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He’d been mad at me for not telling him immediately. I reminded him that we had a bunch of time between water breaking and the baby shooting out. Though that was technically true, Kip still wasn’t thrilled with me. But he couldn’t hold a grudge on account of me being in labor.
Unlike Rowan, Kip did not lose his shit and demand we go to the hospital. He’d trained for this. He’d read all the baby books, dragged me to all the fucking childbirth classes. He’d done everything but get himself a doula certification. Therefore, he made me tea while my mother lit incense and rubbed my stomach, and then he’d given my mother some bullshit errand so she’d stop waving the incense in my face.
We’d timed my contractions, which hurt like a bitch, and then we’d gone to the hospital when it was time.
It was all very civilized.
I hadn’t been panicked. This was what I’d been waiting for, after all. This was the thing I never thought I’d be able to do. This was what I’d given up on.
But once I was in the gown, in the hospital bed, perched up, legs spread, and with doctors telling me to push, I kind of freaked out. Just a little.
I mean, I was about to push a fucking watermelon out of my vag. I was entitled to a little freak-out.
I turned to Kip, who was at my side, calm as could be.
“Are we ready for this?” I asked, breathless, trying to figure out a way to stall the whole process.
Kip’s eyes twinkled. “Fuck yeah we are, baby.” He kissed me hard on the lips. “You can do this.Wecan do this.”
I looked at him. Trusted him. Loved him.
“Okay,” I said. I looked back down to my doctor. “Let’s have this fucking baby.”
And it hurt like a bitch. Right up until the moment they laid our daughter on my chest.
Then I forgot what pain felt like.
Then I realized I’d gotten it, against all odds.
My happily ever after.
