Trust me to have the world’s most stubborn kid. After hours of the cervix ripening treatment, I’d progressed tomaybea fingertip’s dilation according to Maggie. I had a hunch that she was just being kind to make me feel better.
She started me on Pitocin that night, hanging the bag from the IV pole and then stepping back to clap her hands once. “All right, then! Try to get some sleep tonight. With any luck, tomorrow will be a busy and tiring day.” She patted my hand and squeezed Noah’s shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“The morning?” He scowled. “Where are you going?”
Maggie tilted her head. “I’m going home, dear boy. I’m going to get a good night’s sleep. I suggest you do the same.” With one more sunny smile, she hurried out the door, probably worried that Noah might bodily detain her and force her to stay with us all night if she didn’t escape then.
It had been a long day. We’d been here in the hospital since early afternoon, and at first, it had been like a party: I’d been so excited that we were finally getting this show on the road, so glad to be doing something constructive at last. Emma and Deacon had both popped up to say hello, and so had Mira and a bunch of other people whom Noah and I had both known from St. Agnes.
But when nothing had changed by evening, that old discouragement had crept back, and I was imagining all the worst scenarios. I tried to remember to focus on the joy as Brooke had advised me. I worked hard to stay positive.
Now I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but somehow, I ended up drifting off to the sounds of beeping monitors and muted voices. Noah was stretched out in the daddy recliner next to me, muttering to himself about inventingrealbeds for the poor neglected fathers who had to sleep in the hospital.
When I opened my eyes again, it felt as though I’d only been asleep for a few minutes, but a glance at the clock told me I’d been out for five hours. I turned my head to see if Noah was still sleeping and was surprised to see him sitting up, his chin in his hands as he stared at one of the monitors.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“I’m watching your contractions.” His reply was whispered, too, as though we were afraid to speak too loudly. “They’ve been coming pretty regularly now for over two hours. Don’t you feel them?”
I frowned. “Now that you mention it . . .” I laid my hands over my bump. “I feel the same kind of tightening that I did when we . . .” I trailed off.
“When I made you come and rocked your world?” Noah raised his eyebrows. “Don’t be afraid to say it, baby. We both know it’s true.”
I laughed softly, feeling a sudden lightness in my soul as I realized that I was actually doing it—I was in labor.
“I think I was afraid I was going to fail at this, too,” I murmured, watching as another contraction gripped my belly and the numbers on the monitor climbed higher. “I didn’t really believe it was going to work.”
“What do you mean, fail at thistoo?” Noah asked, his brow knitted. “You’re not a failure at anything, sweetheart. You’re the smartest woman I’ve ever met. You’re kind, you’re an amazing doctor . . . every single day, I’m awed by you in some way.”
I sighed softly. “Thank you, Noah. I know . . . this hasn’t been the easiest journey, and we’ve had some bumps, but there’s no one else I’d want to be the father of my baby. My partner in raising our child.”
He threaded our fingers together. “I have no regrets, babe. None at all. You’re a rock star. Like I said the other night . . .a total goddess.”
“I think—oooh.” I caught my breath. “Okay, that one I felt a little more.”
“Yeah, that one climbed higher.” Noah pointed at the monitor.
“Have you been awake this whole time, watching me contract?” I asked with a giggle.
He lifted one shoulder. “I slept for about an hour, then a nurse came in to take your vitals, and I woke up. She’s the one who pointed out to me that you were having regular contractions and told me what to watch for with the numbers.”
We sat in silence for a while, both of us aware that each contraction brought us closer to this baby, this child of ours, being reality instead of something abstract. As the night wore on, I became less and less comfortable. Noah reminded me of the breathing exercises we’d learned in the online birthing class, and they did help. A little. At first.
By the time Maggie strolled into the room at about eight, looking rested and bright after her full night of sleep, the carefree contractions of the early morn were a distant memory. Now each one was a wave under which I struggled not to drown. Noah was an excellent partner, patiently helping me to breathe and letting me know when I was reaching the crest of the contraction.
“Well, well, well, look at this.” Maggie examined the strip of paper from the machine. “You’re getting the hang of it. And baby’s tolerating the contractions well, too.” She went to the foot of the bed and patted my leg. “I’m going to examine you and see how much work you’ve done.”
Noah stayed up at my head, his eyes fastened on mine. Maggie did the exam during the next contraction, making getting through it even more uncomfortable. When she stepped back and snapped off her gloves, there was a satisfied smile on her face.
“Congratulations, mama! You’re at six. I think it’s time to break your water and get things really going.”
It sounded like a great idea to me, but I saw Noah’s lips go white.
“Are you okay?” I asked, rubbing my fingers over the back of his hand. “You look a little green.”
He swallowed, his throat convulsing. “This is the only part I’m a little, uh, squeamish about. I watched that birth online, and breaking the water looked—intense.”
Maggie chuckled. “Stay up there by Alison and keep your eyes on her face. We don’t need papa hitting the floor and suing the hospital.”
