She’s delicate right now, which is why I can only be honest with her. “I think I believe that, even though I just found out about your pregnancy, it was because I am meant to be here in the moment to help you.”
A lightness shades her eyes. “You’re not still mad at me?”
“No, Isla, I’m not still mad,” I tell her point blank.
It seems to bring relief to her, only for it to be interrupted by another wave taking over her body. I grip her arms so I can carry her weight as much as I can. I murmur encouragement until she sighs from the contraction ending.
“Okay, Isla, I think you’re nearly there. I will call Dr. Forest.”
Isla nods while our eyes lock. I’m not going to let her down, and I think she realizes it.
For a moment, while the nurse goes to the corner to make a call, Isla and I get a chance to have some privacy.
“I’m scared. I’m not ready,” she breathes out.
Moving so she can waddle to the bed and lean against me, I hold her up, as she seems to be weak. “You can do this. I know you can. You’ve done everything so far because you want to give her a good life. So you’ll make sure she enters this world on the right foot, and in order to make that happen, you have to get through this.”
She laughs. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a baby goblin ripping through your body.” Another contraction hits her, and she clasps onto me for dear life.
“You’ve got this. You’re so close,” I soothe her.
The contraction is short but seems to be stronger than what I imagined.
I smile at her and stroke her hair. “Goblin, really? That’s what we’re calling her now?”
It makes Isla laugh. “We don’t have a name for her.”
“You pick when she’s here,” I say to encourage her. "Well… the last name is not really up for negotiation, but you know what I mean." I try to make her smile again.
She nods again.
I kiss her forehead, reminding myself to stay calm.
By the time the doctor is here, Isla is ready to go. I believe that we’re both petrified. Our lives are about to change, and we know it. The moment this girl enters the world, we’ll see everything through a different lens, even I know that.
I sit on the side of the bed behind Isla to support her, with the doctor between Isla’s propped knees and the nurse nearby, ready for action, and another nurse preparing things in the corner. It doesn’t take long for an exhausted Isla to push, and she nearly breaks my hands when she squeezes them. Every push she amazes me with her strength that could take out any hockey player I’ve ever played.
Six pushes later… it happens.
A cry fills the room, and my heart grows bigger already.
“Your daughter is here,” the doctor says as she holds up the red baby covered in a white coating, with a squinched face and a full head of hair to my surprise.
Isla cries happy tears then tries to peek when they cut the cord, but then they take a little longer than we expected. They hold our daughter and check her body longer than I would expect, and in a moment that now feels chaotic, terror fills Isla’s eyes as she looks at me. It’s only a few seconds, but it’s too many for Isla. “What’s happening?”
I try to get a glimpse, but I honestly don’t know.
“It’s okay, Isla,” the doctor explains.
I try to peek again to keep my promise and attempt to study the medical staff while our baby cries. I’m not sure what is happening, but it only takes a few seconds more for a nurse to smile at me as she hands Isla our naked baby to rest against her chest then quickly covers them with a blanket.
“She’s a strong one. She looks good,” the nurse says.
I watch as our baby finds a home against Isla's chest. My daughter’s little eyes stare straight at me, and her cry seems to soften. I’m not a crier, but tears sting my eyes at this little bundle in Isla’s arms.
I guess I am a dad now, and as cliché as it sounds, my world suddenly feels like it’s turning differently.
I soak in the scene of a washed-out Isla, but she seems to find renewed energy when she soaks in our daughter. “She’s here,” I whisper.
