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We all dash to the living room to dance around like kids at a slumber party. Well, Tess doesn’t do any dashing. It’s more of a penguin waddle. One song after another plays, all hits from my childhood. I twirl and jump and leap. I throw in an air guitar as I sing along with the song. I look over, and Lo and Amy are executing the perfect running man.
A nice sheen of sweat is forming on my back and forehead. I haven’t gotten this much exercise in a long time. I used to run all the time, but that took a backseat after Lo moved in with me. My heart is pounding fast, and it feels great. This is not what I imagined doing for our girls’ night, but this is so much better than sitting on the couch, watching a movie.
Britney Spears comes on, and we all squeal with excitement. It’s a universal fact: everyone loves Britney. And if they say they don’t love her, they’re either lying or they’re wrong. I’ve been a die-hard fan since I first heard “Baby, One More Time.” My dad never let me watch the music video—he said the schoolgirl uniform was highly inappropriate. Now that I’m older and understand, I have to agree that he was right.
Hannah and I are dancing and laughing together while Amy tries to teach Tess how to do the running man. Suddenly, there’s a popping sound, and a gush of water covers the hardwood floor under Tess’s feet.
“Oh my gosh,” Tess says in shock. And then she bends over with her hands on her knees. “Oh my gosh.”
“Holy crap! She’s gonna have a baby!” Lo yells.
“What do we do?” asks Hannah. She’s pacing and fanning her face. She reminds me of expectant fathers in movies from the sixties.
Tess lets out a low moan, and I realize she’s having a contraction. Yeah, definitely not what I had planned for girls’ night. What do you do when a new friend starts having a baby in your house?
“Should we call an ambulance?” Amy asks.
“It would take forever for it to get here,” says Hannah. Her eyes are wide. “She should have time to get home and then go to the hospital, right?” I shrug my shoulders. I’ve never had a baby before. How should I know?
Tess moans again, much louder this time. All four of us clueless females stand around her, watching on in dismay until her contraction stops and she starts giving us orders. “Hannah, call my husband and tell him to get over here now. And tell him to bring my hospital bag and an extra change of clothes! Millie, call an ambulance. Lo, boil some water. Amy, get towels.”
Another contraction overtakes her, and she squats down as she rides it out. When she opens her eyes again, I ask her what the heck is going on. “I thought labor lasts hours,” I say in a panic. “Why don’t I drive you to the hospital?”
“Sorry,” she says. “I’m one of those freaks of nature who has scary-fast labors. My first was only forty-five minutes long from start to fin—” Another contraction interrupts her.
I remember what I’m supposed to be doing and get up to grab my phone. I call 911, and the operator is calm and reassuring. He lets me know that they’re getting someone on their way, but we live out in the country, and it will be a little bit. I look over at Tess, and her contractions seem to be coming hard and fast. She doesn’t have ‘a little bit’ of time before that baby is coming out.
The operator asks me questions about Tess’s disposition, her coloring, how close the contractions are…on and on with the questions. I don’t know how to answer most of them. Disposition? She looks miserable. I’ve always assumed that’s normal for a woman in labor, but what do I know?
Really, Tess doesn’t seem too bad off, all things considered. She’s leaning over the back of the couch, rocking her hips back and forth. Her eyes are closed, face pinched in pain, and she’s breathing hard through another long contraction that I’m starting to think is going to last forever.
A loud bang sounds at the front door, and a man with wild eyes holding a toddler in bunny pajamas comes barreling inside. “Tess, baby, are you okay?” he asks in a breathless voice. He’s panicked. I can see that he wants to put his daughter down to help his wife, but the girl has her arms wrapped around his neck in a death grip.
I go to them and say, “Hi, I’m Millie. This is my house. What’s your name?” I try to keep my voice as even and peaceful as possible. The little girl can already feel the tension in the room, and the sight of her mom in pain is worrying her.
She studies my face for a moment before saying, “Lily,” in a quiet, squeaky voice. Her hair is sticking up in places, and she’s clinging to a unicorn lovey. He must have pulled her out of her bed to come over here.
I beckon Lo and Amy over and introduce them to the sweet little girl. They offer to take her back to Lo’s bedroom and entertain her or try to get her back to sleep. Anything to get away from the sight of the woman about to give birth in my living room.
Tess lets out a deep moan, and Lily asks, “Is my mommy okay?” Lo and Amy exchange a glance, unsure how to answer. I usher them down the hall and suggest they turn on a movie for her to try to drown out the sound.
“Your mommy is doing great right now. Your baby sister is about to be born,” I tell her, and that seems to make the little girl happy. She settles down on the bed, and Lo turns on a cartoon for her. “Let me know if you need anything,” I say before booking it back to the living room as Tess bellows out a howl of pain.
It has only been thirty minutes. I thought women labored for hours and hours. I’ve never heard of a forty-five-minute labor and delivery. Maybe she meant it just felt like it was forty-five minutes. But judging from the sounds coming from the living room, she was being serious. “Tess, are you okay? What do you want me to do?” I hear Tess’s husband panicking.
“I want you to sit down and stop talking!” Tess snaps at her husband.
I grab blankets and a pillow from the hall closet to make her a nice comfy-ish place for her to lie down. I carry them all into the living room and make a pallet on the floor beside the couch.
None of us here know how to deliver a baby. This could go very, very wrong. Without giving myself a chance to second-guess myself, I call Jameson. If he’s home, he could be here in just a minute.
He answers on the second ring, and I shout into the phone. “I know you’re not a paramedic or anything, but how much first aid training do you have? You have to have some, right?”
“Uhhh, is everything ok?” he asks. He sounds worried, and who wouldn’t be with that kind of greeting?
“Tess is having a baby! In my freaking living room, Jameson...right now! Paramedics are still about fifteen minutes away. I don’t know what I’m doing, and her husband is on the verge of a literal panic attack. Help!” I look over at Tess’s husband, and he has his hands gripped in his long messy hair. Hannah’s off to the side with her arms wrapped around her middle and worried eyes watching everything unfold.
“I’ve done classes on roadside emergencies. It did not cover births, though. I know a guy who delivered a baby on the side of the road. I doubt Tess wants me there, and I don’t know how much help I’d really be, anyway,” he says.
