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She tilted her head and told me in a no-nonsense tone, “Babies have their own ideas about when to come. Nothing to be done about that. Your wife is in the best possible hands. Dr. Greymont does this all the time, but I’m sure you already know that.” She looked at me oddly, probably figuring there was more wrong with me than just my busted leg, before she left the room so I could change.
I don’t know how I walked into that operating theatre because I was fucking scared to, but at the same time, I needed to see Brynne and reassure myself she was okay. The room was cold and there was a strong antiseptic smell that hung in the air. I went to where everyone was gathered, limping slowly without my crutches. One thing I’d decided—I was walking into this on my own two legs, fucking busted or not.
“There he is,” Fred said, giving me a thumbs up.
“Ethan?” Brynne called out.
I closed my eyes in relief at the sound of her voice, and made my way to her. All I could see was her face and the main portion of her stomach. Everything else was swathed in blue medical drape. “I’m here, baby.” I leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “How are you?”
“I’m fine now that you’re back here.” I love you, she mouthed.
Funny, how I felt exactly the same. All of the stress and panic sort of melted away as soon as we saw each other and could be together. Brynne was so strong, and brave. She looked completely ready for what was about to happen. And…so beautiful. If she could do this, then the least I could do was stay conscious. How did I ever find this amazing and remarkable woman? How did she ever fall in love with me? Lucky bastard.
“I love you more,” I said.
“Ready to become Mum and Dad?” Fred asked cheerfully.
Yes.
“RIGHT, you can look now, if you like, E.” Fred said in a methodical tone, which told me he was focusing on the job at hand, as he should.
I’d kept my eyes on Brynne’s while he did the incision, stroking her hand with my thumb, knowing there was no way in h
ell I could watch a blade slicing into her perfect skin. She was so calm, and matter of fact about everything. No apparent fear of any kind; just a solid determination to get on with it and see this to its conclusion. She is so amazing. Women on the verge of giving birth had some serious mojo in the way of resolve and bravery, and it was utterly spectacular to see Brynne this way.
The sound of monitors beeped in the background, against the clicking of medical instruments and the jostling of her body on the table as they worked their way closer to the baby.
“I can’t feel any pain, Ethan. Just pulling and pushing. Feels weird, but I’m good.” She nodded and smiled at me. “I just want to meet our baby now.”
“Me too, my beauty. Me too.”
“Out we go,” Fred said with firm authority.
I peeked over the drape and saw a cap of dark hair emerging from Brynne’s belly, then a scrunched-up face looking furiously outraged at the rough treatment of being dragged into the world of bright lights and loud noises, then miniature shoulders and arms slipped through the opening, and then…the rest of a tiny little body. The whole process took probably about ten seconds in total.
And just that quickly…she was finally here with us.
LAUREL Thomasine Blackstone was born on the 7th of February at precisely three forty-four p.m. She weighed six pounds, four ounces, and was nineteen and three-quarter inches long. She came into the world with a healthy cry, and some pretty, dark curls on her perfectly shaped head. The last two came from her father, of course.
My butterfly angel was a beautiful little girl who would look to me to care for her, and help her to grow, and to love her unconditionally, along with her father, who would do all of those things for her, too. He would do them well. Because Ethan Blackstone was a wonderful man, with a beautiful heart, filled with so much love for me, and for our daughter.
I cried tears of happiness and joy when they put her into my arms for the first time. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, even though I was so exhausted I probably could’ve slept for a day straight. I wanted to look at her little hands, and fingers, and toes, and feet instead. And I did—for hours. Her nose, and eyes, and rosebud lips, and cherub cheeks were pretty captivating as well.
When she was born, Ethan saw her before I could, because of the drape shielding everything from my view. He looked back at me and told me we had a daughter.
And for the first time since I’d known him, I saw tears in my Ethan’s eyes.
14th February
Somerset
“JUST a minute, little one, Daddy’s got to get you dressed, and then I’ll take you to Mummy. You must be a good girl, and stop wriggling—and let me put your arm—oh, for fuck’s sake—I can’t get this silly thing on you. It’s completely stupid,” he sang to her in a soothing voice. “So we’ll just wrap you up in a blanket instead. Yes we will…”
The most beautiful sounds of Ethan talking to Laurel in the night made me hold my breath so I could hear every whispered word, every baby sound, every rustle of the diaper changing, and the frustrating struggle of him trying to worm her into a fresh sleeper. Ethan did all of it because he wanted to, because he embraced fatherhood in the way he embraced everything in his life. With complete attention, loyalty, and dedication to those he loved.
I’d discovered something else about my daughter in the short time since she’d been born. She was a daddy’s girl, just like me. Ethan’s voice comforted her when she was fussy, and lulled her off to sleep when she was tired. He was the Laurel-whisperer all right, and it made me hope my dad could see her, or know about her, somehow…wherever he was in the vast universe.
“Ahh, you’re awake,” he said as he limped across the room toward me, cast still on his leg, holding our baby against his chest. My beautiful man, in all his sleep-mussed glory—all six foot three inches of him, his fine physique, and hard, carved muscles—holding a tiny bundle like it was the most precious treasure on earth. I wanted a picture of them together.
