Through Grey Eyes: Fifty Shades of Fatherhood

Labor of Love

"Where's the nipple butter?" I ask, frantically searching through the bathroom drawers. I just bought a jumbo tube of the really good stuff. The kind recommended by 3 out of 4 women with excess sensitivity and chafing. Why the fourth one didn't like it remains a mystery. Maybe she's just that type who likes to fuck up surveys.

"I don't think you'll need it, sir." Taylor says, walking in from the bedroom, fiddling around with Ana's nursing nighty.

"How would you possibly know that?" I rifle through premenstrual drugs and feminine products she hasn't used for months, and pull out some chamomile lavender bath salts I find. That might help relax her when she's in the throws of it. I wonder if there's a tub in the hospital room, so I can bathe her. Maybe I can have a claw footed number installed. I hold onto them as I continue my search for the mammary ointment.

"It usually takes a few days before it's necessary. Plus, the hospital has supplies should Mrs. Grey need any following the birth." How did he get so knowledgeable about necessities and availability of breast creams in a medical environment? And what the fuck right does he have to tell me what my wife's nipples need? Sometimes I wonder about him. What he does late nights.

"You can't trust hospitals these days!" And I'm not taking any chances with the comfort of Ana's nipples. God, were they sensitive last night. She came three times fast with just a little tugging and tickle of the teeth. And I was rewarded with my first taste of breast milk. Glorious, indeed. I'm looking forward to some late night feedings. After the baby is well fed, of course. I'll take the leftovers.

To my delight, I find my mommy lube tube and rush back into the bedroom to place it in the toiletry bag in Ana's suitcase, which is lying open on our bed. I'm overseeing its packing. I'm not taking any chances we miss anything, so I have a checklist I printed off from the bump website. And I don't want Ana doing any heavy lifting to pack, even though the heaviest lifting has been her bathrobe and a portable sounds of nature machine with coordinating essential oils diffuser. I've heard the rainforest toads and smelled the pine. It's going to feel like a spa in that birthing room. She'll never want to leave.

"Speaking of the hospital," I say as I nestle breast pads into a side pocket. "I want an entire floor to ourselves. I don't want any germs breathed on Ana or the baby." And I certainly don't want any wandering diseased perverts trying to get a glimpse of my Ana in her natural state.

"Germs, sir?"

"Germs. I've been doing my research. Do you know how many sick people are in a hospital at any given time?"

"I'd assume a majority, sir." Is he making fun of me? I can never tell. His expression is always the same. Nothing.

"No one gets near either of them until Welch does thorough background checks and everyone signs an NDA."

"Yes, sir."

"And I want floral arrangements around."

"Floral arrangements?" Wait, I was wrong. He looks slightly puzzled.

"Yes, I want it to feel pretty and romantic with candles lit and everything. She likes flowers. Kill the fluorescent overhead lights. Bring in the crew who worked on our wedding. I want her to forget that she's at the hospital."

"I don't think you can light candles in a hospital, Mr. Grey."

"Make it happen!" Jesus, why does he argue with me at every step?

He nods, but not enthusiastically.

"I want to make sure this birth is seamless, Taylor. No surprises." I don't like surprises. I can barely tolerate Christmas. That's why Ana's going to be induced three weeks from Friday. We liked the date. It'll be over a weekend so family can visit and we'll be home and rid of them by Sunday. Taylor's looking at me like he either thinks I'm in for a rude awakening or he's passed gas. But, I haven't smelled anything yet. Judgmental fucker.