Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Auburn
We moved in and had time to get settled before Oakley was through his second trimester.
It was the time he felt best and most energetic, and we had so much fun setting up the nursery.
The second-story room next to ours had wide windows that let in lots of light, and I knew the moment we toured the house that it was meant to be a baby’s room.
And ordering the crib Oakley had been looking at was a no-brainer. His reaction? Everything.
As soon as we were in the house and unpacked, we made the nursery our priority, building around the crib that was the centerpiece.
We painted the walls pale purple with yellow trim and found a rug perfect for playing on the floor, with an adorable unicorn right in the middle.
We had thought about buying the rest of the set that matched the crib but decided we were not “set” people.
Rather, we sat down every evening after dinner and looked for changing tables and dressers and chairs…
whatever we wanted or needed. I even refinished an antique dresser—because we loved it, found it buried in a second-hand store, and pregnant omegas did not need to be refinishing furniture.
The paint for the walls was the zero whatever, recommended for omegas and babies.
As we crossed into the third trimester, we had finished the nursery and Oakley was all ready to nest. He branched out into the rest of the house, making sure it was clean and tidy and organized.
Every danger handled. Drawers and plugs blocked and locked.
Gates on the top and bottom of the stairs.
The list Oakley downloaded from the internet made it sound like every home was a hellscape with the single goal of harming our child, but when we went over it, the actual things we needed to do were not nearly so overwhelming. Thank the goddess.
But all our organization came to a halt when our healer said we’d reached the point where the baby could come any day, and we watched for symptoms like a 1950s sitcom family. “Is it time?”
I said this so often, I thought he was going to explode, but somehow, I couldn’t stop myself.
Afraid he would go into labor and have a crisis before I could get him to the birthing center or Quinn to our home to assist. Oakley grew irritated with me and finally called Quinn and asked if we could come in and talk.
“So, gentlemen, what’s going on? Feeling okay, Oakley?” The healer sat in his high-backed office chair, facing us across his desk.
“I’m fine, except I want to murder my alpha.”
I turned to face him, jaw dropping. I knew I’d been a bit of a pain, but it had all been in the interest of his welfare and that of our cub. “Murder me?”
“Go on.” Quinn watched us with genial interest. “Tell your alpha why you feel this way.”
“He stares at me all the time. I wake up in the middle of the night to find him watching me, and if I so much as groan when I stand up—which I do all the time, the groaning part—he asks me if I should call you. He is constantly trying to feed me or get me to drink more water… In short, I’m ready to jump out of my skin. ”
“And, Auburn, what do you think about what your omega just said?” The session went on for a while, the healer guiding us to communicate, which I cursed myself for not doing sooner.
Finally, I took Oakley’s hands in mine and apologized. “Omega, I was worried and I let that carry me past common sense. Please don’t murder me.”
When the laughter faded, Quinn stood up and stretched. “Since I have you here, let’s go in the exam room and see how things are coming along.”
That sounded like a great idea to me, and Oakley agreed. We could find out if he was starting to dilate or whatever other markers the healer would look for. Maybe get a good idea of when “anytime now,” the phrase he’d used at our last visit, would occur.
“Well,” Quinn said, standing up from his stool and snapping off his gloves. “Remind me of your birth plan? Are you coming to the center or having this baby at home?”
“The center,” I said.
“So my alpha will worry less,” Oakley added.
“Do you have your bag with you, then? In the car?”
My omega chuckled then clapped a hand over his belly. “Only since the second month.”
“Okay, Auburn, you can get the bag and we’ll get him settled in. If I’m not mistaken, you’ll have this baby in your arms by nightfall.”
“But I’m not in labor.” Oakley still had his palm over his tummy. “It’s just indigestion.”
“You never told me you had indigestion,” I growled.
“I didn’t because— Oh!”
“The center. Now.” Quinn fixed me with a serious glare. “Not the time to argue.”
Indeed, it was not because in the twenty minutes or so it took to get him into bed, the pains he’d been denying were rolling one over the other, and our baby was crowning. No wonder he’d been cranky. As Quinn told me later, he was in pain and denying it for a while.
And our daughter was tucked in next to him even sooner than our healer expected.