55. Marley
55
MARLEY
R ight now, all I know is pain. This is so incredibly painful that I don’t know how to process anything else. It feels like half of my heart is across the room, being swaddled and cared for by other people, and yet, I can’t move, can’t do anything but sit here and try to push my daughter out.
She’s stubborn, not moving down like she should. My body and mind are so exhausted, I don’t know how I’ll continue, but I know I have to. I’m nowhere near the end. Nowhere near holding both of them in my arms. When the next contraction hits, I put my all into it, willing her to move farther down.
“Good job, here she comes, Mom,” Dr. Ness says. There’s tugging and movement.
Beau stands strong and steady next to me. He hasn’t dropped my hand once, has given me constant encouragement, strength and power when I need it most.
“Is she coming?” I ask, my voice hoarse and breathless.
“She is, but her cord is wrapped around her neck. I need you to push hard, so I can get it off.” Her voice is serious, worrying me even more than I have all day.
“Is she okay?” I cry. She has to be okay.
“She will be, but you need to push, Marley.”
I bear down with everything I have in me, feeling the pressure and tugging like I felt with Baby Boy. It feels like my vagina is shredding in half, and someone lit it on fire with how much pain I’m in, but I’ll bear it if it means my baby is safe.
“Cord is off, one more big push, and she’ll be here,” Dr. Ness says.
I do what she says, and there’s another blast of pain and pressure, and then just as fast as it came on, it’s gone. My daughter is placed on my chest, much like her brother was, but she’s purple and not moving, not crying.
“She’s not crying,” I cry, my voice shrill and high. “What’s wrong? Why isn’t she crying?”
Peyton moves up the bed, roughly rubbing her back with a blanket. Her mouth is open, but she’s still not crying. It looks like she’s trying to, trying so hard. Peyton uses the bulb to suction her mouth, and finally, a gargled cry escapes her mouth.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I listen to her cry. “Good job, baby, you’re breathing,” I say to her. Beau leans down, resting his head to look at our girl.
She’s still purple, and not crying as hard as our son did. “Marley, I need to take her to the warmer, we need to check her out, and get her breathing better,” Peyton tells me, and my heart nearly stops.
“Okay,” I say. I unwillingly let her take my girl, and watch as she rushes her over to the warmer next to her brother.
Beau stays by me as we both watch Peyton and the other nurses work on her, calmly calling orders and getting the pediatrician on call in. Anxiety burns my veins, and I can feel myself following Dr. Ness’s instructions as she helps me deliver the placentas and get me cleaned up.
Mallory brings over my son. “Here, let’s get you some time with Baby Boy. Baby Girl is already doing better, she just needed a little help.” I nod, my mind not totally believing her. I won’t be okay until I know for sure she’s okay.
“Do you want to do some skin to skin? Try breastfeeding?” Mallory asks me.
“Yes, please,” I say. I need the contact with him, to know he’s okay. She and one of the nurses help me get into a better position now that Dr. Ness is done, and then Mallory unclips my hospital gown at my shoulders, pulling it down so it’s just barely covering my breasts. She sets him on my chest, his warm, soft skin immediately relaxing me. I’m not totally appeased, but this is helping more than I knew it could. I look up at Beau, who is now taking a few pictures on his phone. Marissa is still here, but I can tell he also wants the memories for himself. Baby Boy settles into my skin, his small fingers grasping and searching for me. My emotions are so conflicted, because there is so much joy in me at having him close by, but also, so much fear that my daughter isn’t okay.
“She’s doing fine, Momma,” Peyton comes over, my daughter in her hands. She has on a little pink hat with a bow, and there’s a small oxygen tube underneath her nose. “She just needs a little help adjusting. She inhaled some fluid and the cord around her neck didn’t help.”
My daughter is laid on my chest for the second time, and my fear vanishes. She’s no longer purple, but a healthy pink. Her eyes are closed as she sleeps, her breathing even and steady. She’s okay. She’s here.
Beau is giving me the biggest smile, his eyes completely awestruck. To be fair, I am right there with him. I can’t believe this is our life.
“You’re so amazing,” Beau says for what feels like the hundredth time today, but I believe him, because I did that. I made and grew two humans.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “For this, for being you. For loving me.”
“I’ll never stop,” he says.
“We still don’t have names,” I say to Beau as he folds a blanket, putting it in a bag. Baby Boy is latched onto my right breast, and Baby Girl, freshly off any tubes or monitors, is in a small bassinet beside my bed. We’re being discharged in a few hours, and we’re determined to name them before we leave. It’s been a long two days, but our girl is a fighter. She had a few rough hours when she was needing more oxygen and care, but overall, she’s doing great. Breastfeeding is a challenge, especially with two, but I want to give it my best go. I’m planning on pumping, that way Beau can feed one with a bottle, and I can feed the other with my breast.
It’s nice being just the two of us today. Ever since we knew that Baby Girl was going to be fine, it’s been a revolving door of our parents and family. Not that we’ve minded. It’s been so nice to see how much love everyone has for them, and us, but it’s good to have a break. I’m ready to get home and figure out our new normal.
“What about Arlo for him?” he asks. He steps forward, reaching down and lifting Baby Girl from the bassinet. She squirms, letting out a whimper of displeasure, but calms immediately when she feels the warmth of Beau’s chest. He’s been walking around shirtless ever since they were born, determined to have as much skin to skin time with them as possible. I don’t mind. Seeing him shirtless, with the tattoo he got for us on his shoulder, makes my heart jitter every time I see it. There’s also nothing sexier than seeing the man I love, my best friend, being a father to our children. Watching him do it shirtless is just a bonus.
I look down at the little pink cheeks of our son. He looks so much like Beau, it’s crazy. He’s right, though. He does look like an Arlo.
“Arlo Earl Cunningham,” I say, never taking my eyes off him. It feels right.
Beau stands, cradling Baby Girl in his arms. I gently scoot over in the bed, well aware of my sore and battered vagina. I wince slightly, but Beau doesn’t notice, thankfully. He would immediately demand to try and help me, but there isn’t really much he can do.
He slowly sits on the bed beside me. He gazes over at our boy, and nods. “Yeah. That’s it.” He kisses me quickly. “Now we just have to name this hell-raiser.”
The nickname might stick. Since birth, she’s been nothing but trouble. Arlo—it feels weird, in a good way to refer to him as his name—has been nothing but calm. Only crying when we take him out of his blankets to change him. The complete opposite of what he was like during my pregnancy.
“What about Ariel? Arlo and Ariel,” I offer.
Beau glances down at the bundle in his arms, and I do the same, looking at my sweet girl. Her cheeks are chubby and flushed pink, soft blush lips opened in a small o .
“Yeah. That feels perfect. Ariel Ruby? For your grandma?”
“Ariel Ruby Cunningham.” I smile. “It’s perfect. They’re perfect.”
I rest my head on Beau’s shoulder, glancing down at the little ones who helped make us a family.
“Fuck, I love you so much,” Beau says with a gust of air. “I can’t believe this.”
“I love you so much.”