“Ian,” Alana whispers. “I think my water just broke.”
Relief and a brand new fear wash over me all at once—relief that Alana is okay and still with me, and the terror of realizing it’s here, it’s happening—by the end of today, I will be a father, and Alana and I will be responsible for another little human being.
My parents are already leaping to their feet, going into business mode as I help Alana to her feet. “I’m so disgusting. It’s everywhere—” she starts to say, but my mother waves her off.
“It’s natural, not disgusting, and it’s the last thing you need to be worrying about right now,” she insists. “Ian, do you have an overnight bag for her?”
“It’s in the car,” I tell her, wrapping a bracing arm around Alana’s back.
“We’ll take mine. It’s more reliable,” my mother says decisively. “Help Alana to the car and then grab the bag. I’ll drive.”
“I’ll catch up with you at the hospital once I clean up here and take a shower,” my stepdad says, already gathering up dishes. As I help Alana towards the garage, I’m blown away by how everyone has come together so quickly. My family is leaping into action to help us. It makes me feel as if this really is right—as if it was always meant to be, at the right time.
As my mom drives us to the hospital, I fire off a mass text letting everyone know that Alana is in labor, but I don’t see what anyone responds if they do. The text was a courtesy, and as soon as it’s sent, I shove the phone into my pocket, gripping Alana’s hand through the contractions as she tries to breathe, all of my focus and attention on her.
“You can do this,” I murmur as she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut with each wave of pain. “You’ve got this. I believe in you.”
I could swear her eyes change color in between contractions, but when she does speak, it’s with Alana’s voice. “Don’t—leave me—” she manages. “Stay in the room with me?”
“You couldn’t keep me away,” I tell her firmly, and it’s the most sincere promise I’ve ever made.
Once we get to the hospital, it’s a whirlwind. I remember how Chris was the day his twins were born, anxious and worried and excited and elated all at once. I feel the same whirlwind of emotions as Alana is whisked back to a room. “I’m her husband,” I tell the nurse, feeling a flush of happiness and pride at being able to say that with certainty, knowing our future is secure. I clutch Alana’s overnight bag with one hand as the nurses help her get settled, answering any questions that I can as she looks at me with pleading grey eyes, already sweating.
“You can do this,” I tell her again encouragingly, feeling the swirl of emotions in my chest intensify.I’m going to be a father. The love of my life is back to stay. All is right with the world and will be from here on out.
The process of having the baby is longer and more intense than I’d imagined. Alana was firm that she didn’t want a c-section or any drugs at all unless absolutely necessary, afraid of how an epidural or anesthesia might affect her condition. “I want it to bemehaving this baby,” she’d said firmly. “Ourbaby,” and I let the doctor and nurses know, repeatedly, what her wishes are as Alana pants and strains and moves around the room only to end up back in bed, her hair plastered to her face and her expression taut with pain.
I wish I could make it go faster or take her pain away somehow, but she doesn’t complain once. She endures it with teeth gritted and squeezing my hand so hard that I swear I feel the bones rub together. Still, I’d happily take that a thousand times over than Alana enduring her pain alone.
She'll never be alone again if I have anything to say about it.
When our baby finally slips out into the world, an angry screaming mess, Alana gasps aloud, a beaming smile on her face.
“You have a healthy baby boy,” the nurse says, passing the crying bundle to Alana. At that moment, as I look at my wife and my son, I know my sole purpose in life, the only thing that really matters, is to keep my family safe.
I look down at my wife and see her green eyes looking down at the baby, Megan peeking out for the first time in days. She’s looking lovingly down at our son, and for the first time in a long while, she looks happy. Since the day we found out the results, she’d slipped out a few times to make an appearance, but every time she’d been so sad. She’d wanted to be alone, depressed, and withdrawn, but today none of that is in her eyes.
My parents are ushered into the room, both beaming, and Megan hands the baby to my mother, tears in her eyes as she leans against me. I see her eyes shift back to grey as my mother leans down to kiss her lightly on the forehead, smiling as widely as Alana herself is.
“Your baby boy is perfect. Absolutely beautiful,” she says, handing the baby back to Alana after a few moments.
Alana cradles our son in her arms. “Ian Hudson Junior,” she whispers, stroking his little nose with the tip of one finger, staring down at him with fascination.
“I have a family,” she whispers in wonderment, and I lean down, kissing her forehead as I smile down at her and our son.
“You always will,” I promise her.
Holding my wife’s hand, our newborn baby in her arms, I know one simple truth that I couldn’t have imagined a short while ago—but one that I know now won’t ever change.
Our life, at long last, is perfect—
--because it’s ours.