Maybe Baby (53 page)

The nurse comes in just then to check my progress. Trey moves outside the curtain she has drawn. Peeling off her rubber gloves, she informs me that I'm nearly seven centimeters dilated. She informs me in her no-nonsense Nurse Ratched manner that I can expect stronger contractions as I enter the transition stage of labor. She slides the curtain back open, taking her leave.

Holy crap! It gets worse than this?

Trey reads the panicked look on my face. He tries soothing me with reminders as to how much better it is for both mother and baby when no anesthesia is used during labor. I eye him warily as the next contraction starts.

Trey removes his jacket and tie, tossing them over onto a chair. He rolls his sleeves up to his forearms. He patiently coaches me through the contraction the way we learned in Lamaze class. We've now graduated to the he-he-who pattern of breathing, followed by the cleansing breath.

Trey watches the monitors that are next to me so that he can gauge an impending contraction. They are definitely coming faster and lasting longer. I sit up in bed, bending over. I feel like someone has kicked me squarely in the back. Trey tells me I'm having back labor.

You think?

He retrieves hot towels from the nurse, pressing them up against my lower back. It helps. I grab his hand, squeezing tightly as the next contraction descends. I start moaning with the pain on this one. I promised myself I wouldn’t do that.

“Tylar, go with it, don’t fight it, you have to do your breathing remember? You’re fighting it baby, I can tell. Relax and breathe, just relax and breathe,” Trey instructs firmly.

I’d rather scream.

“Arrggghh!” I groan, clutching his hand in a death grip.

“It’s winding down now, winding down, there. Take a cleansing breath and get ready for the next one,” he says, watching the contraction’s graph on the monitor. It starts right back up.

“Trey,” I groan loudly, “get the nurse in here. I want an epidural. This hurts!”

“Tylar,” he speaks gently but firmly, in what I now regard as his sickening soothing voice. “Remember honey, how we talked about this and decided together that this is how we want our baby to be born? No meds pre-delivery, remember? Now I know you can do this, baby.”

Shut UP! You'll never touch me again Trey Michael Sinclair.

I no sooner finish cursing him silently when the next contraction's on top of me. If I didn’t know better, I'd swear the baby has a chainsaw inside and is sawing through my ribcage, one rib at a time!

“Ahhhhh shit!” I scream.

I now have my fingers wound around a big hunk of Trey’s hair, tugging at it as I thrash around on the bed. Trey is fearful that I've crossed over into the “loss of control during labor condition,” that we learned about in our natural childbirth class. The film our instructor played for the group horrified all of us. I'm now starring in my own version of it. That actress in the clip has nothing on me!

“Sweet Jesus!” I rasp, grabbing for my ice chips with my free hand, rolling back over on my side as the pain grips me again. I lose control and toss ice chips all over my bed.

“Tylar, Tylar, come on sweetie,” Trey is massaging my shoulders now. “Remember sweetie the pain of childbirth is a pain soon forgotten, right?”

I stop thrashing momentarily to turn my head in a 180-degree angle Exorcist-style to look at him. My hand's still clutching his chunk of hair.

Really Trey? How many babies have you pushed out of a once TINY opening?

“That’s my girl,” he croons, his fingers now trying to gently disengage mine from his hair. “Put on your big girl panties and roll with it, okay?”

If I'd kept my panties on we wouldn’t be here now.

“That’s it sweetie, you’re doing just fine. Remember, no pain, no gain, huh?” He finally frees himself of my hand and dabs the cool washcloth against my forehead. My hair is sweaty; I can feel it plastered against my head.

“Trey,” I gasp my voice now hoarse, “Please no more fucking platitudes, alright? I promise to stop the screaming if you just shut up for now.” He nods at me, seemingly not offended by my request.

The nurse bustles back in, and Gina is right behind her. The nurse hustles Trey away from the bed and raises the sheet to check my progress again, not bothering to pull the curtain.

“Did I miss anything?” Gina asks.

“Good news, honey,” my nurse announces, smiling, “You lost your mucous plug.”

Gross.

“I’ll be right back to break your water,” she says, disappearing once again. As promised, she returns just after I loudly endure another rib-breaking contraction compliment of “Chucky,” my new name for the baby. She instructs Trey to change into his scrubs. Gina is allowed to stay with me until Trey returns.

Nurse Ratched holds up what looks like a long crochet hook. I swear I can see an evil glint in her eye as she orders me to lay back and relax with my knees up and spread apart. She dives under the paper sheet tented over me with the hook in her gloved hand. The next thing I feel is a gush of warm water between my legs.

“Won’t be long now, honey,” she assures me as she pulls her gloves off and exits the room once again.

Magically, the pain subsides for the moment. Gina comes to stand next to the bed. She looks overwhelmed.

“Ty,” she says, lifting my hand, “I just want to tell you something before the Hot Nazi comes back and banishes me outta here. I love you like my sister and I hope you know that. You're going to have a beautiful, healthy baby, you hear me?”

I nod at her, feeling emotional and very blessed that I have her as my friend. I see that her eyes are welling up.

“Gina,” I reply, “I love you like my sister, too. This is your godchild, remember?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand, “even though I hate that name you picked for a girl.”

“Treyla Michaela?” I ask, astonished.

She nods, rolling her eyes.

“That’s a great name,” I say defending my choice. “It’s in Trey’s honor. Boy is named after me; girl is named after Trey.” Trey is still hoping for a boy because of the name I chose for a girl. I don’t care. He is not getting his way on this one. I refuse to budge.

“It just reminds me of those books I had as a kid, you know the ones about Amelia Bedelia?” Gina smirks, shaking her head.

Trey returns dressed in his sterile scrubs, complete with cap, booties, and a mask for his face that he hasn’t pulled up yet. It looks as if he has gone from lawyer to intern in just a couple of minutes.

Gina leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, “Good luck, Ty. I’ll be in the waiting room for the good news.” She turns to leave, stopping in front of Trey. “Don’t make me wait forever to find out either, got it?” she says, pointing her finger at him and giving him a stern look. He nods and she disappears out the door.

“You wonder why she pisses me off,” he grumbles, but he can’t hide the look of amusement in his eyes.

“The doctor is in the hallway with your chart, baby. He says you're ready to deliver.” He is beaming and I'm excited. A contraction is building again as my doctor steps into the room. The nurse and several CNAs follow Dr. Addison into the room. An anesthesiologist arrives for the purpose of numbing me after the episiotomy for the stitches that will follow. In less than a minute, my labor room has been transformed into a birthing room.

“Are you ready to start pushing, Tylar?” Dr. Addison asks, pulling his mask up.

Trey follows suit, getting behind me as the fun is about to start. Twenty minutes and what seems like a hundred pushes later, I flop back against my raised up hospital bed, panting.

All I can see from my vantage point are my sheet-covered knees, the top of Dr. Addison’s capped head, and Trey’s halfway masked face staring down as the doctor is helping our baby exit my birth canal. I feel no pain at all during this part of it. I’m exhausted but elated. I see Trey’s eyes widen as the doctor hands him the baby. Trey looks down and smiles broadly.

Well, what is it? How is it?

I hear a suction noise followed by a squeaky cry that slowly builds in volume.

“Trey, do you want to cut the cord?” Dr. Addison asks him.

The nurse is now in the mix, directing Trey on how to cut the umbilical cord and they clamp it off.

“Is the baby okay? Do we have a ‘Preston’ or a ‘Treyla’?” I ask loudly and impatiently.

“Hold on just a second, Mommy,” he says beaming happily. The nurse is swaddling the baby in a clean blanket. The crying has stopped, at least from the baby. Trey’s eyes are tearing up as he holds the swaddled baby in his arms. I'm totally unaware of what is happening between my legs, underneath the paper tent. My only desire is to hold my baby.

“We have a Preston,” Trey says, gently handing over the squirming little bundle to my open arms.

“Ohh, look, Trey,” I say softly, “Look at his tiny little finger; tiny little perfect fingers!” Preston wraps miniature fingers around my pinky, which appears huge in comparison.

“Oh, Preston. Mommy and Daddy love you,” I croon softly, kissing his forehead. His tiny red face wrinkles up and makes a hundred little expressions. I count all of his fingers. They are all there. Ten perfect little fingers.

“I’m checking everything Trey,” I say, “Taking full inventory of our perfect little Preston! Yes, I am,” I croon in baby talk. “He is going to be daddy’s boy, I can tell,” I comment, smiling up at Trey who has never looked prouder than at this moment. I was right. Men want sons and Trey got his today. I beam with pride at being able to give Trey a son. I pull the blanket away from the baby, wanting to count his toes. That’s when I see that something is missing.

Oh my God.

My head snaps up immediately in confusion. I look up at Trey. He's wearing a sheepish grin.

“What the?”

“Don’t be mad,” he says, gently. “Preston is a
great
name for a
girl
, don’t you think?” He is sitting on the edge of the bed, next to me and our daughter. He leans down and kisses me softly on the lips. “Tylar, I love you so much and the fact that you want our daughter to be named after me is the greatest honor possible. What really matters to me is that she carries
both
of our names, okay? We did this
together
, right?”

I nod, covering the baby back up with the blanket, and holding her close to my heart.

“So, how about Preston Michaela Sinclair? Does that work for you, baby?”

“Oh yes!” I sob. I'm filled with emotion. I reluctantly give Preston back to the nurse so that she can clean, weigh, measure, and perform the Apgar scoring. The doctor is finishing up with my stitches. The delivery room is being cleared and I'll be transported soon to my private room. Trey has gone out to let Gina know about the baby and to give her my room number.

Nurse Ratched brings a clean Preston to me, now wearing a disposable diaper, pink gown, pink cotton cap, and pink knit booties. She is beautiful. I can’t stop looking at her. She has a full head of dark hair like Trey’s. She is sweetly sucking on her tiny little fingers. Her eyes are wide and alert. They are very dark blue, but the nurse tells me that most babies have blue eyes when they are born. I know that she will have Trey’s eyes. She is staring up at me. My heart swells with this new, indescribable feeling that I have for her. I lean my face down and kiss her head, breathing in her sweet baby smell.

I'm so enamored with my baby I'm oblivious that I'm being moved to a recovery room on the gurney. Trey and Gina are waiting there and immediately rush to my side. Gina takes some pictures of the three of us with her phone. The nurse assigned to me wants to help with my shower and brings me a fresh hospital gown. I refuse to part with Preston, and Trey finally has to intervene on the nurse’s behalf, getting a bit strict with me. He takes the baby from me, promising that I can have her back as soon as I comply with the nurse. I grumble a bit but concede, following the nurse into my bathroom.

When I come back out, clean and freshly gowned, Gina is in the rocking chair, holding Preston and cooing to her. I look over at Trey who is leaning against the wall next to my bed and catch his smirk. He knows that I want to take the baby out of Gina’s arms and he is mentally weighing the odds as to whether I'll do it. Begrudgingly, I climb back into my hospital bed. Trey slides down, sitting beside me.

"Have you called your parents yet?” I ask, watching Gina and the baby out of the corner of my eye.

“Yes, they’re ecstatic and want to fly over and spend some time with us. Mom wants to help when you get out of the hospital. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” I answer, “I’d seriously appreciate her help. After all, she did such a fine, fine job with you.” He leans over and we kiss long and tenderly.

“Okay,” Gina pipes up, “my goddaughter is gagging over here at you two. Talk like that is going to end up giving her a brother before she’s ready for one!”

I blush at Gina’s remark though God knows I should be used to them by now. Preston starts fussing and within a minute she is into full-fledged wailing. My nurse hustles in, taking the baby from Gina and bringing her over to my waiting arms.

“This little one is hungry,” the nurse says, laughing. “She’s not shy about telling you either, Mommy. You're breastfeeding, yes?”

I nod. She must have read my body language or perhaps is just used to new mother apprehension.

“There’s no rocket science to nursing, Mom,” she starts, “You’ll be a bit nervous at first, afraid that you might be doing something wrong, not sure if the baby is getting enough to eat. Trust me, your baby will teach you how to feed her properly. The first day or so before your milk comes in you should nurse anyway. She’ll be getting the colostrum which is extremely important for her health, okay?” I nod, grateful for her knowledge. Gina and Trey both watch transfixed as the nurse helps me with my nursing gown. I hold Preston against my breast as the nurse calls Trey over.

“Come here, Daddy. You can put yourself to use until Mommy gets comfortable with this, okay?” She shows Trey how to guide my nipple to Preston’s mouth, having to brush it against the baby’s lips in order to get her to latch on. It takes a few times and when she finally latches on, I know it.