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“It just reminds me of those books I had as a kid; you know the ones about Amelia Bedelia?” Gina smirks, shaking her head.
Trey returns dressed in his sterile scrubs, complete with cap, booties, and a mask for his face that he hasn’t pulled up yet. It looks as if he has gone from lawyer to intern in just a couple of minutes.
Gina leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, “Good luck, Ty. I’ll be in the waiting room for the good news.” She turns to leave, stopping in front of Trey. “Don’t make me wait forever to find out either, got it,” she says, pointing her finger at him and giving him a stern look. He nods and she disappears out the door.
“You wonder why she pisses me off,” he grumbles, but he can’t hide the look of amusement in his eyes.
“The doctor is in the hallway with your chart, baby. He says you're ready to deliver.” He is beaming and I'm excited. A contraction is building again as my doctor steps into the room. The nurse and several CNAs follow Dr. Addison into the room. An anesthesiologist arrives for the purpose of numbing me after the episiotomy for the stitches that will follow. In less than a minute, my labor room has been transformed into a birthing room.
“Are you ready to start pushing, Tylar?” Dr. Addison asks, pulling his mask up.
Trey follows suit, getting behind me as the fun is about to start. Twenty minutes and what seems like a hundred pushes later, I flop back against my raised up hospital bed, panting.
All I can see from my vantage point are my sheet-covered knees, the top of Dr. Addison’s capped head, and Trey’s halfway masked face staring down as the doctor is helping our baby exit my birth canal. I feel no pain at all during this part of it. I’m exhausted but elated. I see Trey’s eyes widen as the doctor hands him the baby. Trey looks down and smiles broadly.
Well, what is it? How is it?
I hear a suction noise followed by a squeaky cry that slowly builds in volume.
“Trey, do you want to cut the cord?” Dr. Addison asks him.
The nurse is now in the mix, directing Trey on how to cut the umbilical cord and it's clamped off.
“Trey, is the baby okay? Do we have a ‘Preston’ or a ‘Treyla’?” I ask loudly and impatiently.
“Hold on just a second, Mommy,” he says beaming happily. The nurse is swaddling the baby in a clean blanket. The crying has stopped, at least from the baby. Trey’s eyes are tearing up as he holds the swaddled baby in his arms. I'm totally unaware of what is happening between my legs, underneath the paper tent. My only desire is to hold my baby.
“We have a Preston,” Trey says, gently handing over the squirming little bundle to my open arms.
“Ohh, look, Trey,” I say softly, “look at his tiny little finger; tiny little perfect fingers!” Preston wraps miniature fingers around my pinky, which appears huge in comparison.
“Oh, Preston. Mommy and Daddy love you,” I croon softly, kissing his forehead. His tiny red face wrinkles up and makes a hundred little expressions. I count all of his fingers. They are all there. Ten perfect little fingers.
“I’m checking everything Trey,” I say, “taking full inventory of our perfect little Preston! Yes, I am,” I croon in baby talk. “He is going to be daddy’s boy, I can tell,” I comment, smiling up at Trey who has never looked prouder than at this moment. I was right. Men want sons and Trey got his today. I beam with pride at being able to give Trey his son. I pull the blanket away from the baby, wanting to count his toes. That’s when I see that something is missing.
Oh my God!
My head snaps up immediately in confusion. I look up at Trey. He is wearing a sheepish grin.
“Trey? What the?”
“Don’t be mad, Tylar,” he says, gently, “Preston is agreatname for agirl, don’t you think?” He is sitting on the edge of the bed, next to me and our daughter. He leans down and kisses me softly on the lips. “Tylar, I love you so much and the fact that you want our daughter to be named after me is the greatest honor possible. What really matters to me, Tylar, is that she carriesbothof our names, okay? We did thistogether, right?”
I nod, covering the baby back up with the blanket, and holding her close to my heart.
“So, how about Preston Michaela Sinclair? Does that work for you, baby?”
“Oh yes!” I sob. I'm filled with emotion. I reluctantly give Preston back to the nurse so that she can clean, weigh, measure, and perform the Apgar scoring. The doctor is finishing up with my stitches. The delivery room is being cleared and I'll be transported soon to my private room. Trey has gone out to let Gina know about the baby and to give her my room number.
Nurse Ratched brings a clean Preston to me, now wearing a disposable diaper, pink gown, pink cotton cap, and pink knit booties. She is beautiful. I can’t stop looking at her. She has a full head of dark hair like Trey’s. She is sweetly sucking on her tiny little fingers. Her eyes are wide and alert. They are very dark blue, but the nurse tells me that most babies have blue eyes when they are born. I know that she will have Trey’s eyes. She is staring up at me. My heart swells with this new, indescribable feeling that I have for her. I lean my face down and kiss her head, breathing in her sweet baby smell.
I'm so enamored with my baby I'm oblivious that I'm being moved to a recovery room on the gurney. Trey and Gina are waiting there and immediately rush to my side. Gina takes some pictures of the three of us with her phone. The nurse assigned to me wants to help with my shower and brings me a fresh hospital gown. I refuse to part with Preston. Trey finally has to intervene on the nurse’s behalf, getting a bit strict with me. He takes the baby from me, promising that I can have her back as soon as I comply with the nurse. I grumble a bit but concede, following the nurse into my bathroom.
When I come back out, clean and freshly gowned, Gina is in the rocking chair, holding Preston and cooing to her. I look over at Trey who is leaning against the wall next to my bed and catch his smirk. He knows that I want to take the baby out of Gina’s arms and he is mentally weighing the odds as to whether I'll do it. Begrudgingly, I climb back into my hospital bed. Trey slides down, sitting beside me.
“She weighs seven pounds and eight ounces. She is 19 inches long,” I announce proudly. “Oh, and she’s a 10 on Apgar.”
“Of course she’s a 10,” he replies in his smooth and silky voice. “Her mommy's a 10.”
