At twenty-seven, YouTube sensation Ben Leonards is married to his work. If he's not whipping up lasagna with a side of science experiments, he's running statistical analysis of bitcoin during explosive behavior periods.
When a friend asks him to org...
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New Year's Eve this year is just Ben and I because I'm too pregnant to enjoy celebrating it with our friends. So it's the two of us watching the countdown. What was I thinking when I made Angie have the baby-shower in her eighth month? An even better question is, why do smart people do stupid stuff? Like another brilliant idea of mine: to beg Ben to drink champagne because I can't, and drinking champagne on New Year's is not a tradition I'm willing to give up.
On his first glass, my contractions begin to cause me pain. On his second I have to tell him about them, but we decide those are the fake Braxton-Hicks ones, because the due date isn't for three weeks and I wasn't even dilated at my appointment yesterday. Another glass of champaign later, I'm starting to doubt the fakeness, but it's eleven-fifty and I'm not going to miss the ball drop in Times Square.
"I can wait a bit. This isn't that bad," I say.
"It's been snowing all day. I'd rather we go early and come back than rush on icy roads." Ben's logic makes sense.
"Fifteen more minutes." I fold my hands in front of me, as if in prayer. "Once the ball drops, we go."
My water breaks two minutes before midnight. The wet spot under me spreads and I'm grateful the sofa is leather.
"Ben." I raise my eyes at him and he switches his attention to me.
"Ten, nine," the countdown begins.
"I think I need to drive us to the hospital." I get up. I need to change, grab the hospital bag, Ben can start the car.
"Five, four, three."
"Why?" He can't see the splotch of wetness in the dim light of the living room.
"My water broke. I think."
"You think?"
"My pants are wet and I'm sure I haven't peed myself."
"Ok. I'm calling the ambulance."
"No ambulances, I can drive. The contractions are not that bad. I can do it."
"No. This is the first thing the doctor said: call the ambulance. That's their job."
Ambulances and I have a very dark history, and it's the last place I want to be.
"But this is not an emergency. We can call a ride share or a taxi. It's more reasonable than an ambulance."
"You'll change your mind when you have to give birth in the back seat of a car. I'm calling an ambulance." Ben dials 911 and instructs the operator on the location of the house, his and my condition. I text my doctor.
"They're sending one now. I'll go get your hospital bag. Everything will be fine. Breathe."
"No, don't go; another one is coming." The pain radiates through my body and its intensity is double what it was before the water broke. I lean against Ben's chest, and he counts into my ear.
