Each time a new one grips me, I squeeze my eyes shut and squeeze Fitz’s hand. He reminds me to breathe and smooths the hair from my forehead. His presence calms me, but the contractions are no joke. “This is another situation where I’m a one-and-done,” I grit out, pulverizing Fitz’s hand.
“Feels like I’ve heard that before.” The guy can still heat my veins with one hot smirk.
“No. Jokes.”
Then I get an epidural. Almost immediately, it’s like I’ve been doused in pregnancy fairy dust. I can still see the contractions as little spikes on the fetal monitor, but I don’t feel them nearly as painfully.
“I think this is the best I’ve felt my entire pregnancy,” I say. “I don’t even care that I still have swollen feet.”
Fitz laughs, stroking my hair. “You’re doing great. I wish I could take this off your hands, but…I can't.” He looks tired, mouth turned down in a grimace, lines around his eyes, and I realize he’s bearing the burden of my delivery in his own way, feeling responsible. He called my family to let them know I’m here, he’s been communicating with the doctors and nurses, he’s been losing sleep worrying about how I’m doing.
“I know. You’ve been amazing. I can do this.” My doctor checks and says I'm dilated enough that I can try a few practice pushes. As soon as my water breaks, the contractions hit even harder, and he tells me to bear down.
“It's time to have a baby.” Panic sweeps through me like a knife blade, and I lock eyes with Fitz, looking for something to ground me. I find it in his fierce, steady gaze. He gets up from his chair and steps over to the side of the bed, grabbing onto my hand and interlacing our fingers.
“You've got this, honey. Not a doubt in the world. You’re strong and beautiful and incredible. What can I get for you?”
“I need you to get this baby out.”
He holds my hand and whispers encouragement. “Okay, we're going to do it together, just like we practiced.” Fitz takes me through the breathing exercises that seemed ridiculous when we learned them, and I’m impressed that he remembers what to do because I've already forgotten.
“In, hold your breath, out,” he says. I do as told, and I start to calm down. “You’re doing so well. Duchess, you’re amazing.”
After another minute, I’m only focused on breathing through each contraction. My doctor looks at the monitor, timing the contractions, and finally tells me to push.
“Honey, I’m right here. Squeeze my hand, swear at me, do whatever you need.”
“I’m not gonna swear at—dammit, Fitz, fuck!”
“I love it, Duchess. Keep going.”
I grit my teeth, close my eyes, and give it my all. The epidural blunts some of the pain, but I can feel the pressure of the baby’s head. I push so hard that I’m sure the baby has come flying right out.
Looking down at where my doctor is focused between my legs, I search for a baby. “Did I do it?”
“You did great,” the labor nurse says. “Same thing on the next contraction,” she tells me, despite the fact that I’m already exhausted from labor.
I take a moment to catch my breath and look at Fitz with pleading eyes, as though he can bail me out of this situation. “You've got this, you've got this, come on, honey, you've got it.”
And somehow, hearing the lilt in his voice and imagining him talking to our baby the same way calms me enough that I take a deep, deep breath. And on the next contraction, I push harder than I've ever pushed in my life.
“Here we go…” The nurse presses my legs open wider, and my doctor pushes against my abdomen while I breathe and push and marvel at how women have survived doing this since the beginning of time. “Top of the head…” I hear.
“Okay, one last push on my count.” My doctor counts, and Fitz squeezes my hand, and I let out a long breath and push with everything I’ve got. I hope it’s enough because I’m not sure I have another push in me.
“There we go, head’s out, and…got her.”
A moment later, I feel the pressure release. I hear gasps and positive sounds that don’t make sense right away. I see Fitz’s eyes, wet and round in disbelief. And I look down at the tiny baby my doctor is holding up for me to see. “Meet your baby girl.”
She's messy and beautiful and perfect. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her mouth is wide open as she lets out a tiny, sweet little wail that sounds like a bird cooing for me.
There’s no question in my mind that she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Fitz leans down and whispers, “You’re a rock star. And Grandma Ann and your sisters are in the waiting room. Should I invite them in?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. Let it be just us for a little while longer.”
He kisses me on the cheek and I let myself be overwhelmed by happiness.
