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“Love you too,” he says, giving her another squeeze.
She walks over and sits down on the edge of the bed next to me, running her hand over Emmie’s head. On the other side of me, Dani has her hand on Emmie’s back.
“I promise to always be there for you, teach you all the important things in life, pass on obvious wisdom almost as well as your dad, and get you into a little bit of trouble. The good kind.”
“I’ll help with the trouble,” Dani agrees. “And I’ll give you all the Abbott love. Tough love. Crazy love. All the love.”
“Just like you did for me,” I whisper.
Dani smiles and winks at me.
Miles walks over and wraps an arm around Mackie, then kisses her head.
I can barely move my toes, I’m utterly exhausted, and I hurt in ways I never knew I could, but my heart is fuller than I knew it could possibly be.
“Happy birthday, baby girl. Welcome to your crazy, beautiful life.”
Home.
After two nights in the hospital, I’ve never been happier to step into our apartment.
“Welcome home, Emmie Mae,” Miles says, carrying her car seat and my bags into the apartment. He sets my bag down, then wraps his arm around me. We take in the silence that is sure to break any moment, then he kisses my cheek. “Go change.”
I nod and start toward the bedroom when Emmie’s piercing scream rings through the apartment. I stop and turn back.
“Go. I’ve got her. Get changed,” Miles says.
I smile and breathe out a sigh of relief, then slowly make my way down the hall to the master bedroom. Everything around my incision pinches and pulls. It hurts, but heat and Ibuprofen help.
In the bedroom, I carefully pull off the demonic maternity leggings that I thought would be comfortable to wear home but have been sitting right on my incision the entire time. I head into the bathroom and change the thick pad they gave me at the hospital for one of the ultra thin but super absorbent ones I prefer, then waddle back to the bedroom. No one tells you the waddling continues after birth. Then I put on a pair of baggy, high waist pajama pants, my favorite knit socks, and one of Miles’s long-sleeve tees that has the Ida High logo on the front.
Slowly, I walk out of the room. Emmie is still crying, but not as loudly. I grab the heating pad from the hall closet and keep going to the living room.
“I know, sweet pea. It’s scary out here and you’d rather be back inside Mommy,” Miles says to her. He’s sitting in the corner of the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. He has Emmie nestled against his chest and his sweatshirt zipped up around her so she’s cozy. I stop at the edge of the living room and watch for a moment. “Can I tell you a secret? I’m scared too. They sent you home with us and I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’ll do the best I can for you.”
Emmie is still crying, so he kisses her head, then starts singing Songbird.
With my heart melting, I walk into the room. I quickly plug the heat pad in, then sit down on the couch next to Miles. Emmie yawns and wriggles a little inside Miles’s shirt, but then she relaxes, her crying forgotten. She blinks slowly a few times before closing her eyes. Miles rests one arm over the back of the couch, and I nestle in beside him, being careful not to bump Emmie or sit in a way that pulls at or pinches my incision. Once I’m comfortable, I rest my head on Miles’s shoulder. He kisses my forehead, and we bask in this perfect quiet moment as a family.
Chapter six
Christmas Perfection
Amelia
I walk slower than a turtle now. I think a turtle could lap me.
I don’t know why anyone thinks women should just jump back into life after having a C-section. My body was ripped open. And my body knows it was ripped open. So my snail’s pace continues.
Miles holds my hand as I walk down the concrete stairs from the parking lot to the nursing home. There aren’t that many, but they might as well be Everest for me. Thank God we don’t have stairs in our apartment. If we did, I’d be going down on my butt. With each step, my incision pricks and pulls. It’s only been five days, but I didn’t want to wait any longer to introduce Emmie to my mother.
Miles offered to drop me in front of the building, but like the stubborn woman I am, I refused. Maybe he was right. Instead, he’s coaching me down the stairs like a parent coaching their child to take their first steps. Speaking of our child, she is happily sleeping in her car seat and missing the ridiculous show I’m putting on.
“Okay?” Miles asks when I’m finally on flat ground again.
“Yep,” I say, a jolt of irritation coursing through me as I look at all the open handicapped spots right here by the building. New moms should get a temporary handicapped sign for the length of their recovery period.
“Almost there,” he says, still sounding like a parent talking to their child.
