An Old Fashioned book two Full Circle Series

Anxiety

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Chapter 24

Emerly

Drumming my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, I mutter to myself, "come on, come on. Change already."

I'm late.

The closer I get to having this baby, the more anxious I seem to get. I've spent every night, since I found out I was pregnant, reading up on what's happening to me. I've studied, gone to class and even watched those horrible movies. Cole even went to daddy boot camp to help me.

I've compared my baby to the size of a blueberry, a kiwi, and a melon. I've taken notes on what I shouldn't eat and what I can. I've cut out chocolate, ice cream, and my morning coffee. I've missed my glass of wine at the end of the day and I've modified my yoga and exercise program. I've done everything that the books and my doctor has advised. I'm still anxious.

Today, I'm thirty three weeks along. Cole and I had our last Lamaze class yesterday. We graduated. I should be completely comfortable with having this baby. Women have been giving birth for years without the help of the technology we have now. There's no reason for me to worry.

I have everything I need. Cole helped me put the crib together. Lily helped me paint the bedroom a happy yellow. I have adorable baby clothes, for boys and girls. I have burp cloths, wipes and blankets. I have diapers of all sizes, a swing, a rocking chair, a car seat, and a high chair. I have cute monkeys, elephants, tigers on the walls, in pictures and stuffed. I'm still not ready.

Making the turn into the medical center, I think about what I don't know. I don't know how to breastfeed. They have lactation assistants for that. That's what the nurse who taught my class said. What if I can't do it? What if the baby won't latch on? What if the baby won't stop crying? What if I start crying? What if the baby hates me? What if I'm a terrible mother? I'm not ready.

I'm late.

I hate being late. I'm extremely anal when it comes to punctuality. If I'm ten minutes early I'm on time, if I'm on time, I'm late. It was drilled into my head as a child. My Dad was military, it's just the way I was brought up.

Pulling around to find a parking spot at the hospital, I swerve into a spot, grab my bag, and slam out of the car. Walking at a very brisk pace, I rush down the aisle, across the street and through the door, looking around for my Lamaze partner. He promised to meet me here.

"She's here. I'll be in as soon as we're done. Yeah, thanks." Hanging up his phone, and stuffing it into his back pocket. He strolls my way.

No hurry. No panic. Cole is easy going and calm as any man I know. Nothing frazzled him. He's been steadfast by my side, from the moment I broke the news to everyone. He's never let me down. I don't think it's in his vocabulary.

"Em, are you okay?" Cole reaches out, touching my face. "You're sweating, honey. Are you having contractions?"

"What? No, I... No, I was hurrying so I won't be late." Stuttering as I explained myself, I stepped back. The way he touched me, the concern in his eyes flustered me. To avoid the contact, I start walking for the elevator with Cole hurrying to catch up.

Reaching the elevator, I push the button. Drumming my fingers on my leg, I impatiently push the button again.

"Your appointment isn't for another ten minutes. You've got plenty of time. Relax." Standing behind me, he begins rubbing my shoulders. "You're carrying too much stress, Em. Everything is fine, baby. No worries."

The man has magical hands. I cannot say how much I want to moan in pleasure right now. He knows how to use his hands. I've gotten a foot massage from him once, I swear, I had an orgasm during it. There's just something so sexy about a man who knows how to use his hands.