Hour 2
“Oh my God! Please, make it stop!” I screamed to my sister, squeezing the life out of her hand.
“Babe, I know it hurts. But honey, you’re going to break my fingers,” she pleaded.
I reluctantly released her and began crying like a child.
“Where is he?” I sobbed, wanting my husband more than anything.
“I know. He called from the arena fifteen minutes ago. He’ll be here soon, dear.”
My body violently shook with the force of my sobs. I wasn’t even close to ten centimeters and I was already waving the white flag. I just wanted Michael. I needed him. He had begged me to let him stay home from the awards show tonight, concerned when I complained about tightness in my abdomen. Like the supportive wife I was, I demanded he go and perform, that I was fine. I’m such an idiot.
“Rebecca!” I wailed, clenching my jaw as another contraction began.
My sister winced as I dug my nails into her arm, but stayed put.
“I w-want my h-husband!” I whined, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I’m here! I’m here!” I heard a breathless voice say.
I opened my eyes and giggled in spite of myself when I saw my husband standing in the doorway, completely decked out in his red carpet tuxedo, the one I had finally convinced him to wear a week ago. Holding my arms out like a child, I breathed a sigh of relief as he took me in his arms.
“I’m sorry, baby. I came as fast as I could,” he said into my neck.
“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.”
Rebecca tapped him on the shoulder and presented him with the suitcase she had hastily packed when she picked me up from our apartment, knowing he’d want some comfortable clothes.
“Thank God,” he said with a grateful smile. “I’m roasting alive in this thing.”
“Go change, sweetheart. I swear you won’t miss anything. I’m slower than molasses on a cold day,” I joked pathetically.
He kissed my forehead and left the room.
Hour 8
“Shh, it’s alright baby. Breathe through it,” he whispered.
I was hunched forward, clutching his shoulders as his hands gently rocked my hips back and forth. The nurse had convinced him to walk me up and down the wing, assuring that it would make things move faster. In reality, it was really just making my body tear itself in two.
“Do you want to walk some more?” he asked.
I shook my head furiously and blew air through my lips as the contraction ended.
“I can’t move!” I cried. “I want to go back to bed!”
“Okay, okay, we’ll get there. Come on, baby.”
He took my hand in his arm and slowly guided me back down the hall, stopping every ten feet to comfort me through the pain. Eventually, we made it.
Hour 15
“Why didn’t I get in here sooner?” I sighed, resting my head back against the edge of the hospital tub.
“I’m glad, love. I hate seeing you in pain,” he said with a smile.
My hand was tucked cozily in his as I let the warm water ease my aching body. I was still only at seven centimeters, ten seeming so close, yet so very far away.
“I wish you could join me in here.”
“Baby, if I could trade places with you right now, I would,” he said, his eyes full of sadness.
“That’s weird,” I laughed, wrinkling my nose.
“It’s true. You’re so amazing.”
“I know,” I teased.
He chuckled and pecked me on the lips.
Hour 21
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Michael!” I wailed.
“Don’t be sorry, babe. We’ll get it cleaned up.”
I had just thrown up all over the floor, narrowly missing his shoes. Transition was by far the most unbearable part of delivery, the shivers and nausea coming hand in hand. Rebecca was stroking my hair and applying a cold rag to my forehead as Michael went outside to find some help. He returned seconds later with the same nurse I had seen all night, the one who was far too bubbly and happy. I hated her.
“Hello, dear! Feeling pretty rotten, are we? Let’s check and see where you’re at.”
Michael took his place at my side and looked anxiously at the nurse.
“Alright! Ten centimeters, Mrs. Clifford! Let’s get you ready to push!”
Oh my God. I wasn’t ready for this. I dug my nails into my husband’s forearm and looked into his eyes.
“I can’t, Michael. I’m scared.”
He gave me a small smile. “Me too, baby. But everything’s going to be fine. I promise.”
Hour 22
“One more, Mrs. Clifford! Just one more!” the doctor cheered.
“I can’t! Please make it stop!” I screamed, my face soaked with tears and sweat.
“Come on, baby, just one more. You’re so strong. I love you so much. You can do it,” Michael asserted, placing tiny kisses on my knuckles.
I drew in a deep breath and waited for the pressure to build before bearing down with all of the strength I had left. Michael began counting to ten, squeezing my hand tighter with each number. Suddenly, the pain stopped and I fell backwards, my head lolling back onto the pillow. I heard a cry and felt a tiny, squirming creature being placed onto my stomach.
“He’s here! He’s here!” Michael exclaimed, tears filling his green eyes.
I smiled weakly as my tiny little boy let out a wail that would put any other child to shame.
“Oh I know,” I cooed. “Tell me about it.”
Michael kissed me softly and pressed his forehead to mine.
“I am so, so proud of you, baby. I love you.”
Hour 30
“Hi, buddy. We waited so long for you,” Michael whispered, stroking Jacob’s chubby cheek with his finger.
He was asleep on his chest, snoring softly. With his other arm wrapped around my waist, Michael pulled me closer to him and kissed the top of my head. It was dark in the hospital room, save the glow of the city lights peeking through the window.
“He’s got your nose,” I stated with a smile.
“Maybe. But he’s got your good looks.”
“You know that’s right,” I giggled.
He laughed and kissed my hand, then Jacob’s. I closed my eyes and listened to my son breathing, enjoying the knowledge that he was here. He was mine. He was ours.
