Who cares. Katie’s in labor.
Katie’s in labor.
Holy shit.
The timing came out of nowhere. There I was sifting through contracts in my new office when—three weeks ahead of schedule! — I got the call. It’s been a mad rush ever since. As Mary told me while I raced out to my car, Katie’s water had broken, they were driving her to the hospital, and my only goal was to pickup the baby bag from home and meet them there ASAP.
Just one problem that doesn’t occur to me until I pull up to our home. We haven’t even packed the baby bag yet. Katie’s not due for another three weeks.
Apparently, this little baby doesn’t want to wait for that. She’s inlabor.
Fuck, I’ve never been so terrified and simultaneously thrilled.
Baby bag. Right.
We’ve gone over everything she’ll need a million times. Katie even wrote a list out for me in case she wasn’t feeling up to packing it herself. Neither of us expected to need it so soon. I should’ve let the “new father panic” take over when it struck me a month ago, and insisted we pack it anyway, but I didn’t. And now, here we are.
Baby bag. What goes in it?
I can’t remember where we put the list.
There are a couple places it might be, but I’m too panicked to rifle through five different drawers in search of it and. I need to get to the hospital. I need to get to Katie. She can’t go through this without me there to hold her hand. I don’t want her thinking for even asecondthat I won’t be there.
So, it looks like I’m going to rush this baby bag. I toss everything I can think of into the massive tote—a handful of onesies so Katie can choose which one she wants, socks, the outfits we painstakingly picked out for the first photos of our kiddo, clothes for both of us, and copies of our insurance information and IDs. I also get out the car seat that took us a month and a half to pick out and throw it into the back seat of the car. That’s probably enough, right? Fuck, I have no clue. Deodorant? Toothbrushes? I toss everything that I think might be useful into the bag and then rush out the door.
I jump into my SUV and keep the pedal to the metal all the way to the hospital. I park, race inside—so fast I almost forget the damn baby bag—but then as soon as I make it through the doors, I’m overwhelmed by everything. There are so many hallways leading off the lobby, all the same sterile white with signs directing people to different parts of the hospital, nurses milling about, families chatting in different huddles.
I’ve been here. We visited. But I can’t remember where to go. My brain is too foggy with panic.
I rush to the information desk and bounce impatiently on my heels as the receptionist checks my name against the visitor list and calls a nurse to come escort me to the birthing suite. It feels like it takes hours for the nurse to get here, and I’m almost vibrating out of my skin as she does.
“Mr. Riggs?” a petite brunette asks.
I whirl around, the baby supplies weighing me down. She smiles at the obvious panic on my face, and her calm demeanor helps soothe me a little.
“Yes, that’s me. Is Katie here? Is she okay?”
“She’s doing wonderfully,” the nurse assures me. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll bring you to the suite she’s in.”
I pay no attention to the winding halls and gleaming elevator doors, everything blurring into movement as we approach the labor and delivery unit. The nurse swipes her badge to let us through several sets of locked doors, and the walls change from pristine white to a muted green, cute posters of animals and childish drawings of families adorning the hallway.
I can’t take much in, because as soon we step into the unit, Katie lets out a harrowing screech that I can hear all the way down the hallway.
“She’s alright,” the nurse assures me when I pale in terror. “I know it sounds scary, but she’s in good hands.”
Her agonized screams echo off the walls as we get closer, and my heart pounds in my chest. What if something goes wrong? What if she winds up hurt, or the baby gets hurt? The sight of Mary standing in the hall outside one the rooms brings relief crashing down on me.
“Is she okay?” I ask without preamble as I rush to join her. “Where’s Dad?”
Mary smiles nervously at me and takes everything from my hands. I can tell she’s trying hard to stay calm for my sake, which I appreciate. I don’t think I could handle someone else being a nervous wreck right now.
“She’s doing just fine. Everett was in a meeting, he’s on his way here now.”
I don’t know how anyone can be doingjust fineand be screaming like that, but Mary sounds quite certain of herself. I leave her in the hallway with a grateful smile and let the nurse lead me over to a little sink with sterile soap bars and scrubs brushes. I wash my hands all the way up to my elbows, as instructed, and then she ushers me into the room.
“Katie is doing fantastic,” the nurse says as we enter the room, but I can hardly hear her. All I can focus on is the sight of my love, face screwed up in agony. “You can take a seat in the green chair beside the bed.”
Katie’s face is glowing with sweat, cheeks bright red from exertion, but she relaxes when she sees me. I rush to her side and pull one hand free of the bed-sheets to twine our fingers together. Her grip almost immediately crushes down on my bones, but I don’t care. It’s nowhere near the amount of pain she’s in.
