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“Yes,” she says firmly. “I’ve thought about this. I’ll use Davis professionally, but personally, I’ll be all yours.”
“Damn, baby. You know the words that go straight to my heart.”
“And your dick,” she mutters under my breath.
My eyes widen and I look at her massive stomach. “Close your legs before you talk like that, dirty girl.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Since when do you care about a little dirty talk, Mr. Hyun-Hansen?”
“Since your water broke and there is nothing to cushion our daughter’s delicate ears.”
She laughs again. “Oh no. Are you going to stop talking dirty now? Suddenly it’ll be all vanilla sex?”
I lean up and kiss her, effectively shutting her up. Other than a spanking or an orgasm, it’s about the only way to shut her up when she’s teasing me.
“I will never stop talking dirty to you, but I will not talk dirty in front of her and scar her for life. She should grow up like every other kid—assuming her parents never have sex.”
Amelia shakes her head but before she can say anything, the doctor walks in with a nurse to check Amelia’s progress. She groans as she scoots down the bed. She went on a rant earlier about how she’s tired of people sticking things up her vagina—unless it’s me and my instrument. Thankfully, no one else was in the room for that. She’s lost all filter, so there’s no telling what she’ll say in front of anyone at this point.
After the doctor checks her and the fetal monitor, he turns to us with a serious look on his face.
Insert heart attack here.
That lovely little anxiety pill only helps so much, and seeing a doctor look at you intensely when your girlfriend is in labor, is pretty much a straight shot of anxiety to the heart.
I swallow it all down, though, because I need to be strong for Amelia.
Our doctor—a calm man in his fifties—pulls his stool closer and tells us that Amelia’s progress is still stalled and we’re hitting a point where she or the baby could be at risk for complications.
Breathe.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
I need both my girls healthy.
“This is typically the point where I would recommend a C-section. I know it’s not what you were planning on, and we can wait a little longer to see if your contractions pick up again and you begin dilating. I don’t want to rush you, but the sooner you decide, the better.”
Amelia looks up at me, eyes wide and filled with uncertainty.
“If you’d like, we can step out for a moment while you discuss it,” he says.
“No—I…” Amelia bites her lip as she trails off. “What would you do? If it was your wife or daughter? What would you tell them?”
“I’d recommend doing the C-section now.”
I squeeze her hand tightly, trying to reassure her. If the doctor thinks that’s best, then I think we should do that, but she’s the one in labor. It’s not my decision. And though my instinct is to control the situation to mitigate risk, I’ve learned that’s not always the answer—or my choice to make.
“Will I still have a chance at a vaginal birth if I had another child?”
“Yes, there’s a good chance you could have a safe and healthy vaginal delivery after Cesarean.”
“Okay.” She nods firmly. “Let’s do the C-section.”
“Good.” The doctor stands. “We’ll be back in a few minutes to get you both prepped.” He pauses. “Assuming you want to be in the room, Dad?”
“Absolutely,” I say. I’m fucking terrified, but nothing in this world is going to stop me from seeing my daughter enter this world.
