Chapter Thirty-Three
The day before Christmas Eve, Emilia was cranky as fuck. And antsy all day—unable to sit still. We were scheduled for an induction the day after Christmas, as the baby was getting big and she’d be overdue at that point. But that was two long days away.
For this reason, we’d planned a very quiet, easy-going Christmas and made no promises to relatives. In the meantime, I bit my tongue and strived to do her every bidding while not speaking because apparently, the sound of my voice inexplicably enraged her.
I’ll never understand pregnant women, apparently—and I’d spent the last nine months living with one, so that said a lot.
I’d been working longer hours to onboard Jordan into the CEO position, but this last week I’d been mostly at home in anticipation of my wife going into spontaneous labor. Unfortunately for her, it hadn’t happened yet, and she was done being pregnant. Jordan and I had decided to have the birth become the line of demarcation between my leadership and his. Or as he called it, his soft launch as CEO. As far as the employees and the public knew, this was my paternity leave. But for us, this was proof of concept. He’d be running the company and when our daughter was three or four months old, I’d go back to work long enough to pass the baton officially, make the public announcement, and ceremonially endorse my best friend.
Jordan was willing, he was ready. And by god, was he eager. And my feeling was that he’d anticipated this, at least over the past year or two, and had prepared accordingly. I’d chosen well in my replacement.
The night before Christmas Eve, after not getting enough sleep for weeks, I crashed early and—unusually—before Emilia. She’d been opting to sleep in the guest room most nights and I’d tried not to be offended by that. In a brief, non-cranky moment, she’d explained that she was worried about waking me with her tossing and turning.
However, when I woke up at 2 a.m., I found her sitting on the end of our bed, slumped over and breathing heavily.
It took me a minute to process what was happening. I pushed out of bed, hit the bathroom, blinking as I turned on the light. I was mid-stream during a long piss when I realized what that heavy breathing and slumped posture might mean. With a start, I finished up, washed my hands and rushed back out to her.
“What’s happening? Are you alright?”
It took her a minute to answer, so I sank down on the bed beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She immediately shrugged my arm off. “Don’t touch me—” she snapped, then took a breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that harshly.”
“It’s okay. Are you okay?”
“Yes and no. I’m in labor and it hurts like fuck.”
“You’re having contractions right now?”
She let go a long sigh that told me I’d said the wrong thing. I braced myself, prepared to be the villain in her story for the next few hours. I’d read about it and was fully prepped to don thick skin. “Yes, Adam. That’s what labor means. Contractions.”
“Okay, so how far apart are they?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been timing them. I’ve just been breathing through them. They definitely aren’t close enough together to worry about yet—oh—” her voice tightened. “Here comes another one.”
I popped up from where I was sitting and went to my side table, scooping up my phone. “I’m gonna time the next few, just to be safe.”
She rubbed her belly, rocking and inhaling deeply. A minute or two later, she seemed to breathe normally again. “We have hours, yet, before we need to go to the hospital.”
And she was right. Currently, they were eleven minutes apart. I knew enough from the birth classes we’d attended that we were only at the beginning of this journey.
By five a.m. the contractions weren’t getting closer together. I’d put on my glasses now and was carefully searching every birth site I knew of to find out if early labor typically progressed this slowly. As in not really progressing much at all in three hours.
And, not to worry, many said a primiparip—the weird medical term for a first-time mother—typically had long labors. It looked like Emilia would be joining them.
But when she came back from the bathroom, she had a startled look on her face and a hand pressed to her swollen abdomen. “I’m pretty sure my water just broke.”
Before even saying anything, I recorded the time in the file on my phone, then looked up. The bottom half of her night shirt was wet.
I jumped off the bed, stuffed my phone in a pocket and grabbed the bag with our clothes and items that we’d packed the previous week.
“Let’s get you dressed—”
She waved me off and went toward her closet. “I can dress myself. I’ll be right out.”
“Okay, I’ll load up the car and bring back a golf cart from the bridge. Do not come down those stairs without me.”
She heaved a sigh. “I can walk downstairs by myself, Adam.”
“I know you can, but I’m going to help you anyway, in case you slip or get a contraction mid-descent or something.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything, disappearing into the closet.
I reminded myself that this attitude was only temporary and instigated by discomfort and pain. And to help her get through it, I was willing to be her figurative—and maybe even literal—punching bag.
After loading the car, I parked the golf cart on our front step and reentered the house, leaping up the stairs two at a time. I got her down and loaded into the cart without incident.
“Walking to the car would be good for progressing my labor,” she protested mildly.
“Save your energy. You’re going to need it later,” I insisted, and she didn’t argue. If my suspicions were correct, this was going to be a long ass day for both of us.
Eventually, with the help of medication via IV, Emilia was able to progress quickly into active labor. And God, though I knew this journey was necessary, it was tough to watch her go through it. In fact, I fucking hated it and wished there was a way I could take on the pain myself.
Throughout all of history, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only man to wish that. We, whose instinct was to protect, could only stand back helplessly and watch while nature took its course. Thank all the powers that be, we lived in a time when childbirth was so much safer than it had been in past centuries—even for a woman who’d previously had significant medical challenges.
I sat beside her, replacing a cold wet cloth on her forehead when she allowed it. And promptly leaving the room when she demanded I do so. Though this time, it wasn’t in anger. She was worried about me not eating.
But I’d vowed not to eat again until she could.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she said. “Go down to the cafeteria and eat something nutritious for God’s sake.”
“But—”
Her gaze sharpened. “If it’s any comfort to you, I have zero desire to eat. If you’re in here and starving by the time the next contraction hits, I’m kicking your ass. I mean it.”
I obeyed her, but ended up waiting just outside the birth room, unwilling and unable, really, to leave her despite her harsh orders. A nurse took pity on me and sent an order slip to food services.
I stood near the coffee station, about fifteen feet away, and downed a grilled-cheese sandwich in what felt like five gulps. Not the healthiest way to nourish myself but it was 1 p.m.and I hadn’t eaten a bite since the night before, so I was ravenous.
The nurses sat at their nearby station and watched me, whispering to each other and laughing quietly. I realized that I either looked like a starving animal or a caveman gulping down his meal before being attacked by a Sabretooth tiger. But I wasn’t about to go back in there with food in hand to eat in front of her. Not when her stomach was just as empty, and she still had hours before she could eat.
One of the kinder-faced nurses approached me. “Mr. Drake, you can eat in the birth rooms, you know. Or we have our break room with a table just around the corner.”
I swallowed the massive bite I’d been chewing and turned to her, wondering how she knew my name. “I’m just about to polish this off and I don’t really want to eat in front of her.”
She smiled, nodding. “I get that but, let me assure you that right now, she’s not really thinking about food. What’s happening is all-encompassing. She’s tired and hungry but neither of those things are registering right now.”
I paused, mulling that over. “Yeah, I know that’s supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Besides, she insisted I go down to the cafeteria so if I go back in there with the uneaten food, she’s going to know I didn’t, and I’d really rather not cross her right now.”
The nurse laughed. “Hate to break it to you, Mr. Drake, but the fact that you exist is bound to cross her today.”
I flashed her a grin. “I’ve prepared for that.”
Just then, her labor and delivery nurse exited her room, and I caught her eye. “Where are we at?” I asked.
She gave me a slight smile. “She’s made a little progress. Six centimeters, and definitely in active labor now. So, things should start moving a little faster. Her mom’s in there with her. Why don’t you go to the cafeteria?”
I shook my head and went back into the room with the can of soda, making sure to set it away from her direct line of sight. She might be thirsty, and I didn’t want to rub it in. Which reminded me... “Would you like me to grab you some ice chips?”
She grunted. “Fuck your ice chips.” Clearly, she was in the middle of another contraction, so I shut my mouth and shot a look at Kim, who grimaced.
She’d be rational again in just a few minutes and that would last a few minutes.
But damn, things were moving way too slowly for my tastes. This baby girl was being a diva already, apparently, and taking her own sweet time to make her appearance into the world.