Bonus Chapter #5
“Very. Do you want this to be the first thing your daughter sees you in?”
With a curse, he goes back in there, turning the lights on this time. When he comes out, it’s with a pair of jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a black sweatshirt. There. That’s much better.
He rushes to me and helps me stand up, treating me like the most fragile thing on the planet. He doesn’t let go of me the whole way down the stairs, and when a contraction hits at the bottom, he holds me through it. They’re getting more intense and painful.
On our way to the car, he realizes we forgot our phones. He runs upstairs again, climbing the steps three at a time. I use that opportunity to go knock on my parents’ door. No one answers, but I open anyway.
“Hey, uh …” I say, loud enough to wake at least one of them up. When they both react and push themselves up, I explain, “The baby’s coming, so we’re off to the hospital. You’re in charge of the boys, okay?”
Of course, my parents react to that, and questions and concerns fly around. Lex is back, though, so he grabs me and tells them, “No time,” before pulling me out and to the garage.
He’s in some hyperactive trance, like the first two times, and it’s always so entertaining to watch. He throws the bags in the trunk, then he quickly opens the door for me and helps me get in my seat. When he makes a move to fasten my seatbelt, I can’t help but giggle.
“Baby, I’m not that incapacitated,” I argue, taking care of the seatbelt myself.
“Right. Sorry. My mind is all over the place right now.”
“I know. Just get driving, Coleman. Our daughter is impatient to meet us.”
Awestruck, he starts the car with an ecstatic expression. “I can’t wait to meet her either.”
My parents make it to the garage in time for me to wave at them before Lex takes off. When they motion for me to call them, I nod and give them a thumbs up.
During the entire drive to the hospital, Lex has his hand on my thigh, letting me know he’s right there. I hold it through the few contractions I have, and then all the way to the front desk of the hospital.
We’re pretty familiar with the drill by now, so we fill out the forms and head to the room for the initial assessment. Once the nurse confirms that I am indeed in active labor and everything seems to be fine so far, we’re led to a room where I change into a hospital gown.
More nurses come in, I get an IV line, and they strap a heartbeat monitor to my stomach to make sure our baby girl is doing fine.
That’s when Lex takes out his phone and calls my parents. He paces the length of the room as he talks to them, confirming this is really happening and not a false alarm like with the boys. I can tell my mom gives him a bit of a hard time about that, but he remains patient and calm the whole time.
Eventually, he returns to my side and hands me the phone before sitting on the chair by the bed.
He takes my hand as I talk to them. They’re of course excited about their fifth grandchild coming into this world, but they’re also worried for their girl.
I reassure them, promising everything feels normal.
We agree that we’ll keep them posted, but that they shouldn’t worry if we don’t call them for a long stretch of time.
We will have our hands full enough as it is.
I feel drained by the time I hang up. The contractions are getting really close, and I barely had any sleep. “Are you alright, my love?” Lex asks, sensing my tiredness.
“Yes. Kinda wish you hadn’t dicked me down for two hours. I could have used that sleep.”
“You wanted it. Practically begged for it.”
“I know, I’m not blaming you. That one’s on me for sure.”
Another contraction hits, forcing me to bend over and squeeze Lex’s hand. When it passes, I lean back with a long sigh.
“You better not be too rough with your mom, Maya Camila,” Lex orders to my stomach. “It’s my wife we’re talking about.”
“Yes, listen to your dad.”
“Look at us, always displaying a united front. We’re amazing parents.”
I nod with a wide grin, but my expression slowly changes into something else. There’s no reason I should be the only one suffering right now. “Lex, you have to promise me something,” I solemnly start.
He immediately turns grave, catching the vibe I’m trying to display. “What is it?” he warily asks.
“You have to promise me that, no matter what happens, you’ll still …” I pause for dramatic effect, before continuing with, “promise you’ll still love me even if I poop in the delivery room.”
His worried expression falls into a deadpan. “You are a cruel, cruel woman.”
“It’s just that it hasn’t happened with the boys, but I didn’t poop at all yesterday, so it might happen this time.”
He says nothing, staring at the strap on my belly, looking mighty intense. “I’m serious, Lex. Promise you will.”
He waits a few more seconds, then mumbles, “You did it with Newt.”
“What?”
“It happened while you delivered Isaac. And it didn’t make me love you any less.”
“No, I didn’t,” I protest, sitting up.
“You did, but the nurse was so slick with it, I almost didn’t notice.”
“I would have felt it.”
“With everything going on down there, are you sure?”
He looks so serious that it hits me. He isn’t teasing me or pulling my leg. He’s telling the truth. “Are you kidding me right now?!”
“I wish I were. It was … traumatizing,” he jokes.
I slap his arm, the only thing I can access, and rip my hand out of his with a scowl. “I can’t believe you never told me,” I mumble.
“It’s because it doesn’t matter. You delivered a whole, precious baby. The rest doesn’t matter one bit.”
Unconvinced, I keep pouting. Lex isn’t done, though, as he comes closer to say, “I’ve been in that hole a lot. I have no right to be shocked by what comes out of it.”
I try so hard to stay mad, but it’s impossible. My scowl breaks into a smile, and then I giggle. “You’re such an idiot.”
“But I’m your idiot, freckles.”
He punctuates his words with a tender kiss on my forehead, then my cheekbone, then my lips. When he wants to hold my hand again, I let him.
This is what it’s like to be married to your best friend, isn’t it? He knows me better than I know myself. Every single aspect.
And I’m having a baby with him. A third one.
God, I can’t wait to meet her.
Something is broken. I’m ninety percent sure one of my fingers cracked under Andrea’s grip. How can this petite woman have so much strength?
But as painful as it is, I never take my hand back.
More than ever, she needs me, and I’d suffer ten times that if it means I can make her more comfortable during this overwhelming moment.
We’ve been in the delivery room for an hour and a half, and she’s been actively pushing for the past fifty minutes.
Her contractions are less than a minute apart but last seventy seconds, on average.
This means she’s getting more pain than rest at this point.
So, if crushing my fingers to dust helps her, she’s welcome to do it.
Her grip relaxes, and the loud and long moan she was letting out dies in her throat. Taking deep breaths, she takes the little time she has to recuperate.
“You’re doing amazing, my love,” I say, leaning forward to drop a kiss on her sweaty forehead.
Her face is red, the thin hair framing it damp like the rest of her. Even when she isn’t prone to contractions, discomfort lingers on her expression. Her eyes are shiny with tears of pain and fatigue.
Just like with the boys, she didn’t want an epidural. She promises it’s not that bad, and that she wants to experience it all. I do wish she’d be a little less stubborn and a little more pragmatic, though. Seeing her like this hurts, and not just my broken finger.
“Lex, I don’t want to push anymore,” she whimpers.
“You’re almost there, Andrea. The baby’s almost here.”
“I’m so tired.”
“I know, my darling. But it’s almost over. You’re so strong. You’re amazing.”
“Three is fine, right? We’re sticking with three, right?”
“Three is perfect. Three is a party. Three is my favorite number.”
She chuckles, then grimaces. “Ah, don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry.” I lift her hand to press a kiss on its back.
When she looks up, she pouts and whines, “How can you be so hot even with that ugly cap on?”
It’s my turn to laugh as I pass a hand over her forehead. “You’re one to talk. You’re giving birth, and you’ve never been this beautiful.”
“Liar.”
“I don’t lie.”
“This time, I know you’re li—Aah!”
Another contraction, another push, another crushing of my broken finger. We suffer through it together, her wail filling the room. As soon as she’s done, she gasps for air again.
“You’re almost there, freckles.”
“You’ve been saying that for the past ten minutes, Alexander,” she notes with irritation.
“And you’ve never been closer to being there.”
She rolls her eyes in a sassy way, and I adore her for it.
“Alright, Andrea,” Dr. Okonkwo says, popping up from between her legs. “When the next contraction comes, I want you to push as hard as you can. You give me everything you have on the next one, okay?”
Despite how much she dislikes the idea, exhausted by almost twelve hours of contractions and over fifty minutes of pushing, she nods.
She breathes as much as she can, preparing herself for the big push.
As we wait for the next contraction to come, I soothingly caress her hair, murmuring words of pure worship and devotion to her.
I tell her how much I love her and how much I love this baby.
I remind her of what she already knows, what I said a thousand times before.
When she tenses again, gripping my hand with fervor, I brace myself with her.
The whole time, I encourage her, telling her to push, helping her ride through the pain and distress.
Her face contorts in a grimace of agony, and I almost resent doing this to her.
As much as we wanted this child, seeing her like this is too much.