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I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to irritate me with enough conversation so I don’t focus on how scared I am, but it doesn’t work. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to relax while my woman is in that hospital bed.
Thankfully, we don't get another scream for the next thirty minutes.
After about thirty minutes, the door opens and the doctor beckons to me. I rush toward him, fear pounding inside me.
"Congratulations, daddy," he says and smiles. “The baby is nice and healthy and no C-section needed.”
Relief rushes through me immediately, making me lightheaded.
“And my fiancée?” I ask, and he gestures inside.
Delilah is lying on the bed with her mother rubbing her hair, and a few nurses adjusting the cloth beside her. Esther is looking at her proudly, but Delilah turns to me as I get closer.
I can see the exhaustion on her face and her eyes are barely open but she smiles at me.
“I did it."
"Yes, you did, Red." My voice is thick with emotion as I lean down to kiss her cheek. I want to hug her but I don’t want to hurt her.
“Look," she says, gesturing to the bundle of joy who is being brought to her by a nurse. “It’s our little boy.“
I look at the baby then. He’s tiny and his face is squeezed into a purple frown but he’s still the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“He'll grow on you,” the doctor says amused, clearly teasing at my emotional expression.
"Hello, little guy. I’m your dad,” I say, voice gravely as I pick up my child for the first time. “Welcome to the world.”
Delilah is discharged the next day, and we take our son home. I stay home with him and Del for the first few weeks, watching the little baby adjust to his new world. The doctor assures us that he's healthy and that first day, he truly seems more inconvenienced than anything, with a scream to wake the dead.
After we take him home, I do most of the night duty, holding him in my arms when he’s cranky.
“Shh,” I say to him one night when he's carrying on like the world is ending. “Your mother is asleep. You gotta relax.”
He frowns and blinks at me as if to say, But I want her, not you.
"I know,” I say amused. “But I’m what you get for now.”
And then I rock him back to sleep.
Truly though, I don't mind any of it. I love the fact that my little boy has a lot of spirit and me taking on more of the child-caring role in the first weeks allows Delilah enough time to heal up from the pregnancy.
She recovers well. Esther stays with us for a month to make sure that Delilah is ok, but I insist on cooking most of the food for her. I already figured out her likes and dislikes, when I started cooking for her during her weeks of bed rest.
Turns out, I'm not a half-bad cook with the right motivation. And my woman is all the motivation I need.
I remember the first time I presented her with a freshly made chicken pasta dish.
"You learned to cook for me?”
I nodded and she immediately started bawling. I simply gathered her in my arms and held her. I was used to her crying by that point, though, learning that her hormones were on a rampage.
Still, we got to a point where she seemed to prefer my cooking, and so I made her delicious and nutritious food.
The night before her mom goes back home, we're able to step out and finally attend the Rocky Horror Picture show she's been looking forward to.
“You look perfect,” I tell her as she fusses with her dress. She doesn’t look like she believes me and I shake my head. “You’re beautiful, honey. You gave me a wonderful child. Now let your mom take care of him so I can show you off."
There's still a pinched look in the middle of her eyebrows. “I know, but don’t you think it’s a little early for this?”
