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It can't be time yet. No way. I still have two weeks left.
My stomach tightens and cramps again, and this time I feel a wetness between my legs that wasn't there before. Instinct kicks in and I just know in my gut that these pains are different.
It's time; it's definitely time.
Sitting up on my elbow, I gently shake him. “Anders,” I say, kissing his cheek. “Anders, wake up.” I kiss him again on his forehead as I give him another shake.
He grumbles slightly as he starts to stir. With a hand on his chest, I shake him harder. “Anders,” I say, my voice more forceful and demanding.
He pops up in bed, his eyes wide, panic running down his face as he focuses on me. “Are you all right? What's wrong?” He rubs his eyes as he blinks rapidly and scrunches his brows into the bridge of his nose. “What's happening?”
“I think it's time.”
“Time for what?” he asks, relaxing back into the pillow.
“Time to call the midwife.” My voice is low as I watch the realization of what I'm saying sink in.
Anders grins as he jumps out of bed and starts to tug on his pants. “I've got her on speed dial. You ready?”
“Hold on, hold on. Let’s call her first and see what she says.”
“But it's time, you said it's time. We should go.”
“Anders, babe, let’s call her first. Giving birth can take hours. She might not want us to go until the contractions are so many minutes apart.” Another one hits me at the same time, and I grab my belly.
He rushes to my side, rubbing my back as he fumbles with his phone. “Loren, it's Anders. It's time. The baby is coming and he's coming today.”
He scoops me into his arms once he's off the phone and starts to carry me down the stairs. “Anders, what are you doing?”
“We're going to the hospital.”
“But why are you carrying me?”
He slows to a stop, and starts to laugh. Gently, he places me back on my feet. “I'm getting a little carried away, huh?”
“Yeah, just a little.” Gripping his arm, I give him a loving smile. “I'm fine. We don't need to rush or freak out. I just need the hospital bag, and some shoes, maybe some clothes and a jacket. . .”
“You know what?” he says, laughing, running his hand through his beard. “I think I’m going to let you take the lead for a minute. You’re obviously the clearer headed one between the two of us.”
So we climb back upstairs and get dressed, only pausing when a contraction sweeps over me. Ten minutes later we’re back downstairs. A backpack hangs off Anders’s shoulder, a baby bag is dangling off his forearm as he stops in the center of the room. “Better?” he asks, glancing around. “Am I forgetting anything?”
“No, I think you got it all. Now let’s go have this baby.”
The light in his eyes is enough to make me melt. He's a proud man. And he's going to be an even prouder father.
Our son is lucky, and so am I.
Who knew love would find me when I least expected it?
