I am both thrilled and terrified all at once. I was counting on the next three weeks to get so much done around the homestead. We have more glampers coming in a week, the garden is at peak production, and I’m going to be completely AWOL for who knows how long. The nursery is still in process, I haven’t bought any diapers, and emotionally, I’m just not there yet. I really thought I had more time.
Josh reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It’s going to be okay,” he tells me gently, a promise I know he believes he can make. And I can choose to believe him.
“Okay,” I say and squeeze back.
By the time we get to Buckholt, my contractions are coming every couple of minutes, and they’re starting to hurt. Twinges, they are not.
Josh had the foresight to call my OB, Dr. Bradley, before we left, and we meet her at the nurse’s desk in the maternity ward. She is cheerful and fresh-faced, even though it’s almost one o’clock in the morning. I am clutching my belly and trying not to groan out loud.
“Looks like things are progressing,” she chirps as she guides me to a room. “Why don’t you change into a hospital gown, then we’ll get you checked over?”
I feel weirdly numb, still unable to believe this is happening, as I fumble out of my clothes and into the hospital gown, the only item of apparel I know that makes you feelless thannaked.
A few minutes later, she announces I’m already at six centimeters, and our baby will probably be here within the hour. Strangely, this news settles me. I can no longer pretend this isn’t happening, especially as the contractions are taking my breath away.
“Can we talk pain relief?” I gasp out between them.
Dr. Bradley purses her lips. “I’m afraid you’re too far along for an epidural, but we can consider an inject of Stadol or Demerol. But it takes about twenty minutes to come into effect, and you might be mostly there by then.”
Great. I close my eyes and try to breathe. I had an epidural with Bethany, which I didn’t enjoy, and William, Jack, and Rose were all natural births. I was hoping to do this the pain-free way, but it looks like that’s not possible.
“You’ve done it before without meds, Abs,” Josh says encouragingly. “You can do it again, I know you can.”
I open my eyes to glare at my husband. “You have no idea what I can or cannot do,” I practically spit. “You have no idea what itfeels like to have your body literallysplit openso another human being can slither out!” My voice rises in a shout as I prop myself up on my elbows to give him the full force of my fury. “Whyare you even talking?”
“Sorry,” Josh murmurs. He looks unfazed; this kind of outburstmighthave happened in previous labors, and he knows how to weather the storm.
“I think you might be in transition already,” Dr. Bradley announces.
Josh shakes his head sorrowfully. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Youhaven’t seen anything yet!” I snap at him. “Because that’s all you’re doing—seeing!Watching, like some casual, uninterested observer, because this hasnobearing on you whatsoever. You can’t even feel aflickerof pain.Men!” My voice is filled with disgust. “They so could not handle even a second of childbirth.”
“That’s true,” Josh agrees before I shush him, and he falls silent.
Another contraction comes over me like a ton of bricks. I feel like my body is being wrenched apart. Was italwaysthis painful? Did it always last this long? I throw my head back against the pillow as I grit my teeth and stare at the ceiling.
“Breathe, Abby,” Dr. Bradley says. “Don’t forget to breathe.”
I feel like headbutting her. “I am breathing,” I manage, my teeth still gritted. But I know she’s right, so I try to take some deep breaths that are actually very shallow.
Dr. Bradley checks me again. “Baby’s head is almost crowning!” she exclaims before turning to Josh. “I knew she was in transition. You’re almost there, Abby, just a few more seconds, then you can start to push.”
A capable nurse whose name I don’t know and who has been silent this whole time moves forward with a sterile padthat she places beneath me. I am long past caring what I look like, although some small conscious part of me thinks I must resemble a hippo or an elephant, some ungainly animals, my legs splayed out for all to see. Oh, the indignities of childbirth. And yet it’s meant to be a miracle.
Then I’m pushing, grunting and straining while Josh holds my hands and murmurs encouragements I barely hear. I am conscious of nothing but the sense of my body inside-outing itself—at least that’s what it feels like.
Then our daughter is here, sliding into the world, red-faced, fists clenched. The nurse wraps her in a blanket and places her on my chest, and I gaze down into her deep blue eyes, amazed.
Dr. Bradley offers to let Josh cut the umbilical cord while I hold our daughter. We’re both laughing and crying at the same time, and I press my nose gently to hers.
“We haven’t even talked about names yet.”
Josh smiles down at me, teary-eyed, as he smooths the damp hair from my forehead. “I guess we’d better start.”
“We’re just going to have a quick look at baby,” Dr. Bradley says rather abruptly. I’m surprised because it’s only been a few minutes, but I hand over my daughter obediently. I expect her to check her Apgar score and weigh her right there in the room, but she takes her out into the hallway, and I feel a tiny twitch of unease.
“What do you think is going on?” I ask Josh.
