Nick
Five Months Later
The nursery is almost finished. The walls are painted a soft, calming blue, and the crib sits in the corner, waiting for its tiny occupant.
Ava is standing in the middle of the room, her hands on her hips as she surveys our work.
Her belly is round and full, the baby due any day now.
I can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and anxiety every time I look at her.
Watching her body bloom with our baby inside has been one of the most amazing things I’ve ever witnessed. She thinks she looks horrible, but I tell her daily she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.
I’m only a little biased.
“What do you think?” she asks.
She places the little stuffed elephant in the corner of the crib before turning to me with a smile.
I step closer, wrapping my arms around her from behind. “I think it looks great. Perfect, actually. If I was an infant, I would so love this room.”
She leans back against me, her hands resting on mine. “I can’t believe he’s going to be here soon.”
I nod, my chest tightening. “Me either.”
“Are you scared?” she asks.
“Terrified.”
She laughs. “I think it’s a good sign people have been raising kids for thousands of years, long before the internet and telephones.”
We’ve been working on the nursery for weeks, picking out furniture, painting the walls, and assembling the crib. It’s been a labor of love. And a little frustration. Ava insisted we could put the furniture together ourselves.
I wasn’t as sure, but somehow, we figured it out without getting divorced. I’m proud of how it’s turned out.
The responsibility of raising a child is starting to feel real. I want to be the best father I can be, but I’m not sure where to start. I’ve read every book and blog, and it only made me feel even more inadequate.
Ava turns in my arms, her eyes searching mine. “You okay?”
I nod, forcing a smile. “Yep. Just imagining sleepless nights and colic.”
She smiles. “You’re going to be an amazing dad, Nick. I know it. We’re going to figure this out together. Amelia is on speed dial if we have any questions.”
“It’s not too late to hire a nanny,” I say.
“We agreed to do this together,” she reminds me. “Besides, now that neither of us are working, it seems a little silly to have a nanny.”
“You say that now,” I tease. “Wait until neither of us has slept for a week.”
“I’m ready,” she insists. “I think.”
We stand there for a while, with me rubbing my hands up and down her back.
“That feels good,” she murmurs.
“Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll get you a bowl of ice cream and rub your feet.”
“Oh, that sounds?—”
“Oh!” She gasps, her hand flying to her belly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.
She doesn’t say anything for several seconds. “Okay. I’m fine. Just a sharp kick.”
“You scared me,” I say. “Come on. You’ve been on your feet too long.”
We go downstairs. I head to the kitchen to get her usual bowl of ice cream, complete with whipped cream and sprinkles, while she goes to the living room to get settled.
If someone would have told me a year ago that my Friday nights would be spent watching reality TV and rubbing my pregnant wife’s feet, I would have laughed.
But here I am. I look forward to this time of the day from the minute we wake up. It’s our quiet time. I get to pamper her.
And I love it.
I spray on the whipped cream and am shaking the sprinkles on when I hear Ava.
“Nick!”
“I’m coming!” I call back.
“Nick!”
“Baby, I’m coming?—”
“Baby!”
I smile and shake my head. Our pet names. Something else I never thought I’d be doing.
Ava walks into the kitchen, her hand on her back. “Nick,” she says calmly.
“I’ll bring it in.”
“Nick. Baby. Water broke. Labor.”
The words sink in one by one. My head whips around. “Labor? Right now?”
“Yes. My water broke.”
It’s all processing. I’m mentally flipping through all the pages I’ve read over the last few months.
I shake my head. “No, no. That comes after the contractions start.”
“Nick, my water broke. Trust me, I know. I think my back pain might have been contractions.”
Then it hits.
“Oh shit! You’re in labor!”
I drop the bowl of ice cream on the counter, the sprinkles scattering like confetti. My heart is racing, my hands already trembling. “Okay, okay. Breathe, Nick. We’ve got this.” I grab my phone from my pocket and start tapping furiously. “Hospital bag—got it. Car keys—where are the car keys?”
Ava leans against the kitchen island, her face calm but her breath coming a little quicker now. “Nick, the bag is by the door. The keys are on the hook. Just breathe.”
I nod, though I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate. “Right. Right. Okay.” I rush to the door, grab the hospital bag, and snatch the keys off the hook. When I turn back, Ava is still standing there, holding her belly with one hand and smiling at me.
“You’re panicking,” she says softly.
“I’m not panicking,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’m just … efficiently freaking out.”
She laughs—actually laughs—and it somehow grounds me a little. “Come on, Daddy. Let’s go meet our baby.”
The drive to the hospital is a blur of stoplights and deep breaths. Ava sits in the passenger seat, her hands resting on her belly, occasionally wincing as a contraction hits. I keep glancing over at her.
“You okay?” I ask for what feels like the hundredth time.
“I’m fine,” she says. “So far, it’s not so bad. I don’t know if that is good or bad.”
“I think good,” I say.
When we finally pull up to the hospital, I jump out of the car and rush to her side, helping her out and supporting her as we make our way inside.
The nurses are waiting for us. They quickly usher Ava into a delivery room. I follow close behind, my heart racing as I watch her settle onto the bed.
“You’re doing great,” I say and take her hand.
“Thanks. But you might want to save the pep talks for later. This is just the beginning.”
I nod, my chest tightening. “Okay. Whatever you need.”
I stand beside the bed for several hours. I talk her through the contractions, relying on the breathing exercises we learned. Ava is amazing, her strength and determination inspiring me in ways I never expected.
When the doctor finally says it’s time to push, I panic a little. Only on the inside. I can’t let her know what I’m feeling. I’m the support. There is no room for panic.
“You’ve got this,” I say, squeezing Ava’s hand.
“Let’s do this,” she grunts.
The birth is intense, but Ava is incredible. She pushes through the pain.
When the baby finally arrives, the room is filled with the sound of his cries. I can’t even put a name to the feelings flooding through me.
“Your son says hello,” the doctor says, holding him up for us to see.
Ava’s eyes fill with tears. She reaches out to take him, her hands trembling as she cradles him to her chest.
“He’s perfect,” she whispers, her voice filled with awe.
I look at my son for the first time and feel tears of joy spring to my eyes. I’ve never felt so emotional in all my life. But I’m overwhelmed. He’s tiny, and his face scrunches up as he cries, but he’s perfect.
“He’s beautiful,” I say, my voice trembling.
Ava looks up at me, her eyes filled with warmth. “He’s perfect.”
The nurse takes him and starts to clean him and weigh him.
Soon, he’s bundled up and back in Ava’s arms. I watch the two of them and feel an immense responsibility. I’m the one to keep them safe. I will be fierce.
“Do you want to hold him?”
I nod, my heart pounding as I take him from her. He’s so small, so fragile. I feel a surge of protectiveness as I cradle him in my arms.
“Hey, little guy,” I whisper, my voice low. “I’m your dad.”
He looks up at me, his eyes wide and curious.
Ava’s hand reaches out to rest on my arm. “You’re a natural,” she says.
I glance at her, then back at our son. I’m convinced he looks like her. I feel a lump form in my throat. “I can’t believe he’s here,” I murmur. “He’s real.”
Ava smiles, her eyelids heavy. “Me neither. He’s perfect.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed next to Ava, still cradling our son. She leans her head against my shoulder, her exhaustion evident but her contentment even more so.
“Do we know his name?” she asks after a moment, her voice drowsy. “We said after we met him. What do we think he looks like?”
I look down at him, his little face so serene now as he drifts off to sleep. “I don’t know,” I admit. “We talked about a million names, but none of them feel right now that he’s here.”
Ava hums softly, her eyes closing for a moment. “Let’s think about it tomorrow. Right now, I just want to keep looking at him.”
“Deal,” I say, smiling.
We sit like that for what feels like hours, though it’s probably only minutes.
“Get some sleep,” I tell her.
We’ve both been up all night, but she’s the one that did the work. I just stood by.
“Can you send out the text?” she murmurs, her eyes closed.
“I will. I’ll tell everyone to wait until after noon. You need to sleep for a couple of hours.”
“Thank you.”
I move away from the bed, cradling my son while she dozes off.
I pull out my phone and start typing, my thumbs moving quickly over the screen.
“Ava and I are thrilled to announce the arrival of our little guy. Born at four seventeen this morning, seven pounds, three ounces of pure perfection. Mom and baby are both doing great, and Dad is officially obsessed. More updates to come—right now, we’re soaking in every second of this new chapter. ”
I hit send, the message going out to our families and closest friends. Almost immediately, my phone starts buzzing with replies—congratulations, emojis, and a flurry of excitement. I silence it, not wanting to disturb Ava, and tuck it back into my pocket.
We agreed we were going to take the first few hours for just us. Then the chaos of her very large family would rain down. My parents are probably hopping on a jet right now. Our son is blessed with a big, loving family.
“Just you and me, buddy,” I whisper to my son, still cradled in my arms. His tiny fingers curl around one of mine. I feel that protective surge again, stronger than ever. “You’re safe with me. Always.”
I sit back down in the chair beside Ava’s bed, rocking him gently as he dozes off.
My mind races with everything happening at once—the enormity of what Ava just went through, the tiny human in my arms who now depends on us for everything, the life we’re about to build together.
It’s overwhelming, but in the best possible way. I keep thinking about what my life might look like right now if we hadn’t hooked up at Jessie’s wedding. I know it wouldn’t be nearly as full. She brought light into my life. I am holding one of those little lights.
This is the first of many good days. I can’t wait to see what my future holds.
THE END.
Thanks for reading!