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As the sun rises over Manhattan on the first day of summer, a strong pang hits my lower belly, and I say, “I think it’s time for another top-up.”
The midwife checks her watch. “You just had one.”
“But it hurts.”
She examines me. “The baby’s crowning; I can feel the head.”
“Aaaar,” I scream. “This better be over fast.” I crush Gabriel’s hand in mine. “This is all your fault for getting me pregnant in the back of a limousine on prom night.”
The midwife looks up at us from between my legs. “How old are you folks again?”
“It’s a long story.” Gabriel unleashes one of his no-prisoners smiles on her. “Her father still hasn’t forgiven me for the shotgun wedding.”
The woman who’s supposed to be taking care of my painfully contracting womb blushes.
I scold them both and glare at my husband. “Less charming and more rubbing.”
“At your orders.” His hands work their magic on my shoulders, and I lean into the touch—not that it’s helping much with the ring of fire in my nether regions, but human contact at this moment is soothing in a way I can’t explain.
“Eaarrg,” I let out another animal sound. “Are you sure the epidural is still working?”
“Yes, honey, it’s just that you’re ready to push.” The obstetrician stares at us. “What do you say, are you two ready to have a baby?”
I’m most definitely not. But I look up at Gabriel, who stares down at me with the proudest glint in his eyes. “You can do it.”
We exchange a nod. Yes, we’re a team. Together, we can do anything.
“Come on, now,” the midwife urges, “push.”
