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What is going on?
When nothing else happens, I shrug and move to get the shoes I was trying to reach. I get them and move toward the bathroom, performing my usual waking up ritual.
Wash my face, brush my teeth, take a handful of prenatal vitamins, rub my whole body down with lotion.
The strange cramping spasm comes again, spreading across the front part of my lower belly. I look down, gaping at my stomach, as if I can understand better just by looking.
Is this... labor?
It's too early for that to be happening!
Just when I decide to call someone about it, the contraction, if that's what it is, ends. I sit down and decide to wait a few more minutes, just to be sure before I make a huge deal out of nothing.
I'm about to give up when I'm gripped again by another searing pain in my abdomen. I press my hand to my stomach, feeling sweaty. Something iswrong.
This can't be labor. But it hurts!
I'm not due for another six weeks.Panic starts to rise inside of me, and I begin to hyperventilate. I need to call Dare. He needs to know what's happening.
I hobble quickly to the phone, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. I dial Dare's number, my heart pounding inmy chest.
"Dare, something's wrong," I gasp out when he answers. "I think I'm in labor."
There's a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. "What? Talia, you can't be. It's too early."
"I know," I say through gritted teeth. "But my body is in control. And it thinks I'm having--"
My belly ripples and the baby moves, shoving and elbowing my guts and stealing my breath. I gasp, clutching the marble countertop until my knuckles whiten.
"Talia?" Dare sounds scared, which makes me terrified. "I'll be right there, darling. Call the doctor while you wait for me."
The contraction eases and I hang up and dial Dr. Nathan's number. She doesn't answer, but I do get her service. A soothing woman's voice tells me that she'll call the nearest hospital and tell them to be ready to admit me. She also says not to worry, that things will be perfectly fine.
I hang up and hobble to the living room, pulling on some shoes. The contractions seem to have eased, but my mind doesn't stop its whirlwind ball of motion for a second.
Panic rises in my chest at the thought of something wrong with the baby. I glance at the clock, willing time to move faster.
Where is my husband?
The pain comes again, and I double over with a groan. Beads of sweat break across my forehead.
I have to stay calm, I tell myself.
Many women experience Braxton-Hicks contractions, and everything is probably fine but—
The front door bursts open. "Talia!" Dare rushes into the loft, eyes wild. He takes one look at me, bent over and clutching my middle, and in two strides crosses the space between us.
"What's wrong? What's happening?" His hands grip my shoulders as his gaze searches my face.
"The contractions," I gasp. "They really hurt, Dare."
"We have to get you to the hospital. Now." He scoops me into his arms, carrying me toward the front door.
"It's too soon," I howl. "She's not due for another six weeks!"
I cling to him, burying my face in the collar of his shirt.
"Shh, don't worry. I've got you." His voice is steady, but I feel the tension in his arms, sense the worry emanating from him in waves. "We'll get the best doctors on this. Our baby will be just fine."
