“Maybe we should wait another week and see if she decides to come on her own.”

“Or… we could listen to the doctor since he does this all the time and let them induce you tomorrow.”

“Fine. But if she doesn’t want to come out, I’m not going to make her.” Crossing my arms over my chest, Tyler’s eyes were drawn away from mine. My boobs have literally doubled in size the last month. Annoying as it may be in situations like this, he has enjoyed them.

“Yeah. I’m sure that’s how that works. You know, this might be the one thing you can’t control. You’re going to have to learn to go with the flow a little. Babies have a way of throwing things off balance in life.”

Running his hands up and down my arms, I let them fall to my side, causing him to frown. Why was he so calm? Why did he have to make so much sense? How the hell does he know so much about babies? We read the same books. If he felt ready for her to make her appearance, why didn’t I?

* * *

“Reese,” Tyler says. “Are you listening to anything the doctor is saying?”

“Of course. How could I not? He’s staring at my hoo-ha and talking into it. I hear everything he’s saying. I’m not ready to push again yet!” I scream. It’s not his fault, but I already warned him he is going to be my punching bag today. I have a feeling he expected no less from me.

“You need to push. Here, let me help you sit up a little more. Can I get another pillow, please?” he asks the nurse. She’s the same one I screamed at ten minutes ago when she tried to add another pillow behind my back.

Handing Tyler the pillow, she steps away quickly. I’m sure she’s dealt with her fair share of mothers in the throes of giving birth. If she’s scared of me, I must be acting bitchier than I think.

“One more time, Reese. You can do it. She’s almost here. Then you can relax. I promise,” Tyler says gently, coaxing a smile out of me. He knows I’m excited to hold her.

This is the hard part, I remind myself. It’ll all be worth it when they place her in my arms.

Three pushes later, my grunts are rewarded with the sweet sound of my baby girl screaming. She’s finally here.

After the doctors clean her up and wrap her in a blanket, they lay her on my chest, and she snuggles into me. Tyler made sure she had all her fingers and toes while they were cleaning her up. She has a full head of blond hair and a teeny-tiny little nose. The most amazing thing is that she has Tyler’s eyes.

“She’s perfect,” I say, tears streaming down my face. That’s been happening a lot lately. Happy or sad, I cry all the time. For no reason. I’ve been blaming it on being pregnant. That’s not the case anymore. Today’s tears are a sign of pure happiness.

Of course, they take her away from me. I understand she needs to get checked out, but I wasn’t ready to let her go yet. They told me to get some rest, but sleep was the last thing on my mind.

“I’m going to run to the house and grab a few things. Do you want me to get you anything to eat?” Tyler asks after we watch them roll her out of the room.

“Anything is better than what they tried to get me to eat for lunch,” I reply, my stomach growling on cue.

Curling into the covers, I watch as Tyler leaves me. The room is silent for the first time in hours. I’m alone with only my thoughts. Maybe sleep is a good idea. I’m sure our little bundle of joy is going to keep me up most nights for a while.

“Reese!” Ireland exclaims, just as I’m about to drift off to la-la land. Her timing is always impeccable.

“Hey,” I reply, pushing myself up into a sitting position, readjusting until I’m comfortable.

“Where is she?” she asks, looking around as if she’s lost.

“With the doctors.”

“Is she okay?” she asks, but before I can answer, she firing question after question. “Tyler said she was perfect. Why is she with the doctor? Was he wrong? Did something change in the last hour? Where’s Tyler? Is he with her, too?”

“Ireland!” I yell, interrupting her so she can take a much-needed breath. “She’s fine. It’s standard. They need to check her out and then she’ll be back. You can wait if you want.”

“Okay. Can I get you anything while I wait?”

“No. Tyler is bringing me food. I think I’m going to try and sleep for a few minutes while we wait.”

“I’ll just be over here, quiet as a mouse,” she says, motioning to the chair closest to the window.

Doing the best I can to find a comfortable position, I’m almost asleep when the door opens again, quieter this time. All I hear is the soft coos of my little girl. Time to sit up again. This is exhausting.

The nurse brings her over and gently places her in my lap. As she begins to explain nursing, and the different techniques, in walks Tyler with my food. I space out for a minute, the smell of greasy fries my only focus. Ireland gently nudges me, bringing my attention back to what’s important.

Moving her into the “football” position as the nurse called it, my sweet pea attempts to latch on. It takes a few tries for her to get it. She’s already making the sucking motion which causes me to laugh. After a few minutes, it looks like she’s fallen asleep, but when I attempt to move her, she starts sucking again. This happens a few times before she’s finally fast asleep and Tyler takes her, placing her in her crib.

“You know, we should probably name her,” he says as he stares down at our beautiful daughter.

“Yes. Right after I eat. Can you hand me that bag, please?”

Tossing the bag of greasy food in my direction, Ireland shakes her head at my comment.

“Have you decided on a name yet?”

“No,” I reply, shoving three French fries in my mouth.

“She doesn’t like anything I suggest,” Tyler says, taking a seat next to the bed, reaching for my fries. I slap his hand as he picks one up, but he doesn’t drop it. Instead, he feeds it to me while he steals two for himself with his other hand.

“Can’t you two decide on anything these days?” Ireland says in disgust.

Sure we can, just not the important things. Like a title for our relationship. Or a name for our daughter. Or if we’re actually living together. Whose last name our little girl should have. Whose last name I should have.

It’s all up in the air.

If you ask Tyler, we’re dating, living together, and our daughter should be named Sarah Small. If you ask me, we’re still deciding what we are to each other, he stays over but isn’t living with me, and our daughter should have Kennedy as her last name. We’re not married, even though he’s asked me ten times in the last eleven days. He hasn’t asked today, but it’s not over yet.

“Is there a compromise that you can make so she doesn’t leave here as ‘baby girl Kennedy’ like her hospital bracelet says?” Ireland asks.

Looking to Tyler, he shrugs his shoulders. He’s standing firm on her taking his last name. I understand why, and I’m okay with it. She’s going to know her father, no matter what happens between us. It only makes sense for her to take his last name.

“I hate the name Sarah, but she can have your last name.”

The moment the light bulb goes off, I see it in his eyes. The same eyes he shares with our daughter. “What about Kennedy Small?”

“I love that,” Ireland chimes in. Turning our heads in her direction, Ireland shrinks in her chair a little, realizing she wasn’t a part of the conversation anymore. “Sorry.”

“I like it, too,” I say. “But, that’s going to be weird calling her Kennedy when people call me that all day long.”

“You could always change your last name. Reese Small has a nice ring to it. And… I happen to have a ring that you could wear to make the change official.”

“Funny, Tyler.” Rolling my eyes at him, I reach for more fries, shoving them in my mouth to keep from answering him. I haven’t told him no, but I haven’t said yes either. He knows this–I think that’s why he keeps asking day after day. He wants an answer.

“Is that a yes?” he asks, stealing the last of my fries.

“You ate all my fries,” I accuse.

“No, you ate all your fries. I ate the last fry.” As if knowing one order wouldn’t be enough, Tyler produces another brown bag, shaking it gently so I can hear the fries moving around inside. “If you answer me I might be willing to share what’s in the bag with you.”

“Tease!”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“What if I’m not ready to answer you?”

“I think you are. After all we’ve been through and overcome, I think you know what you want.”

His eyes meet mine. They have a silent conversation of their own. Marriage is a big step. For me, it something that’s sacred. Once you say “I do” there’s no going back. You work to make it work. You never give up.

“If you’re so sure, what’s my answer?”

“That I do not know. I could guess, but I hate to be wrong.” Relaxing back into his chair, Tyler reaches in his mystery bag and pulls out a handful of fries, forcing them all into his mouth at once. It’s not a sexual act, but if you judged me by the way I’m staring at him as he eats those fries, you would think it was.

The problem is, I want to marry Tyler. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. I’m just not sure if it’s the right decision. Was he only asking because he knocked me up? Does he really love me? He tries to prove it to me every day, and I believe he thinks he loves me, but there’s an annoying little voice in the back of my head that makes me reconsider.

If I asked him, he would tell me he does. If I ask anyone, they would tell me he does. I’m the only one who isn’t certain. My opinion is the only one that matters, though. I have to believe it or it doesn’t matter how he feels about me. This decision doesn’t affect only me. It affects our daughter, too.

My parents have been happily married for over thirty years. When my father looks at my mother, you can still see the love he has for her. I want that. I want to be in love with someone so much that other people can see it when I look at my husband. And vice versa.

“Kennedy Small,” I finally say. “I like it if you do. It suits her, I think.”

“Are you changing the subject again?” he asks, waving fries under my nose.

“I am, but only for the moment. I will answer you, Tyler. Not today, but by the time we go home. Deal?”

“I can wait another twenty-four hours,” he replies smugly.

That’s all the time I have before they send us home? I figured I would be here a few days, maybe a week. I can’t believe they let you pop out a kid and send you on your way so fast. That doesn’t seem fair. What if I have questions? I read the damn book, but I don’t remember every word of it.

Twenty-four hours and I not only have to be ready to take care of my daughter, but I also have to have an answer for Tyler. I have to decide what the rest of my life holds. I’m not ready–for any of it.