Starting over

Welcoming

As Rachel hit 40 weeks of pregnancy, it felt like the peak of her discomfort had finally arrived. Her belly, round and heavy, made even the simplest of tasks exhausting. Her feet ached, her back was sore, and the relentless pressure of carrying Emma weighed on her both physically and emotionally. Ross had been a rock, as always – supportive, kind, and patient – but even he couldn't avoid the sharp edge of Rachel's frayed nerves.

"Ross, can you please stop hovering?!" Rachel snapped one afternoon as he followed her into the living room with yet another pillow to help ease her discomfort. He stopped in his tracks, the pillow still in hand, his expression one of confusion.

"I'm just trying to help," he said, his voice gentle, though he couldn't hide the hint of weariness. This was the third time that day she had snapped at him for something small.

"Well, it's not helping!" she retorted, throwing her hands up. "I don't need more pillows or blankets, or you asking if I need water every five minutes! I'm fine, Ross!"

Ross sighed, setting the pillow down carefully on the couch. He had learned over the past few days that arguing would only escalate things. Pregnancy hormones and the stress of waiting for Emma's arrival had turned Rachel into a ticking time bomb. Still, he couldn't resist a small, teasing smile.

"Okay, okay, I'll back off," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "But, you know, we still haven't picked a date for the wedding. Maybe it'll help take your mind off things if we..."

"Wedding?" Rachel cut him off, eyes blazing with irritation. "Ross, are you out of your mind? I'm literally about to burst, and you want to talk about wedding dates?! Let me tell you something: after this, I am never having sex with you again. Ever."

Ross couldn't help but chuckle, knowing full well that Rachel's frustration wasn't truly directed at him. He stepped closer, placing a hand gently on her swollen belly.

"Rach, you don't mean that," he said softly, his voice filled with affection. "You're just stressed."

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, though even she couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at her lips.

"I'm serious," she muttered, though the tension in her posture softened just a bit. "You'll see. No more kids. No more... anything!"

"Okay, okay," Ross said, still laughing under his breath. "We'll revisit this conversation after Emma's here and you're not ready to murder me."

"Don't hold your breath," she replied, though her tone was lighter now.

While all of this was happening, Charlotte, in California, was trying her best to soothe her mother from afar. They spoke often, with Charlotte offering endless words of encouragement and humor, though Rachel's stress often left her cutting the conversations short.

"Mom, seriously, you've got this. Emma's gonna be here soon, and then you can finally put your feet up and relax," Charlotte had said during their last call, to which Rachel replied with an exhausted, "God, I hope so."

Rachel and Ross had scheduled a C-section for the following week in case Emma didn't arrive on her own. The idea of waiting endlessly, of carrying Emma for even one more day past her due date, had Rachel teetering on the edge of sanity. But Emma had other plans.
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It was a quiet evening, and the apartment was bathed in the soft glow of the lamps scattered throughout the living room. Rachel sat on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, resting after a long day. Her hands absentmindedly rubbed her large, round belly, and she smiled faintly as she felt Emma moving inside her.

Ross was nearby, pacing around the kitchen with an air of restless excitement. He had been more attentive than usual lately, hovering near Rachel as her due date approached. Tonight, though, everything seemed peaceful.