“Baby, Katie, look at you,” I say, my voice heavy with praise. “You’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you. I’m going to take such good care of you.”
She squeezes my hand even harder, eyes closed and panting through the pain. I watch as the nurses and doctor monitor her, murmuring instructions amongst themselves and preparing everything for when the baby comes.
God, our baby is going to be here soon. I still can’t believe it. It didn’t feel even slightly real until this moment.
Katie finally opens her eyes, her grip on my hand going slack and shaky, and she smiles up at me.
“You made it,” she whispers.
“Of course I did.” I kiss her sweaty brow, smiling so wide, it hurts. “I’d never let you do this alone.”
Pain steals her attention before she can respond, and I hold onto her hand, doing my best to be steady and helpful however I can be. I’ll be here for her, through it all, no matter what—or how long—it takes.
And itdoestakea long time.
As the hours pass by and the pain only ratchets up, I whisper praise and encouragement in her ear and kiss her knuckles in between contractions. Seeing her hurt so much makes my heart ache, but she already gave me a whole speech about not demanding pain meds for her while we were planning for this. She was very insistent on handling it herself, and I just want to be here and do whatever she asks for. If she changed her mind and wanted meds, I’ll support her, but if she doesn’t, that’s okay too. It’s all about what she needs right now. I am her support.
I want her to be as comfortable as she can.
The doctor is now between Katie’s legs, calling out firm commands to the nurses and instructing Katie when to push.
“Push!” the doctor says.
Katie’s brows screw up in agony as she tosses her head back on an ear shattering scream andpushes.
A flurry of activity explodes amongst the nurses, but I can only focus on the way Katie slumps and shakes uncontrollably. The pain slowly recedes from her eyes, and she meets mine with an exhausted smile. She seems… different. More relaxed, even if she’s still in pain.
“Christ,” she whispers with a watery laugh. “Did I do it?”
A cry rings out, loud and clear, and our heads snap toward the source.
Our baby is covered in blood, little fists curled, head tossed back as he wails out his first few screams, announcing himself to the world. We both watch in awe as the doctor and nurses do a quick inspection, wiping him off and swaddling him in a soft blanket before approaching us.
Katie’s face is a mask of adoration as the nurse settles our baby down into her arms.
“Congratulations,” the nurse says. “A healthy baby boy.”
“You did it,” I say, absolutely amazed.
A million different feelings wash over me, one after another as I gaze down at my son. He’s so tiny in Katie’s arms, his little face screwed up as he screams. I reach a trembling hand out to brush over the tuft of soft golden hair atop his head just as Katie trails a finger down his face. His cries fade quickly, and he seems to enjoy the warmth of our hands on him.
Is this what it’s like being a parent?
Utter terror?
I can’t imagine anything happening to him, worry already coursing through me about whether I washed my hands thoroughly enough to be touching him yet. What if he has trouble eating, or if he gets sick? SIDS is a thing, and I’m terrified of moving him at all for fear of shaken baby syndrome. I don’t think I’ll be ready to let anyone but me or Katie hold him until he’s at least five. At the same time, though, that anxiety about his safety is the most amazing thing I have ever felt. I know—without even having to think about it—that I’ll do and sacrifice anything to keep him safe and happy, no matter what it takes.
He waves his little fist, and a swell of pride threatens to take my breath away. It’s such a small movement, but I want to takea million pictures and show him off to everyone. Katie and I did this. We made him. He’s here.
He’sreal.
I never thought I could love anyone but Katie this much, but my heart has already doubled in size.
“We did it,” Katie says, just as tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
Her voice trembles with emotion, and I look up to see tears beading on her lashes. I lean in to kiss her, gentle and warm.
“I love you,” I whisper against her lips, before looking back down at … at our baby.
