Should I Stay?

Chapter 15

Mom went into labor one days before Christmas, and she insisted we go holiday shopping together.

''Shouldn't you like lie down or go to the birthing center or something?'' I asked.

Mom grimaced through a cramp. ''Nah. The contractions aren't that bad and are still like twenty minutes apart. I cleaned our entire house, from top to bottom, while I was in early labor with you.''

''Putting the labor in labor,'' I joked.

''You're a smart-ass, you know that?'' Mom said. She took a few breaths. ''I've got a ways to go. Now come on. Let's take the bus to the mall. I'm not up to driving.''

''Shouldn't we call Dad?'' I asked.

Mom laughed at that. ''Please, it's enough for me to have to birth this baby. I don't need to deal with him, too. We'll call him when I'm ready to pop. I'd much rather have you around.''

So Mom and I wandered around the mall, stopping every couple minutes so she could sit down and take deep breaths and squeeze my wrist so hard it left angry red marks. Still, it was a weirdly fun and productive morning. We bought presents for Gran and Gramps (a sweater with an angel on it and a new book about Abraham Lincoln) and toys for the baby and a new pair of rain boots for me.

Usually we waited for the holiday sales to buy stuff like that, but Mom said that this year we'd be too busy changing diapers. ''Now's not the time to be cheap. Ow, fuck. Sorry, Lulu. Come on. Let's go get pie.''

We went to Marie Callender's. Mom had a slice of pumpkin and of banana cream. I had blueberry. When she was done, she pushed her plate away and announced she was ready to go to the midwife.

We'd never really talked about my being there or not being there. I went everywhere with Mom and Dad at that point, so it was just kind of assumed. We met a nerve-racked Dad at the birthing center, which was nothing like a doctor's office. It was the ground floor of a house, the inside decked out with beds and Jacuzzi tubs, the medical equipment discreetly tucked away. The hippie midwife led Mom inside and Dad asked me if I wanted to come, too. By now, I could hear Mom screaming.

''I can call Gran and she'll pick you up,'' Dad said, wincing at Mom's barrage. ''This might take a while.''

I shook my head. Mom needed me. She'd said so. I sat down on one of the floral couches and picked up a magazine with a goofy-looking bald baby on the cover. Dad disappeared into the room with the bed.

''Music! Goddammit! Music!'' Mom screamed.

''We have some lovely Enya. Very soothing,'' the midwife said.

''Fuck Enya!'' Mom screamed. ''Melvins. Earth. Now!''

''I've got it covered,'' Dad said. Then he popped a CD of the loudest, churningest, guitar-heaviest music I'd ever heard. It made all the fast-paced punk songs Dad normally listened to sound like harp music.

This music was primal and that seemed to make Mom feel better. She started making these low guttural noises. I just sat there quietly. Every so often she'd scream my name and I'd scamper inside. Mom would look up at me, her face plastered with sweat. Don't be scared, she'd whisper. Women can handle the worst kind of pain. You'll find out one day. Then she'd scream fuck again.

I'd seen a couple of births on that cable-TV show, and people usually yelled for a while; sometimes they swore and it had to be bleeped, but it never took longer than half an hour. After three hours, Mom and the Melvins were still screaming along. The whole birthing center felt tropically humid, even though it was forty degrees outside.

Paul dropped by. When he came inside and heard the noise, he froze in his tracks. I knew that the whole kid-thing freaked him out. I'd overheard Mom and Dad talking about that, and Paul's refusal to grow up. He'd apparently been shocked when Mom and Dad had me, and now was completely bewildered that they chose to have a second. They'd both been relieved when he and Diana had gotten back together. ''Finally, a grown-up in Paul's life,'' Mom had said.

Paul looked at me; his face was pale and sweaty. ''Holy shit, Luu. Should you be hearing this? Should I be hearing this?''

I shrugged. Paul sat down next to me. ''I've got the flu or something, but your Dad just called asking me to bring some food. So here I am,'' he said, proffering a Nando's bag reeking of chicken. Mom let out another moan. ''I should go. Don't want me spreading germs or anything.'' Mom screamed even louder and Paul practically jumped in his seat. ''You sure you wanna hang around for this? You can come back to my place. Diana's there, taking care of me.'' He grinned when he mentioned her name. ''She can take care of you, too.'' He stood up to leave.

''No. I'm fine. Mom needs me. Dad's kind of freaking out, though.''

''Did he puke yet?'' Paul asked, sitting back down on the couch. I laughed, but then saw from his face that he was serious.

"He threw up when you were coming. Almost fainted on the floor. Not that I can blame him. But the dude was a mess, the doctors wanted to kick him out... said they were going to if you didn't come out within a half hour. That got your mom so pissed off she pushed you out five minutes later.'' Paul smiled, leaning back into the sofa. ''So the story goes. But I'll tell you this: He cried like a fucking baby when you were born.''

''I've heard that part.''

''Heard what part?'' Dad asked breathlessly. He grabbed the bag from Paul. ''Nando's, Paul?''

''Dinner of champions,'' Henry said.

''It'll do. I'm starving. It's intense in there. Got to keep up my strength.''

Pauk winked at me. Dad pulled out his chicken wings and offered one to me. I shook my head. Dad had started unwrapping his meal when Mom let out a growl and then started screaming at the midwife that she was ready to push.

The midwife poked her head out the door. ''I think we're getting close, so maybe you should save dinner for later,'' she said. ''Come on back.''

Paul practically bolted out the front door. I followed Dad into the bedroom where Mom was sitting now, panting like a sick dog. ''Would you like to watch?'' the midwife asked Dad, but he just swayed and turned a pale shade of green.

''I'm probably better up here,'' he said, grasping Mom's hand, which she violently shook off.

No one asked me if I wanted to watch. I just automatically went to stand next to the midwife.

It was pretty gross, I'll admit. Lots of blood. And I'd certainly never seen my mom so full-on frontal before. But it felt strangely normal for me to be there. The midwife was telling Mom to push, then hold, then push. ''Go baby, go baby, go baby go,'' she chanted. ''You're almost there!'' she cheered. Mom looked like she wanted to smack her.

When Louis slid out, he was head up, facing the ceiling, so that the first thing he saw was me. He didn't come out squalling like you see on TV. He was just quiet. His eyes were open, staring straight at me. He held my gaze as the midwife suctioned out his nose. ''It's a boy,'' she shouted.

The midwife put Louis on Mom's belly. ''Do you want to cut the cord?'' she asked Dad. Dad waved his hands no, too overcome or nauseous to speak.

''I'll do it,'' I offered.

The midwife held the cord taut and told me where to cut. Louis lay still, his blue eyes wide open, still staring at me.

Mom always said that it was because Louis saw me first, and because I cut his cord, that somewhere deep down he thought I was his mother. ''It's like those goslings,'' Mom joked. ''Imprinting on a zoologist, not the mama goose, because he was the first one they saw when they hatched.''

She exaggerated. Louis didn't really think I was his mother, but there were certain things that only I could do for him.

When he was a baby and going through his nightly fussy period, he'd only calm down after I played him a lullaby on my piano. When he started getting into Harry Potter, only I was allowed to read a chapter to him every night. And when he'd skin a knee or bump his head, if I was around he would not stop crying until I bestowed a magic kiss on the injury, after which he'd miraculously recover.