I actually laugh mid-contraction.
My labor starts to look like it’s going to be a long one, which sucks because it really hurts.
Nick’s parents arrive at hour eight, when I’m just about ready to kill Nick and the hospital staff.
His mother rushes straight to me, brushing my hair back like she’s known me forever. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re doing beautifully.”
His father squeezes Nick’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to meet my grandbaby.”
I’m surrounded, I realize, by love, by family—my tribe.
I’m in labor for twenty extremely long hours before our baby arrives.
Our son.
They place him on my chest—tiny, warm, furious at the world. I sob instantly, clutching him close.
“Hi,” I whisper, voice breaking. “Hi, Zephyr.”
Nick and I decided on that name together. Zephyr, as in zephyr lilies, if it was a boy, and Rose if it was a girl.
Nick’s hand trembles as he touches our son’s back.
“Oh my God,” he breathes. “He’s…beautiful.”
I laugh through tears and look at our son in my arms. He’s perfect. I’ve never seen anything this perfect before.
Nick kisses my forehead, then the baby’s. “You did this. You’re…Enya, baby, you’re incredible.”
He wraps his arms around us, and for a moment, everything stops.
The world is bright, warm, and brand new.
Family surrounds us—Daisy taking pictures of us, Forest handing out cigars, Nick’s parents holding each other, and Cass wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
I am not alone.
I am held.
I am loved.
I belong.
I lift my gaze to Nick and smile without any restraint.
The way he holds me, the quiet certainty in his eyes, tells me everything I need to know—our baby isn’t the only new beginning.
I am, too.
