37. Hunter
Chapter thirty-seven
Hunter
No one adequately prepares you for how hard it is to hold up a woman’s leg during labor.
The childbirth classes we went to failed to mention this.
There’s no word of this in the multitude of articles I read about childbirth.
Someone somewhere has failed the entire male population.
There should be a warning label. A pamphlet.
At the very least a strongly worded email.
But of course, I’d do anything for Ellie and Sweetpea. Including being the stirrup.
Ellie is sweating and panting, her hair slicked to her forehead. In between contractions, she flops back onto the bed, conserving her energy. She’s laser-focused, as if there’s no one else in the room.
I’ve carefully situated myself so that I won’t have a view of Sweetpea’s arrival. I want to witness the miracle of birth—just … from a respectful angle. Maybe Ellie and I should’ve talked about this beforehand, but it’s way too late for me to lean over and consult with her between contractions.
Mind if I stare at your super exposed privates while a baby comes out of them?
Not doing that.
Dr. Greene, however, doesn’t have these same qualms. She keeps prompting me to look, like it’s some kind of parlor trick and the baby’s playing peekaboo.
At one point, she even hands Ellie a mirror so that she can see Sweetpea as she starts to crown.
Something about the whole scene is a little disconcerting, as if she’s a hairdresser offering her client a mirror to look at the back of her hair cut.
“Isn’t it lovely?!” It feels like maybe Ellie has better things to do, like, I don’t know, push out a baby.
Ellie barely casts her eyes at the mirror before practically chucking it at the doctor before the next contraction comes.
I used to think Marines were tough, until I saw Ellie go through labor. Now I’m just amazed that there are eight billion people in the world and not, you know, two. Surely after the first couple went through this, they warned the others.
In movies, laboring moms are always super loud and yelling.
But Ellie is quiet as she pushes, which is almost more unnerving than a bunch of screaming.
Whenever she pushes, she seems to make a little “nnnn” sound, but that’s it.
I keep my eyes on her face, watching to make sure she’s okay.
I reach over and move some of her hair out of her eye, but she doesn’t even seem to notice.
“Keep pushing, mama,” Dr. Greene says. “You’re almost there. We’ve got the head, okay, take a deep breath and give me one more. You’re about to meet your baby girl!”
With one more push, the whole hospital room erupts in cheers. Lightning fast, Dr. Greene takes a screaming Sweetpea and puts her on Ellie’s heaving chest. She wraps her arms around Sweetpea, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Hey, baby,” she coos. “Mama’s here. Mama’s here.”
Tears prick my eyes at the sight of Ellie with her baby. I never thought I’d see something so hard-fought for and utterly beautiful.
I wasn’t sure what to expect a newborn to look like, but as I take in Sweetpea … it’s not quite this. She’s really squishy, her face looks like it’s been scrunched together irreparably. I frown and glance around at the hospital staff. No one else seems to be concerned.
One nurse is rubbing the baby quite vigorously—almost too hard. Can babies be manhandled like that? I’m about to stop her when I notice that there’s stuff all over Sweetpea. It kind of looks like cottage cheese. Is that why she’s rubbing her so hard?
Again, I look around the room, trying to get my cues from the people around me. No one else seems worried. Dr. Greene tells me I can put Ellie’s leg down, so I set it carefully on the hospital bed. I lean over Ellie and Sweetpea.
“You did great, Ells,” I tell her, kissing her temple.
Sweetpea makes little mewling sounds, like a little kitten.
The feeling I get at the sight of her is somehow both soft and fierce, like I’m melting into a useless puddle of sentimental goo while at the same time internally strapping on every weapon I own, because no one is ever hurting this child. Ever.
Ellie looks up at me, her brown eyes shining brightly. Before I can overthink it, I brush my lips against hers—quick but heartfelt. It just feels right.
“Want to cut the umbilical cord, Dad?” Dr. Greene asks me. I straighten up, like I’m supposed to salute my commanding officer.
“Uh,” is my profound response. I glance around the room, looking for someone more qualified than me. “Maybe she should do the honors.” I point at a nurse.
The nurse has laughter in her eyes as she takes the scissors from Dr. Greene.
I’m not sure why, but a regular pair of scissors doesn’t quite seem fitting for something as life changing as an umbilical cord.
They should at least have a set of those big scissors that people use for ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Maybe a banner. And a mayor.
But a second later, the nurse cut the umbilical cord and they’re checking Sweetpea for her APGAR scores—at least I remember that from our classes. I hand Ellie some water as she sags against the hospital bed, spent but smiling.
“We’ve got to deliver the placenta now, Ellie,” Dr. Greene instructs, her tone no-nonsense again.
She’s pressing against Ellie’s lower abdomen—and tugging on the leftover umbilical cord.
My eyes grow wide as she keeps pulling on the cord—and more keeps coming out of Ellie.
Just how long is this thing? “Give me one more push.”
And with a heave—on Ellie’s part and Dr. Greene’s—a big blob falls out of Ellie.
My jaw drops open. The placenta looks otherworldly.
Like some kind of … alien jellyfish. Or something NASA would put in a containment chamber.
That’s the only reasonable explanation for what just came out of her.
I’m so utterly mesmerized by this thing as Dr. Greene checks to make sure it’s intact.
Luckily, the nurse comes back with Sweetpea, placing her again on Ellie’s chest. Now she’s got a little hat on and she’s wrapped in a blanket. She looks decidedly less cottage-cheesy.
“What’s her name, Mom?” one of the nurses asks.
“Audrey,” Ellie says, eyes closed. “Audrey Marie Dawson.”
I gaze down at Ellie and Audrey—my whole world, in one little hospital bed. My heart feels so full, it might just take over my whole body. I bend down, placing a kiss on Ellie’s head and then a very gentle one on Audrey’s.
“Welcome to the world, Audrey Marie.”