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“That explains why I’m so exhausted,” I answer.
The second nurse gives me a sympathetic smile. “Otherwise, you’re healing nicely. The stitches from the tearing are intact.”
“And Dominic?”
“Oh, you’ve chosen a name!”
I nod, then sneak a glance toward the other side of the room where Salvatore’s cradling Dominic in his arms, pacing by the window. His lips move as if he’s muttering quiet, loving words to his son. I can only imagine the kind of things he’s saying.
“Yes, we’ve chosen a name. Dominic Jonathan Mancino.”
“We’ll get the records updated. Dominic is a beautiful name.”
“You have special visitors. Should we send them in?”
With an idea of who it can be, I give the go ahead. The nurses exit the room only for three bright faces to enter.
Stitches approaches with his arms open to give me a hearty embrace. I saw him briefly earlier in the day, but I was so out of it, in between sleep cycles, that I barely registered it was him. I squeeze him in return, my arms around him like he’s my blood brother.
“Mrs. Phi, you trooper. How’re you holding up? I was in the waiting room the whole time last night. I heard you.”
“I’m sure the whole neighborhood heard me.”
“Where’s the little guy?”
We both turn around to face where Salvatore’s standing holding Dominic.
My other two visitors, Medjine and Sasha, are currently circled around Salvatore as they gush over our baby.
“He doesn’t look like an alien,” Medjine says in her usual flavor of unfiltered honesty. “He’s very adorable! I didn’t know newborns could be born with so much hair.”
“Bryce was bald,” Sasha laughs from her side. She seeks me out with her eyes. “What’s this I hear about him being breech?”
I spend the next couple minutes regaling Medjine and Sasha with the story of how it was discovered once I went into labor that Dominic hadn’t turned into the head-down position. Sasha’s eyes widen in horror while Medjine frowns in confusion.
“Couldn’t you have just gotten a C-section?” she asks.
“I wanted to deliver naturally.”
“How many pounds was he?”
“Six and eight ounces.”
Medjine blows out a breath and shakes her head. “I don’t know how you ladies do it—no way a six-pound anything is being squeezed through my coochie.”
“Try nine pounds, two ounces like Bryce,” Sasha laughs. “I almost passed out from the pain. Then I begged for the epidural.”
Stitches shares a look with Salvatore, for the first time appearing speechless until he reveals he’s still the same jokester as usual. “Well, ladies,” he says slowly, “just know we men appreciate what you do. Real hard work you put in.”
As a unit, the three of us women shoot him warning glares.
Medjine gives me a hug and tells me not to worry about anything at the firm. “We’ve got it covered, mama. Don’t you worry for a minute. Take care of you and baby.”
“That’s a relief to know. Thanks, Medjine.”
“Carlos and Cirie send their regards.”
Dominic wakes up with a feeble cry that tugs at my heartstrings. I slip into mama bear mode at once, rushing over to Salvatore to check on him.
