I’ve heard horror stories over the years of things that go wrong while giving birth and you always think ‘that’ll never happen to me’ yet for some poor bastards, it does.
That’s not going to be us.
Henley is a fucking machine. She’s got this.
A midwife comes in on Henley’s other side and together we help get her up in the bed. A pillow is jammed behind her back before a second and a third, while her legs are placed up in the stirrups. Midwives rush around the room, making sure everything is right where it needs to be and as they finish preparing, I take a second to take a breath.
I’m going to be a father.
No, I’m going to be a fucking incredible father.
Shit. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. I should be concentrating on the woman who has my hand in a death grip. The second she’s finished pushing, then I can think about what an incredible dad I’ll be.
Actually, come to think of it, I know her hand is currently clutched in mine, but maybe I should be putting a pillow between us or turning my hips away as something tells me that at some point during all of this, she’s going to grab my balls and attempt to castrate me for getting her pregnant. Who knows, maybe she’ll attempt a vasectomy with her bare hands while she’s at it.
Dr. Branson gets herself situated between Henley’s legs while midwives hover around, ready and waiting.
Henley’s eyes swivel nervously from mine to Dr. Branson’s, and with a tear rolling down her cheek, she raises her chin. “The contraction is coming.”
“Alright,” Dr. Branson says, “Then let’s get ready to meet your baby.”
A midwife grabs hold of Henley’s legs and I’m instructed to do the same with the other and I watch on as Henley watches Dr. Branson, waiting for instructions.
Henley’s hold on my hand tightens and I realize this is it. There’s no more waiting.
“Alright, Henley,” Dr. Branson says is a calm tone. “Deep breath and push.”
Henley squeezes the absolute shit out of my hand as she pushes with everything she’s got. Her face goes red as beads of sweat appear over her brow. “You’re doing good,” Dr. Branson says. “Just a little while longer.”
She keeps going and I worry that she’s about to pass out when Dr. Branson finally gives her a break, but it lasts only a slight second, just enough time for Henley to take a breath before she’s being told to push again.
It goes on and on and I begin to worry about Henley. I thought she’d be screaming, moaning, grunting, or crying, yet she hasn’t made a single sound, unlike Tully who screamed blue murder which we could hear from down the hall.
“Alright, take a short break,” Dr. Branson says. “On the next contraction, you’ll have one more big push and then the head will be out.”
Tears stream down Henley’s face, but she’s a fighter and there’s nothing she wants more in this world than to meet that baby. I press a cool wash cloth over her forehead and remind her how fucking well she’s doing, but she ignores me and everything around her. Right now, for Henley, all that exists is her and Dr. Branson. She’s in the zone and I don’t want to fuck that up for her.
The next contraction comes on and Henley squeezes down on my hand once again as she takes the deepest breath of her life. She pushes with every last ounce of energy she possesses and with a roar of complete agony, she screams out.
“Good job, Henley,” Dr. Branson says, getting busy checking over the baby’s face and making sure the cord isn’t wrapped around its neck. “You got the head out. It’s smooth sailing from here.”
Henley nods, unable to say anything in her exhaustion and I find myself incapable of not looking. I peek down and lay my eyes on my child, and truth be told, it’s kind of gross. My gut is telling me that it’s a boy, but we don’t actually know. Either way, he’s covered in all sorts of gooey shit.
One thing’s for sure though, I love this child with every piece of my heart. “Baby, you’ve got to see this,” I tell Henley as she focuses on catching her breath. I turn back to look at her and there’s intrigue in her eyes. “You want to see?”
She smirks back at me and with that, a midwife grabs a mirror.
The mirror is put into place and not a second later, Henley is sucking in a breath. “Holy shit, that’s…that’s my baby.”
“Yeah, Spitfire. It is.”
“He looks disgusting,” she says with adoration.
I can’t help but laugh. “He sure does.”
Dr. Branson pushes the mirror away as it’s time to pull him out. A contraction comes on and Henley is instructed to give a small push and before I know it, the tiniest little baby boy is being placed upon my wife’s chest.