Woso imagines

Alexia - birth

The morning began like any other, but something was different. You woke up with an ache in your lower back, a kind of dull pressure that seemed to spread to your belly in gentle waves. It wasn't painful, just persistent, and you brushed it off as another one of those late-pregnancy discomforts. At nine months along, you were used to your body throwing curveballs, and you had learned to adapt.

Alexia, on the other hand, had been on high alert for weeks. Ever since your doctor mentioned that you could go into labor anytime, she had become your unofficial shadow. She followed you from room to room, always finding something to do nearby while keeping an eye on you. It was sweet, a little funny, but also occasionally frustrating.

"Are you okay?" she asked for the third time that morning, her brown eyes scanning you with concern as you leaned against the counter in the kitchen.

"I'm fine, Alexia," you assured her, reaching for a glass of water.

Her gaze lingered on you, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Seguro?"

"Yes, seguro," you replied with a small laugh, though even as you spoke, another wave of discomfort rolled through your belly. You tensed slightly, your hand instinctively moving to rest on your bump.

Alexia noticed immediately, her protective instincts kicking in. "What's wrong?" she asked, stepping closer, her voice slightly higher than usual.

"It's nothing," you said quickly, offering her a reassuring smile. "Probably Braxton Hicks. They're normal."

Her eyes narrowed in skepticism, but she didn't press further. Instead, she hovered nearby as you moved to sit on the couch, keeping her phone within reach as though she might need to call someone at a moment's notice.

By midday, the tightening in your belly had grown more noticeable, and you couldn't ignore the pattern anymore. Every ten minutes, like clockwork, a wave of pressure would build and then fade. You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, your hands gripping the cushions as you tried to breathe through another one.

Alexia appeared instantly, kneeling beside you. "That's not Braxton Hicks," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"It's fine," you said weakly, though you weren't so sure anymore.

"It's not fine," Alexia insisted, already grabbing her phone and the hospital bag that had been packed weeks ago. "We're going."

You didn't argue this time. The contractions were stronger now, and you knew Alexia was right. She helped you into a coat, her hands steady and sure despite the nervous energy radiating off her.

The car ride to the hospital was a blur. Alexia kept one hand on the wheel and the other gripping yours tightly, her voice a mix of calm instructions and soft reassurances. "Breathe," she reminded you every few minutes, her own breathing quick and shallow as she tried to keep her cool.

By the time you arrived at the hospital, the contractions were coming faster and stronger. The nurses quickly checked you in and led you to a room, where Alexia helped you into a gown before settling herself at your side. Her hand never left yours, her thumb brushing soothing circles over your skin as the minutes stretched into hours.

The contractions were relentless, each one stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving you trembling with effort. Alexia was your rock, her voice a constant source of strength as she whispered in both Spanish and English. "You're doing so good, mi amor," she murmured, her lips brushing against your temple. "You're so strong."

Her hand bore the brunt of your pain as you squeezed it tightly during each contraction. At one point, she winced but quickly covered it with a smile when you apologized. "Don't worry about me," she said, her voice filled with love. "You can break my hand if you need to."