“Yes… No… Yes… Well, today is Izayuh’s birthday, but I also had a period a week and a half ago… or I thought I did,” I rambled.
“Was it a normal one?”
“Well, now that I’m thinking about it, I guess not. It was super light,” I said.
“Sometimes women have bleeding, for various reasons, but if he’s hearing a heartbeat, then that’s a good thing,” she said.
“Yeah… that would make me close to six weeks, huh?” I asked.
“Five to six weeks, yeah,” she said.
“Okay… I’ll talk to you later,” I said. My mind was spinning. Shock.
“We will go see Dr. Arthur on Monday, okay?” she said.
“Yeah… we… uh can do that. Love ya,” I said.
“Congratulations, Zay. I love ya, baby girl,” she said.
The phone line clicked.
The wave of nausea coursed through me again. I crawled back into bed with Quinn, this time facing him.
“We’re pregnant,” I said.
“That we are, my little doe,” he said.
I thought of Izayuh. I always thought of Izayuh. But this time it didn't only hurt. It felt like something healing. Like maybe this was his gift to us, this little life starting on his birthday of all days.
We wanted this. I’d stopped taking my birth control right before the wedding. Excitement settled in. I smiled at Quinn.
August 13, 1997
I was eleven days past my expected due date. This pregnancy had been night and day different than with Izayuh’s. I was healthy. There were no complications. My blood pressure had remained beautiful. Quinn and I had no clue what we would be having—our choice.
The night before, my stomach had been upset, and I’d spent some time on the toilet. I knew that labor was probably coming soon. I’d worked with Lina assisting her until a month ago, when I started to move too slow and couldn’t quite keep up with her and Callie.
Both of them were taking exceptional care of me. Dr. Arthur saw me several times as well to collaborate on care, given my history of having a preterm baby and hemorrhaging.
I started having contractions as soon as my head hit the pillow last night, but they were mild. I knew that I needed sleep the most. It was something we always told the moms we cared for. I told myself that if it were the real thing, I’d wake up; otherwise, I’d sleep. I stirred throughout the evening, waking up to contractions, but falling back to sleep.
Around six, a strong contraction brought my eyes open instantly, my hands moving to clutch my stomach. I moved out of the bed and stood beside it. I swayed from right to left, hand holding onto the bed. The next contraction came, starting from the bottom and moving all the way to the top. It took every bit of my focus and breath. I stayed there next to the bed, swaying. Quinn rolled over, his eyes opening and looking at me. He quickly sat up.
“How far apart?” he asked.
“Not sure, kind of close,” I whispered.
He moved out of the bed and came to stand next to me. The next contraction hit. Moans escaped me as I swayed side to side. He gripped my hips, applying counterpressure, swaying with me. The counterpressure was exactly what I needed.
Then another hit. Each one was getting worse and worse. This was it. Our baby would be joining us.
“Three minutes,” Quinn said.
As soon as the contraction was over, he let go of my hips and walked to the phone. I knew he needed to call Lina and Callie, but God, I wanted his hands back against my hips. Even in between my contractions, my hips were aching.
I moved to the floor on my hands and knees, where I started rocking. I breathed through the contractions. Reminding myself they weren’t bigger than me, because they were me.
“You should probably get here… like now,” Quinn said.
