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I can’t stand hospitals and I hate seeing the woman I love in pain even more. It’s just about killing me that I can’t make this go any faster or easier for Danielle.
We’ve been here approximately nine hundred hours at this point. Or three. One of the two. It just feels like this is taking forever and I have resorted to pacing while Danielle tries to sleep between contractions. Crew, who almost never sits still, has more nervous energy than even me and he trips for the second time, crashing into a bedside chart.
"Shit," he says, when Dani jerks awake at the noise. "Sorry, baby."
"Why do you keep tripping?" I ask him. I look at his feet. "Are those the shoes you left the house in?"
He’s stripped off his pads but is still in his jersey. Lori McNeill dropped off Danielle’s overnight bag, but she didn’t realize Crew needed a change of clothes. She said she would have William bring him something but so far Crew’s father hasn’t arrived.
"No, they are not. I don’t know whose shoes these are," Crew admits. "I think they might be Wilder’s. He has big fucking feet. I didn’t want to waste time so I just grabbed the first pair of shoes in the locker room I saw sitting out."
"Oh, Jesus," Michael says, shaking his head as he smoothes a blanket down over Danielle. "You had time to change. Or at least open your locker and get your own shoes."
"I think it’s sweet," Danielle murmurs, her eyes closed.
She looks tired already and hard labor hasn’t even started. So far, all of her labor has been primarily in her back and she keeps tossing and turning trying to find a comfortable position. I was kneading her back for a while, but she pushed me away. Now I just feel helpless and frustrated.
"I’m sweet," Crew tells me, with a grin.
Aside from the fact that he can’t sit still, he’s been very calm during this whole thing. Irritatingly calm. Danielle seems to be gravitating towards him and while it’s not a competition, it still makes me feel inadequate. I want to be there for my wife and instead, I’m snapping at nurses and wearing a path in the linoleum.
The monitor beeps.
"What does that mean?" I demand, reaching out and smacking Michael on the arm. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything is fine. It’s just turning her blood pressure cuff on."
Michael looks and sounds calm, but there is a rigidity in his shoulders that I don’t usually see. He’s trying to be soothing for Danielle, but he’s nervous, too. This is a big deal. A baby is about to make its entrance into the world.
Our baby.
That has me moving forward to push an errant and sweaty curl out of Danielle’s face. "Do you need anything?"
"I need you to not touch me right now," she says.
I drop my hand from her immediately.
Crew is sweet and I’m not allowed to touch her. I try to make my tone mimic Michael’s. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."
"How about an ice chip?" Michael asks, fishing one out of a cup with a plastic spoon.
"Just stop hovering over me. Please."
We look at each other and both back slowly away from the bed.
"How about some music?" Crew asks, fiddling with his phone. Suddenly, rap music blasts from it loudly. "Shit, sorry. Wrong playlist."
"Crew!" Danielle snaps. "Turn that off."
He immediately obeys and clears his throat. He plops down on a chair.
Another nurse comes into the room and eyes all of us with confusion. "Shift change," she says. "I’m Mariah. Which one of you gentlemen is Dad?"
I’m about to open my mouth to say we all are, when I realize that’s overcomplicating things and Danielle doesn’t need overcomplicated.
Crew and I both gesture to Michael. "He is," I tell her.
Crew stands up and steps back to allow the nurse to move forward toward the bed. "Yep, he’s your guy."
