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“I’m what?”I almost scream.
“You’re too far along for us to be able to give you an epidural.”
“I thought that was what you said.” I grab onto the cotton sheets of the hospital bed as I listen to Jazz, my midwife, talk. This is not supposed to be happening. I had a birthing plan that I had taken months to work out, planned down to the T. I’m having a water bath, in a suite in the private part of the hospital. Max was going to sing when it hurt. Oh Max. I don’t want him to miss this but more importantly than that I want him here with me. I need him, to make me feel okay. So, he can push my hair back and whisper in my ear that everything is going to be fine.
“But I’m a month early!” I say in one final protest to persuade myself that this really isn’t happening yet as the hot tears build up behind my eyes.
“Well, three weeks according to our notes,” she corrects me with a sympathetic smile. Don’t get me wrong, I like the lady, but it still doesn’t make it alright that I’m here and not where I’d planned. And I’m too early. I’m not nearly ready to meet my little sunshine yet. Not without her daddy here.
“It looks like you’ve been in labour all morning. You’re seven centimetres already. Have you not felt different today? A bit twingey maybe?” Jazz asks with a soft smile as she starts fussing with my notes and checking the observations on all of the machines she’s connected me up to. Perfectly normal stuff apparently.
“Twingey? I’m pregnant, I’ve felt twingey all the way through.”
“You’re clearly coping really well with the pain so a little bit of gas and air will be fine.”
“It’ll be fine, will it?” My voice breaks, a little higher because fuck me that hurt. The midwife said that crunching pain like someone is trying to pull out my intestines and wrap them around something is a contraction. I let a tear fall down my face.
“Hey, it’s okay. This is normal. It’s good. Baby obviously just wants to come out a little earlier to meet you.”
“And her daddy, Max.” I say desperately.
“Yes. And her daddy.” She smiles at me as she turns around to look at something on another chart.
“Max Baines. Yeah? You keep saying his name.” she says absently.
“Max Baines. He’s my little girl’s daddy.”
She laughs, a wide-open laugh. “Yeah, honey, that’s something we all wish. Now let’s get you comfy. Your friend’s outside on the phone to your husband.”
“Max.”
“Yeah, love. Whatever you say.” She even checks my gas tube, and that I’ve not inhaled too much already.
Why does she not believe me? I mean I know I’m a normal, slightly chubby, glasses wearing girl and he’s… Well, he’s Max Baines, unobtainable rock god. But fuck’s sake does she not read the papers. Does she not have Twitter? It’s hot news that Max Baines knocked up his ex-manager and snogged her face off in front of Spellbound nightclub.
Em chooses that moment to come back into the room. Her blue hair is up in a tight bun, cheeks flushed, and shirt sleeves rolled up as if she’s about to help deliver this baby herself. My god I was so pleased to see her earlier as I left my meeting. My guardian angel.
I’d messaged and said I was going to be close by as they still live in Kensington. It must have been divine intervention or something that for some reason she’d decided to leave Eddie at home with Bobs and meet me at the office so we could go for a late lunch after my meeting.
She took one look at me struggling and knew something was up. The poor cab driver who bought us here panicked the whole time I was about to give birth on his back seat.
Of course, I assured him I was not in labour, that I was a month early so there was no way that could have happened.
How wrong was I?
“Did you get him?” I ask Em in a panicked voice as she comes over to my bed and takes a seat next to me. Taking my hand into her perfectly manicured one. She smiles her honest, kind smile at me. Reminding me of every damn reason that she befriends everyone she meets.
“Max?”
Just hearing his name has my heartbeat rising, even with all this stress and drama thinking about seeing his face in the midst of all this has my smile tickling at my lips. Em shakes her head.
“No, but I got Finch,” —she smiles encouragingly at me— “and he’s with Max, at the football or something. They’re on their way, babe. Max isn’t going to miss this for the world.”
I let the smile cover my lips, look over at Jazz but she’s fussing with something else, so she didn’t hear our conversation.
“I mean, I’ve not found a single thing that would get Bobby to leave a football match for so I think he’s pretty keen, babe.”
“You think?” I’m not sure if it’s that I’m nervous about the fact that I’m in labour. If I’m still nervous that I know a plain-Jane like me isn’t exactly what you expect when you think of the ideal girlfriend for a super star like Max. Or if it’s just that he is potentially my favourite topic of conversation.
