Chapter 28
September 12. That's when I knew something wasn't right. My stomach was aching; I couldn't deal with the pain! I was as round as a balloon, and I've had contractions before with our daughters, but never this bad. I groaned in pain, rubbing my stomach. Just hold on, I thought to the baby in my stomach. I'll go get Daddy, and then we'll get you out of there. But there was a problem. I didn't know exactly where Paul was, and I'm sure my daughters didn't either.
The first place I checked was our bedroom. The covers were pulled up, the way I had left them, untouched by humans. Next, I headed into the living room. Stella and Mary were sitting on the couch, enjoying a program on the life of The Beatles. I rolled my eyes. Oh, those girls and their Beatles. I smiled at the sight, then rushed into the kitchen. No sign of Paul. I let out a gasp; the baby inside me kicked. I needed to go to the hospital! Did the girls know how to call 911? Or their father?
I stumbled back into the living room. I grabbed the telephone off the wall and handed it to Mary, since she was the oldest. She stared at me like I was mad, but that didn't bother me. I gasped again, clutching my stomach tightly. "Mary Anna McCartney, you need to do something for me. You need to dial 911, and tell them it's an emergency." I sighed, closing my eyes. That was enough for her to go on, surely. She wouldn't ask questions. She knew better. Then, she nodded and rushed into the kitchen to make the phone call.
But that didn't stop Stella from asking questions. Her eyes were wide, and she rubbed her small hands over my stomach. "Mummy, what's wrong? Is our little brother hurting your tummy?" The sadness was apparent in her voice, and it made my heart flutter about in my chest. Why was she so sad? It wasn't like I was going to die, but, yes, her little brother was indeed hurting my stomach. A lot. But it wasn't unbearable, was it? I just wanted Paul..
I collapsed onto the sofa and took her face in my hands. I forced her to gaze into my eyes. (She didn't like that much.) "Stella Nina McCartney, I am in pain. Your brother is, in fact, hurting my stomach. But you know why?" I made my voice a bit lighter, forcing a weak smile onto my face. "It's only because he's so anxious to get out of my belly and see his big sisters!" She liked that comment; it was written all over her face. I hugged her carefully.
Mary came sprinting back into the room, her dark hair flying behind her. "They'll be here soon, Mummy," she mumbled. "Where's Daddy? He's usually home when you're about to have a baby. I remember when you had Stella; he was all over you." She sighed and smiled half-heartedly. "Those were the good ol' days, weren't they, Mummy?" She took a seat beside me on the sofa. I huddled my girls closer to me.
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Once I was in the ambulance, with my girls standing beside me, I felt a bit more relaxed. Even though Paul wasn't here with me (unfortunately) I had doctors. They knew what they were doing. But did they know I was going into fucking labor? If they did, why weren't they giving me anything to dull my pain? I groaned and attempted to roll onto my side, but they held me down, keeping me on my back. I guess that was just in case I had to start pushing right here. Not in front of my girls, please!
When we arrived at the hospital, they wheeled me into the delivery room. They said that I was ready to start pushing. Someone ushered Mary and Stella out of the room, thankfully. But that left me all alone! Sure, I had nurses and doctors, but none of my family members were here! I began to cry quietly. All the nurses thought that it was because I was in pain, which was part of it, but there was more to the story.
Suddenly, Paul staggered in. He was drunk. Extremely drunk.
"Where the fuck is my boy?" he slurred, nearly tripping over one of the doctors.
"In my stomach, you idiot!" I snapped, pushing with all of my might. That son of a bitch wasn't going to come out, was he?! I screamed in pain.
Paul seemed confused. "What's he doing there? He should be coming out of--"
The doctor held up his hand. "Enough. Mr. McCartney, are you drunk?"
Giggling, Paul stroked the doctor's hair. "Me? Drunk? Well...yeah, a wee bit. But it's all right, I'm the baby's father. Aren't I, Jo?"
I nodded. "Yeah." I pushed, then screamed. "SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!"
After several hours of pushing, I held a beautiful baby boy in my arms. He was so little, and adorable! The tears dripped down my cheeks, but I couldn't help but smiling. He was the son Paul and I had always wanted.
Paul suddenly seemed almost...sober. "He's gorgeous."
And he was. He really, really was.
