Chapter Thirty-Four-Anna
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR-ANNA
I t’s still too early. Three weeks till my due date, but this baby is so big, I guess he needed more room or something.
Nico didn’t even skip a beat when I woke him with the news. I’m so busy counting minutes between contractions I hardly notice him carrying me outside to the SUV and holding me the whole way to the hospital.
We know the birth will be difficult because wide hips or not, my husband is a huge man and our baby takes after him.
“We don’t have a name,” I say, looking at Nico as the panic of what’s about to happen settles in.
“What name do you like?” he asks, holding my hand after he’s placed me on a gurney .
I expect the hospital to tell him he has to wait somewhere else or something. But they don’t. They simply push me to a private room where I see a dozen men in black standing in the hallway.
Security guards?
Angel is one of them, and he gives me a slight smile as he nods his head at Nico.
“Rosebud,” Nico says, catching my attention. “Have you thought about names?”
He repeats his question and I try to think, but I’m having another contraction.
I feel sweat beading on my forehead, and I groan as my entire body feels like it’s being squeezed between two vise grips.
Any conversation halts right then. My whole world is tilted as I’m being transferred from the gurney to a hospital birthing bed.
I’ve talked with both the doctor and Nico about wanting to try to give birth naturally, but I’m afraid. It hurts so much. And I must say something about it because suddenly Nico is there.
The nurses already lowered the front of the bed and raised the support bar, and I’m using it to lean on as the next contraction hits.
I feel my husband’s powerful arms wrap around me, offering me even more support. He’s saying things, wonderful things, in my ear. And he is kneeling on the bed behind me.
“You’ll ruin your suit,” I whimper inanely.
“I can get a new suit,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Oh God, it hurts. I can’t,” I cry.
I feel my energy waning. I don’t know how long it’s been, and I’m tiring out. I wonder if it’s too late for the epidural and I scream as another contraction rips through me.
But then Nico is there. His hands are holding me, soothing me, offering me comfort, and I take it. I grab onto him instead of the support bar, and it’s like I can feel his energy pouring into me.
“Yes, you can, Rosebud. You can do anything.”
“It’s too hard,” I whimper, still doubting myself.
And I hate that I feel that way. That I don’t think I am strong enough. I’ve got a million fears and doubts all clawing at me, and I don’t want to give into them. But it’s hard to block them all out.
What if I mess up?
What if I am not any good at motherhood?
I hardly remember my mother, and the rest of my family, well, they were hardly there for me. I worry that Nico isn’t going to take to fatherhood.
What if he gets tired of me ?
What if having a baby is too much pressure on a guy like him?
I have so many worries. So many things I am afraid of. Some are more shallow than others, and I am ashamed that I even have them.
I shouldn’t care about what Nico will think of my body after pregnancy. Or if he will ever find me sexy again after this.
But I do care.
Still, I can’t voice any of that. If I do, I might break. So instead I focus on the now. On the pain of labor, that’s breaking me in two.
“You’re doing so good. You’re so brave. Come on, Baby. I got you, Rosebud,” he says right into my ear.
And he’s right. He does have me.
“Okay, you are fully dilated, Mrs. Fury.” The doctor turns and says something to the nurse, then she nods at me.
“It’s time to push.”
Hours later, I am exhausted.
Giving birth is just as hard as everyone says it is. But afterwards, well, afterwards there is this rush of emotion.
The doctor says it’s hormones, but whatever it is I can’t help but feel joyful .
The sounds of a squalling infant reach my ears and I smile tiredly.
“Is he okay?” I ask, and Nico tenses.
The puke green walls of the hospital room blur as I try to catch my breath. I’ve collapsed backwards onto my husband, who spent the entire process on the bed with me, arms around me as I delivered our healthy baby boy.
“You did so good, Rosebud. So good,” Nico whispers, and he’s kissing my temple.
I listen to the doctor who is still at the foot of the dropped bed. She’s telling me to push, and I deliver the afterbirth, which is exactly what it sounds like.
I am almost embarrassed that my hot as fuck husband is here to witness all this, but really, I am too tired to deal with that feeling.
The nurses and neonatal care team are checking the baby, running him through APGAR tests, and weighing him. They even have this little baby alarm they clip to his umbilical cord after Nico cuts it, of course.
I guess that’s so they can track him or make sure there aren’t any we accidentally switched your baby mistakes.
Oh my God. Can you imagine that?
The idea makes me shudder in horror, and Nico’s arms tighten around me. He’s still on the bed, and he’s sitting behind me, his big thighs are cradling me between them, and he must be soaked sitting in all this mess, but I can’t think about that now.
“Where is he? I want him,” I say.
“He’s coming,” Nico answers.
Seconds later, a nurse places the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my arms. He’s so small and pink and his face is all squished. But he’s so amazing.
Our son. We have a son.
“Look what you did, Rosebud. Look what you made. He’s so perfect,” Nico whispers, and I swear I hear tears in his voice.
His head is next to mine, his cheek brushing my skin, and I lean into him, tears filling my gaze as I look down at our little miracle.
“What do you want to call him?” my husband asks.
“Can we, I mean, would it be okay if his middle name is Samuel? My brother wasn’t a good guy, I know, but he was named after our grandfather, and he was a good man. Maybe this will be like giving him a second chance,” I whisper, wondering if Nico will understand or if he will hate the idea.
“Sure. Samuel, it is, but what about his first name?” my husband asks, and my heart just about explodes with love for him.
“That’s easy. His first name is Nico. Like his father,” I say, and I feel my husband’s shock as his whole body goes stiff.
He gently lifts up, turning my shoulders so I can look at him. God, I love this man.
“Yeah? You would name him after me?”
“Of course, he should have a good strong name, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nico says and nods, palming the back of my neck with one hand and dropping a kiss on my forehead before he places his other hand on the baby.
“He’s hungry,” he says, smiling and I grin, lifting him to my breast for his first feeding.
“Welcome to the world, Nico Samuel Fury,” he whispers, and I feel so full right then.
Full of love. Full of hope and happiness.