Chapter 32
Ava
The day before the C-section started out in a blur.
I needed to wash the rest of the burp cloths. Clean and air dry the breast pump parts. Fill Rosie’s feeder.
Since we had decided Rosie didn’t need to go to the hospital, I needed to call Isadora and confirm she had all the instructions for Rosie while we were gone. It would be three days minimum and possibly four because of the surgery.
I moved the burp cloths and the last few baby outfits we’d been given from the washer to the dryer. Rosie trotted along beside me as I moved from task to task.
A darting cramp moved up my belly. I paused, holding my side. The Braxton Hicks contractions didn’t alarm me anymore. I’d been dealing with them for days. At my last checkup, Dr. Chancellor confirmed they weren’t the real deal. Just the body practicing.
Rosie let out a short, sharp bark. I paused, looking at her. “What?”
She trotted to the refrigerator and opened the door, pulling out a water bottle. She brought it to me.
“Okay, okay. I’ll pause for a drink.” I returned the water bottle to the door and got a plastic cup to fill from the sink instead. “No microplastics if we can help it, okay?” I took a sip.
Rosie sat at my feet, looking mollified.
“You know you’re going to make me pee even more.”
Her tail wagged like that was the plan all along.
I looked out the window onto the backyard. Dad had installed a baby swing in the oak tree that shaded the corner. It sat waiting, a bright bit of yellow against the wood fence.
A baby. He was coming. Tomorrow.
I’d gotten a real kick the last few days out of people asking me when I was due and answering, “Oh, in about seventy-six hours.” They always looked so confused until I told them that was when my C-section was scheduled.
It was kind of nice being able to know. My bag was completely packed. Extra clothes, nursing bras, mega-panties for the hospital-grade post-partum pads. We even sneaked in my favorite chocolate bars and Tucker’s Mountain Dew. Some things were nonnegotiable.
I pressed my hand to my belly. I’d have a wicked scar down low. Dr. Chancellor assured me it wouldn’t be noticeable after a few months, but I’d been on the internet. It showed.
I took another sip of water, trying to decide what to do next. Fill the dog feeder for sure, although the bag was full and heavy. Maybe I should have Tucker do it.
Another contraction hit, but this one was like a freight train compared to the others.
I doubled over, dropping the cup. Water slid across the floor like a river.
Rosie’s tail stopped wagging. She whined, then gripped the edge of my sleeve and led me over to the table and chairs.
“Okay, Rosie, I’ll sit down.” I pulled my arm away, needing it for balance. The contraction had let up, but I still felt like I was being squeezed from within. I kept my breath low and slow. No huffing. Not today.
Braxton Hicks could get more intense than the ones I’d felt so far. I knew this. The difference between them and real ones was that they were erratic rather than regular.
I reached for my phone, which sat across the table, and checked the time.
Three thirty-two.
“I doubt there will even be another one,” I told Rosie. That was the way it had been working. They were so far apart that you couldn’t even time them. Once a day usually, but maybe one in the morning and one at night.
But I always noted the time, just in case.
Tucker would leave work before too long. Nothing bad would happen, and I’d rather not worry him while he finished up everything he needed to do before taking several weeks off for the baby.
The contraction eased and went away entirely.
“Okay,” I told Rosie. “It’s over. Dehydration can cause contractions, too, so you were right to make me drink more.” I reached down to pet her head. “I should always listen to you.”
I surveyed the water on the floor. “I guess I should mop that up. I don’t need to be slipping on it.”
I lurched back to standing, then waited to make sure the contraction would not return. It didn’t. The mop sat in the narrow space between the refrigerator and the wall.
It had fallen toward the back. I snaked my arm toward the handle, but my belly kept me from leaning in. “Dang it,” I told Rosie. “I don’t think I can get it.”
I pulled my arm out and peered at the mop in the dark corner. The bottom was closer to the front than the top. Did I dare get on my knees and reach for it?
I did a preliminary bend and almost lost my balance.
Nope. Not worth it.
I tugged the dishtowel from the stove handle and dropped it on top of the water. The cup rested on its side. The floor felt a mile away. “Rosie, fetch.”
Rosie sat, looking up at me in confusion. I hadn’t thrown anything for her to retrieve.
I nudged the cup with my foot. “Fetch, Rosie.”
Rosie finally understood, grasping the cup in her mouth and lifting it.
“Good, Rosie!” What a smart dog. I took the cup to move to the sink and dragged the towel along the floor with my foot to soak up the water.
Then it happened again.
My belly clamped down. “Shit!” I cried out, clutching my stomach. I waddle-stepped over to the table to check the time. Three forty-seven. Fifteen minutes. Real contractions started far apart and got closer. This was kind of quick for just two.
I looked at Rosie, who watched my every move. “I’m not even due yet, Rosie,” I told her. Maybe I should call Isadora over.
I stabbed at the phone to get to my contacts. This contraction was going on longer and felt deeper.
The urge to huff came over me. No, no. None of that. I drew in a slow breath, and let it out. I started a message to my neighbor. Can you come ov—
My belly heaved, and there was no ignoring this one. My breath sucked in, and a hoo-hoo-hoo sound came out of me. It was happening on its own.
I had to stop it. I focused all my attention on my breath. Come on, Ava, low and slow.
I reached for the phone to finish the message. I shouldn’t be alone, fake labor or not.
But my hand landed on the screen at an awkward angle. The phone slid to the edge of the table and fell.
Something was wrong. I looked at my hand. It wouldn’t do what I told it.
I turned to Rosie, but she was already at my feet, whining, tugging at my pant leg to get out of the chair.
I tried to tell her I needed to finish my message, or maybe she should call Tucker. My brain was saying, “Button two.” But my mouth didn’t work.
I tilted out of the chair. I couldn’t stop my forward motion toward the ground.
My face hit the table on the way down, stunning me for a second.
Rosie moved beneath me, and I landed on her soft body.
She wriggled slowly until I was lying on the floor. Now I wanted to tell her to call 911, but no words would come out.
It didn’t matter. She knew. She tore off down the hall.
She would call. Call someone.
But it would be too late. My vision was going black. It was happening.
A tear escaped my eye, sharp and hard.
Rosie would make sure I got help.
But even so, everything would be lost.