Seven Months Later #2
My wife looked up, smiled, and said the four words that sent the entire room into chaos.
“Jared Jr. is coming.”
The room erupted in cheers. One second, I was giving the victory speech of a lifetime, and the next, every person I loved was moving in a different direction while Camilla laughed so hard she nearly doubled over.
“My water broke.”
The announcement should not have sounded as calm as it did.
Not when my dramatic ass niece, Genesis, immediately started screaming.
Not when Amara burst into tears because she thought the baby was arriving right this second.
Not when Xavier looked ready to call the National Guard.
The only person in the room remotely calm was my wife.
Meanwhile, my heart was trying to punch through my chest.
“Baby. Are you okay?”
Camilla looked up at me and smiled. The same smile she’d worn since she was eighteen years old. The same smile that got me through prison. The same smile that taught me what home felt like.
“I’m fine, Jare.”
“I’m ready to have our baby.”
An hour later, we had made it home. Our midwife was on her way, and I had set up the birthing pool just like Camilla had gone over again and again.
She was determined to stick to her birth plan despite the doctor’s concerns about her being of advanced maternal age.
She said she needed the peace of our home to bring Jared Jr. earthside.
My father occupied the kitchen, making enough food to feed all of the hyper children.
AJ and JoJo kept pacing. Demir refused to sit down.
Jazzy had already cried twice, excited to be a big sister.
Chanel and Kenya were treating labor like an Olympic event.
Every few minutes, one of them appeared asking Camilla if she needed anything.
They kept bringing in fresh cups of water and snacks.
Zayden finally threatened to lock them outside if they didn’t sit down.
The threat lasted approximately six minutes before Kenya came right back.
Meanwhile, my wife sat peacefully inside the birthing pool set up in our bedroom.
The room glowed softly from candlelight and warm lamps.
Sade’s smooth tunes drifted quietly from a nearby speaker.
The atmosphere felt calm, exactly the way Camilla wanted it.
Our midwife and doula both moved quietly around the room, helping guide us through each stage of labor. Outside the bedroom door, I could hear our family laughing and talking.
Camilla’s fingers tightened around mine as another contraction arrived. I got undressed and joined her in the pool. I sat behind her so I could massage her shoulders and rub her belly.
“You got it.”
Her eyes squeezed shut, and a small sound escaped her throat. My warrior could have been panicked or scared, but instead, she was sure and exuded strength.
God.
Women were incredible.
The contraction finally eased. Camilla exhaled slowly.
Milla eased her head back, and I began to kiss her earlobe and her neck.
That eased the tension in her body, and she began to breathe more deeply and calmly.
For several seconds, neither one of us spoke; we simply breathed together the same way we had breathed through everything life had thrown at us:
Prison.
Loneliness.
Pregnancy.
The shooting.
Marriage.
Now this, this was the beginning of our new chapter.
“I love you.” The words left my mouth without thought.
“I love you too.”
I began to play with her nipples while we were in the water.
The midwife said delivery would be easier if she was stimulated.
She turned her head to kiss me passionately.
After the kiss, I rested my forehead against hers, and in that moment there was only us.
The same man and woman who spent decades trying to find their way back to each other.
A sharp breath escaped Camilla, and I continued to fondle her breasts. Another contraction ripped through Milla; this one came way quicker than the last, and it was a great deal stronger this time too.
The doula stepped closer.
“Okay, Jared, you may want to come in front of her now. She’s fully dilated, and it’s time to push.”
Camilla nodded. She was ready. She looked determined and powerful. I realized something at that moment. For years, people called me strong. They thought I was a survivor, but the strength I had was nothing compared to my wife’s tonight.
Strength looked like Camilla. Strength looked like the woman bringing our son into the world, surrounded by love.
Camilla pushed for what felt like hours, but finally, the energy in the room was gone. Once the midwife announced she had the head, the next few moments felt both endless and impossibly fast. The world narrowed until nothing existed except Camilla and our son.
One final push.
One final breath.
The room was illuminated by my son’s cries. Emotion slammed into me instantly. His cry was strong; the sound shattered me. My knees nearly buckled as I cut the umbilical cord. Camilla burst into tears immediately at the sight of him. I wasn’t any better.
The doula lifted our son. And for one perfect moment, time stood still. Jared Davis Jr.
My son.
My twin.
My namesake.
My miracle.
The baby I’d prayed for from a prison cell. The baby I thought I’d never live long enough to meet. He was here, and he was perfect.
The doula carefully placed him against Camilla’s chest. Our son quieted almost instantly, as if he already knew her.
I knelt beside the pool and wrapped one arm around them both.
My family.
My whole heart.
Camilla looked down at our son. Then up at me. Tears streamed freely down both our faces. “We did it.” The words came out as a whisper.
Outside the bedroom door, the family erupted in a chorus of cries when they heard the baby cry.
The sound of happiness filled the house and flooded my heart.
And as I held my wife and son while the people we loved celebrated on the other side of the door, I realized something no election victory could ever match.
Tonight, I became the Mayor of Crestwood.
But this? This was the title I adored the most.
Dad.