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“Hey.” She catches my arm as I walk past her toward the shower.
I spin to face her. “You okay?”
“Yes.” She looks up at me. “We’re going to have a baby.”
I grab her by the neck and kiss her. “We’re going to meet our girl. I love you so fucking much, baby. Now clean up and let’s go meet our daughter.”
She kisses me again, then we break apart to clean up so we can go to the hospital.
And become a family of three.
“Hey, little girl,” Amelia says, poking her stomach. “It’s time to come out now.”
I heard all the horror stories about women having a baby come so fast they had to deliver in the car or their bathtub or the lawn, even hospital hallways. Everything made it seem so dire to get to the hospital after she goes into labor, especially after her water breaks.
No one mentioned waiting nine fucking hours.
Nine hours. It was fast at first, and Amelia dilated to five centimeters. Then her labor completely dropped off. They call it stalled labor, and for some people, it can safely last days, but since Amelia’s water has already broken and the contractions have slowed down so much, that likely won’t be the case for her. We’ve tried some basic remedies like walking around and stretching. After a couple more hours without progress, they started Pitocin to help the contractions start up again, but a few more hours later, and here we are. Contractions are still slow and she’s not dilating further.
Thankfully, this is still the beginning part of labor. The baby isn’t stuck in the birth canal, which is far more dangerous. However, the longer this goes on, the greater the risk to both Amelia and the baby, from infection to the possibility of Amelia needing a hysterectomy.
She’s staying as calm as she can, but she’s upset, and if she could, I think she’d probably bribe Emmie to come out.
I rub my hand over her stomach and kiss a bare spot above where the fetal monitoring band is. “Hey, sweet girl. We really want to meet you. I know it’s cozy in there, but I promise we’ll make you cozy out here, too.”
In my obsessive researching about the newborn stage, I read about kangaroo care. It’s something done frequently in NICUs to help smaller babies regulate body temperature and heart rate, but it’s also beneficial for newborns. You take your mostly naked baby, then rest them on your naked chest. For preemies, they’re often placed right inside a parent’s shirt, but for full-term infants, you typically rest them on your naked chest, then put a blanket over them. It helps them feel cozy and warm like they were in the womb. The sound of the parent’s heartbeat is also calming to them because they can supposedly hear the heartbeat inside the womb, too. I’m fascinated by this stuff and excited.
I can’t fucking wait to hold her tiny body against my chest.
But first, we have to convince her to come out of there.
“I feel like a sideshow attraction. Look at the incredible woman who can’t make her baby come out.”
Everyone’s here—or has been here on and off—since we first called this morning. My parents set up camp in the waiting room, along with Dani and Mackenzie. Rae, Aaron, Sarah, and Joel have been in and out, checking in and bringing food as needed.
Amelia is hooked up to an IV and fetal monitoring. She’s not allowed to eat, and she’s exhausted, but as usual, my girl is powering through, though she did ask for everyone else to get out of the damn room—her exact words—for a few minutes.
“Or everyone wants to support you,” I say, softly kissing her forehead.
She growls in response.
“Have I ever mentioned that I love how feisty you are?”
She gives me a weak smile. “I don’t feel feisty right now. I’m uncomfortable and nauseous. Scared I can’t do this.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed and run my hand up her leg. “You can do this. You have always been strong and resilient. And you have me here to support you through it. I won’t let you give up or believe for a second that you can’t do this. You will do this. And when you do, you’ll get the best reward ever. Emmie Mae.”
“Emmie Mae,” she whispers, relaxing a little.
“She probably needs a last name.”
Amelia takes my hand and smiles at me. “She already has it. Hyun-Hansen.”
My eyes flare. “Are you sure?”
“Some day, I’m going to marry you. When I do, I want all three of us to have the same last name. While I know you’re a modern man who could probably be convinced to take my last name if I asked, you are not Miles Davis. You’re Miles Hyun-Hansen. And she’s Emmie Mae Hyun-Hansen.”
My heart thunders as I stare at her in awe, somehow more in love with her now than I was a minute ago. I quickly kiss her, then pull back and say, “One day you’re going to be Mrs. Hyun-Hansen? You’re sure you’re okay giving up your last name? Your father’s last name?” My voice fills with emotion as I say that.
