All for You.

Chapter 56 - Today

Chapter 56 - Today

— Tobias

"Let's keep track of when you end up getting uncomfortable, and for how long," I pull out a yellow notepad and a pen, setting both on the kitchen island.

Tris stands leaning with her forearms on the countertop, her bare bump somehow fitting as she leans with her back curved. She changed bras and shorts since we showered, and her wet hair is pulled into a messy ponytail.

She looks up at me, her eyes deep and I write down the current time: seven thirty-six in the morning.

I don't know if she's having contractions, or if she knows if she is or not, but my husbandly -or maybe fatherly- instincts say that she may be.

She inhales sharply before sighing exaggeratedly, her head falling to her hands on the island.

I hold the outside of her hands which are clasped together from the other side of the island.

"Breathe, baby," I pray that she will look up at me. "You're alright, just breathe."

The way she is positioned leaning over the island looks to be nothing close to comfortable.

But at the same time, probably no position could be very comfortable right now.

As what I think was a contradiction passes, she relaxes slightly, turning her head on both her and my hands to look at me from the corner of her eye. She smiles weakly, and I move my hand to rub my thumb over her cheek to wipe a tear.

I look at the clock again, and just when I do it changes to seven thirty-eight. I write down that it lasted about a minute.

I really don't know what I'm doing.
But I don't want to stress Tris by asking her about contacting the midwife.

"Today," her voice is slightly stronger than it was a little while ago when she speaks. All I can do is chuckle in response.

She says in that uncomfortable position but manages to lift her head and talk for a while.

"Is that, even in the slightest, comfortable?" I ask her honestly, motioning to her current form.

"No."

We are quiet again for a while before she speaks.

"He won't stop kicking," she sighs and suddenly shutters, her head going back down to her hands on the counter.

I look at the clock— seven forty-five.
I write down the time but find myself in a mild panic.
When I was reading online, it said it would take more than a few contractions for them to get closer together.
The last one ended just seven minutes ago.
How long has she been having contractions?!

Suddenly my questions are answered when she cries out, moving her one hand to grip the countertop.

It takes me a minute -because of my blind panic- to notice the puddle growing on the floor.

"Your water broke," I state, almost as if I didn't say it it wouldn't be real.

"Yeah," she laughs, then gasping in pain. "No shit."

She stands still for a while and I am unsure of what to do or say. She keeps her grip on the countertop, her knuckles paling from her grip. I rub the top of her hand, hoping to have her grip my hand instead of the rough granite, but she doesn't release her grip.

I notice her try and move from her terrible position after a few moments and I move around the island, quickly taking her hands in mine.

She presses her head to my chest, her whole body weight leaning on me as she moans, her arms around my torso.

Seven fifty— I make a mental note.

"Breathe with me, Tris. Come on," I encourage, exaggerating my breaths. After her initial panic subsides, and I encourage her some more, I succeed on getting her into a breathing pattern. The clock hadn't changed to the next minute by the time the contraction stops, and I mentally decide to use a timer with seconds if we are going to keep track of these contractions effectively.

I clean up the amniotic fluid on the tile of our kitchen while Tris slowly waddles to the bedroom to change her pants. I also call her midwife, telling her that Tris's water broke.

She tells me to take a look at the list of things she gave us when she came for the visit, and that she was helping another woman right now but to contact her if any Tris's three contractions in a row got any closer together than ten minutes.

I pull out the papers from the drawer in the kitchen, where they were stuffed when Tris panicked just looking at them two weeks ago, and begin to file through them.

I find a list of things to do before the midwife shows up. On the list is to monitor the contractions and strip the bed that the mother plans to birth on so that plastic sheets can be put on when the midwife arrives. Either that or prepare a location to give birth, such as a tub or other.

I was never able to talk about a birth plan with Tris, because every time me or anyone brought it up she would get extremely anxious and start basically sobbing.

But now, there's really no choice.

On the list is to also make sure the mother stays hydrated and eats if she can keep food down.
Knowing Tris and her body with pain, she probably will refuse to eat anything.

"Tobias?" My wife calls and I run to her assistance. "This is an odd problem, but there's so much coming out of me, I don't know where to sit!" She laughs acknowledging that a regular menstral pad wasn't holding all of it.

"Uh," I look at my wife who sits on the toilet, a pair of clean baggy shorts on the bathroom counter. She laughs at my face, and I'm glad that at least she's having an okay time between contractions laughing at my paranoia. "Just sit there for a while...?" I laugh shrugging.

We're going to be great parents. I shake my head laughing at myself.

I go back out and look at the lists that the midwife brought.
I really should've looked at these before now when Tris wasn't around.

The one says what to expect when the mother's water has just broken.
The amount of fluid leaving her body right now is normal, so I read.
And apparently her contractions should be a half hour apart. It also says that tracking them isn't extremely important until they get closer to ten minutes apart.

I think I'm going to track them anyways, or Tris can track them if she wants. If something is unusual, I don't want to miss it from not writing it down.

I look at my phone, then at the yellow notepad and my scribbled handwriting.

Maybe Tris should track them instead of me.

According to my phone it's already five after eight in the morning.

Did she have a contraction when her water broke, or do I count thirty minutes after the first contraction because the pain from seven fifty was her water breaking?

I don't have to think about it when I see Tris in the doorway of our bedroom, both her hands on her exposed bump, a slight sense of panic in her eyes that I can see from way over in the kitchen.

She's quicker to breathe in a pattern through this contraction, and I think she's getting use to the pain.

Before we know it, it's almost eleven thirty and I've managed to get her to eat piece of toast. I haven't struggled to get her to drink water though, because she hasn't been stopping all morning.
It's so hot in here, I guess that's not a bad thing,

The midwife is pleased to hear all of this when she arrives.
And even though it was real before, just like I had expected, something changed in Tris once the midwife is here.

Going into labor hasn't changed her anxiety in the slightest.