Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Leo
“ L eo, will you stop bloody fidgeting,” Sadie grumbles at me after the latest contraction. There’s no real malice in her voice; she’s just getting tired and still staying admirably focused.
We’ve been at the birthing centre for around six hours now, and I have so many feelings crowding my head and my heart that I just don’t know what to do with myself. I’m as wired as if I’d taken enough cocaine to satisfy every storyline of Miami Vice , and have been since she woke me up at around two a.m. with a hearty shove, telling me that she definitely didn’t just piss the bed, so her water must have broken.
There’s nothing that’s going to wake you up more than that.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stopping still. I don’t want to do anything to piss her off. Except now I’m hovering close to the bed, my hands hanging uselessly by my sides. I’ve racked my brains and thought back to the advice for fathers in the pregnancy books, but I can’t think of any practical way to be useful. Not a single task. And I can’t stand that feeling. “Give me something to do. Please. I want to help.”
She opens her eyes, and her face softens a little as she takes pity on me. “If you look in my bag, I have a hair brush with hair ties around the base. Could you please put my hair up? This clip is driving me nuts. She takes it out, and her gorgeous waves spill down, stopping my breath for a second. Even in her favourite old Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel vest top and nothing from the waist down, skin slightly damp with sweat, she’s a fucking goddess.
“You got it.” I’m going to put her hair up like a total champ. I’ll be the best hair putter upper in dad history .
“You’ve got to calm down,” she says, mildly amused at how clumsy my hands are as I rummage in the bag. This bag has been prepped and ready to go for the past three weeks, and everything is packed sensibly and neatly, so why can’t I find the fucking hairbr - ah, here it is.
“Sorry,” I say again.
“Stop it,” she says again, gently. “It’s all good.”
I need to take some serious inspiration from Sadie. She’s being determinedly calm, because she’s always said she doesn’t want our little one to be born into a stress filled atmosphere. It’s one of the reasons she chose this birthing unit instead of the maternity ward at Foxton General: these rooms are homier and more relaxing, with softer lighting and comfortable chairs and all the inflatable pilates balls anyone could want. She’s got the option of a bed, a birthing pool, and this weird-ass chair for the actual baby’s-coming-out part of the process. She’s holding it together like a total badass, which is no mean feat considering this is her first birth. And the staff have been so reassuringly easygoing and kind and unflappable. I know they’ve seen it all before, and nothing that happens today can shock or surprise them, so it’s definitely possible to be calmer about this, so why can’t I be?!
I’ve never felt less like myself in my life.
She leans against me a little as I brush her hair straight up, long, soft strokes that have her sighing happily. “That feels so nice,” she says, and I feel like I just won fifty Nobel Prizes. I’m helping. I’m doing something right.
I need to keep this up.
“What else can I do?” I ask, desperate to know.
She takes my hand and kisses it. “You can stop pacing and fidgeting. You can stop looking like you’re going to cry every time I have a contraction. You can hold my hand when I need you to. You can rub my back now and again, because I gotta say, that would be fucking incredible right now. And you can accept the fact that I’m in pain now, I’ll be in even more pain later, and I’m probably going to curse you out like a deranged harpy when I’m crowning, but I don’t really mean it.”
I put her hair in a giant messy pineapple bun on top of her head. It may not look red carpet worthy, but it’s out of her face. “You can swear and rail at me as much as you want.”
“Don’t I always?”
I grin. “True.” Kissing her forehead, I put my arms around her and let her grip my arm, her nails damn near puncturing my skin, as she rides the wave of another contraction. I hate seeing her in pain, but I’ve got to just steel myself and accept that this is entirely normal and nothing to be worried about.
The midwife, Nancy, walks in with a big smile to check on us. “How are you feeling, dearie?” Her voice is wonderfully soothing and cheerful.
“Erm…OK, I think, for a given value of OK.” She sounds a little out of breath, but clear and lucid and not enraged. I’m calling this a win so far.
“You’re doing brilliantly. I’ll just do a quick internal to check on progress.” It’s so weird, watching some random woman put her hand up the woman I love and for it not to be a sex thing. “OK, still a little way to go, but not hugely long. I’ll be back in about half an hour and we’ll see where we are then.”
Should I ask? Is it my place? Fuck it. “So, uh, how about those epidurals, huh? They seem cool.”
The nurse chuckles. “Sorry, duck, we don’t offer them here. You need an anaesthetist.”
Oh.
Fuck .
“Is there any way I can pay to have one show up?” Desperate times…
She laughs. “They’re not Uber Eats, darling. Sadie’s doing exceptionally well, actually.”
“It was the trade-off,” Sadie mutters, shifting uncomfortably. “Nicer environment, but no epidurals.”
“We have Entinox or some aromatherapy oils if you like?”
She shakes her head. “No, but thanks. I just want to get this over with now.”
When Nancy leaves the room, Sadie turns to me with a grim smile. “I maybe should have given more consideration to the epidural…”
No shit, Sherlock! I want to shout at her. Epidural equals pain relief during the worst agony a human can go through. How could she possibly consider turning them down?!
But I’m not that much of a bastard. I got her into this. I should help when it comes to getting out of it, not give her a hard time for not taking an obvious assist.
“You’ve got this,” I tell her firmly. “You don’t need no stinkin’ epidural.”
“I didn’t like the look of the needle on the video,” she mumbles sheepishly. “And epidurals can screw up your legs and stuff…” Her face screws up as one more contraction hits. “Butmaybethatwouldhavebeenworthit, FUCK’S SAKE,” she grits out. In time, the pain fades, and she growls, irritated. “This isn’t even meant to be happening for another two days.”
“Guess our little darling can’t wait to get out and start raising hell,” I risk joking, and it pays off when she laughs weakly.
“Guess so. Fair warning from him or her that they’re going to be a little whirlwind.”
I smile softly. “Fitting.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Our romance was kind of a whirlwind. Makes sense that our son or daughter will be one, born out of our chaos.”
Her answering smirk manages to be both fond and sardonic. “Whatever you say, big guy. Just get over here and dig your knuckles into the small of my back until I tell you to stop.”
Three hours later, and Nancy is staring at Sadie’s ass. Sadie’s on all fours, and I’m rubbing her back, kissing the top of her head, doing and saying anything I can think of to cheer her on.
“You’re doing well,” Nancy reassures us as the latest contraction - god, I’ve come to hate that word - comes to an end.
Sadie exhales hard. “I’m not getting anywhere,” she whimpers. “They keep going straight back in, and all my pushing is for noth - ”
“It’s OK, pumpkin,” I whisper, heart aching for her when she clutches my hand and rests her head against my chest. But she’s not wrong; the top of the baby’s skull is playing peekaboo.
“Leo’s right,” Nancy agrees. “It’ll happen, and the baby is doing fine. We’re not in any hurry.”
“Speak for yourself,” Sadie says through gritted teeth as she starts pushing again.
“Show me what you got, Mummy,” Nancy says in encouragement, and Sadie just freaking goes for it. She’s been silent while pushing up until now, just a little grunt of effort here and there, like she’s focusing all her energy on pushing rather than anything else. But a long moan escapes her now, and Nancy seems pleased with the latest result.
“Not long now,” she tells us. “I think the next contraction might get the head all the way out.”
“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper to my warrior queen as she gasps in pain. I really am. I always knew Sadie was the strongest person I knew, but after this, no-one will ever convince me that she isn’t the second coming of Xena.
“It hurts,” she cries quietly. After a few deep breaths, she seems to calm down. “I want my t-shirt off. It’s sticking to me.”
I ease it off her carefully, trying to make sure she needs to move as little as possible.
“Oh, god, I’m gonna tear, I’m gonna tear!” Sadie clutches at me, panicking.
“I don’t think you are, duck,” Nancy soothes her. “It’s looking OK here. And if you do, it’s easily mended.”
She lets out a sobbing moan, and if I thought she was freaking going for it before, she’s giving it everything she’s got and more when she pushes now.
“Good, good, good, good,” Nancy urges, and then, “theeeeere we are. Head’s out.”
Sadie starts to cry with relief, and my own eyes are starting to fill. “Well done, babe. Good fucking job. You’re amazing.” I kiss her head like it’s my sole purpose for existing. “I love you. I really fucking love you.”
How could I not?
“OK, next time you get a contraction, I want you to try and do it in one,” Nancy instructs her.
Sadie lets out a you’ve got to be kidding groan.
“Just a few more moments, and we’ll meet our baby,” I remind her, not even wincing as she grips my arms again. “You’ve got this. It’s almost done.”
“OK,” she pants, “OK…” She takes a deep breath, and then yells, “FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUUUUUUUUCK!”
And then there’s a sound that changes everything.
A reedy cry.
Sadie slumps against me, completely and utterly spent, as Nancy lifts up a sweet little stranger covered head to toe in white goo, with a face scrunched up in outrage and a cranky, indignant wail. “It’s a girl!”
A girl.
I have a daughter.
So does Sadie.
We have a baby girl .
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, but it catches on an unashamed sob.
“Here you go, Mama,” Nancy says as I help Sadie ease back onto the bed. Once she’s comfortable, Sadie reaches for our daughter and immediately starts soothing her, her own discomfort and exhaustion forgotten in favour of our baby girl’s needs. The umbilical cord still links them, still inside Sadie, and I can’t stop silently crying.
This is the best thing that ever happened to anyone ever.
“I know, sugarpop,” Sadie sympathises with her daughter as she lets out some more broken cries. “It’s a lot, isn’t it.” She looks up at me and grins. “Did I do good, or did I do good?” Her eyes are tired, her face is red and sweaty, and the blood and white goo on the baby is smeared on the side of her face as she rests her cheek on her, but my woman has never, ever looked more spectacularly, knee tremblingly beautiful.
“You did fucking fantastic ,” I manage to say, gazing down at our daughter’s little face. She has a light dusting of dark hair, and her nose is teeny. Her hands are like tiny starfish, and her fingernails are unimaginably little.
I’m in love again.
I belong to this baby, body and soul.
“Wasn’t it totally worth the wait to find out?” Sadie mutters happily.
I consider it. The moment Nancy told us we had a girl…yeah, it was pretty cool. “Alright, fair play, it was,” I concede.
“Told ya. She’s our little surprise in every way.”
“And I get to name her,” I add with a grin.
“Aww, man,” Sadie grumbles, lolling her head back against the pillow. “You’re gonna hold me to that?”
“You bet your ass I am.” On this point, I want to insist. “And I already picked out her name, and it’s Rhiannon.”
“Wraaaaaaa,” Rhiannon says, and we both chuckle.
“I like it, but why Rhiannon?”
“Cos of the song.” I smile at her. “I swear that’s what was playing when she was conceived. And even if it wasn’t, fuck it, she just is Rhiannon.”
Sadie thinks for a second. “Rhiannon Marla Catherine? For our mothers?”
That’s perfect.
Just like my life right now.
Sadie
I hold our daughter tightly. I’m sore and wrung out and kind of in shock about the whole process. The way it felt to push her out. The relentlessness of the contractions. The exhaustion. How the hell did I do this?
I look down at her, at Rhiannon , and there’s no denying I did, and what’s more, I did a hell of a good job. She’s so red and purple and furious and beautiful, more than I ever could have imagined, and I know it’s the hormones coursing through me and rewriting my priorities and the very fabric of who I am, but I wouldn’t swap this moment for anything, and I absolutely would die for her without any hesitation. She’s the air in my lungs, and I will be anything she needs me to be, do anything she needs me to do. I’m hers.
I look at Leo for a moment, and smile. I’m his, too. His tears have left tracks towards his full faced smile. His hair is fluffed out at the sides. I’ve never seen him so buzzed, so overwhelmed, and so utterly delighted.
It wasn’t just Rhiannon’s gender that was a surprise.
It was her existence.
And, I think truthfully as she starts to settle against my skin, she was the best decision I ever made.
No regrets.