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The nurse grabbed her leg, and I did the same when the doctor spoke. “Should only need about three more pushes. Make them good ones.”
Becs took a deep breath, and I felt her body tense when she pushed. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she listened to the doctor, and remarkably, in three pushes, she collapsed against the bed.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced but said no more, and I knew why once I heard a small cry.
A cry that sounded faint and weak.
Becs lifted her head, but the nurses hurriedly bundled him and took him across the room.
“Is he okay?” Becs asked softly.
“Three three,” the nurse across the room called out.
“We don’t know much yet,” the doctor replied. “He’s three pounds, three ounces, which is okay, but given his age, we’re most concerned about his lungs.” She patted Becs’s leg. “They’ll take him to the NICU. We’ll know more soon.”
I was listening to the doctor with my eyes locked on the quick movements across the room until they pushed the little clear case he was in through the doors and into the hallway. When the door closed behind them, I shifted my attention back to Becs, and only then did I notice the tears on her cheeks.
“He’s okay,” I said softly, and she nodded, but the tears still trickled over her cheeks.
“We’re going to finish, get you cleaned up, and then I’ll have a wheelchair brought so we can take you to see him,” the doctor said.
Becs nodded. “Okay.”
It only took about ten minutes for the doctor to finish, and a nurse came in. I stepped into the hallway to give her some privacy when the nurse said they would clean her up, and once out there, I squatted, closed my eyes, and leaned my head against the wall.
“Everything went well.”
Opening my eyes, I stared at the doctor who had paused in the hallway and pushed to standing. “What happens now?”
“He’ll be in the NICU for some time. I was just there. They’re hooking up his IVs and have put in a ventilator. That’s all very common for a baby this young. You won’t be able to hold him until we make sure he’s stabilized, but you can see him and hold his hand. We don’t like to overstimulate premature babies so we start everything small.”
“And Becs?” I motioned to the door beside me.
“She did great. I could tell you were worried, but mothers are typically very emotional after the birth, so it was just as I expected. I’m going in now to tell her what I told you, and then you can both go see him.” She started past me but paused and laid her hand on my shoulder. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I said just as she dropped her hand and stepped inside her room.
I waited in that hallway until they wheeled Becs out. She looked up at me, but I could see the uncertainty in her eyes. I fell into step beside the wheelchair while we moved down the hallway and into another room. Looking around, I only saw one other baby when we stopped next to the smallest baby I’d ever seen.
“What’s this called?” I pointed at the plastic surrounding the baby.
“It’s an incubator,” the nurse replied. “It’ll keep his temperature where it should be since it’s hard for all babies to regulate their temperatures after birth.” She pointed at the side. “You can reach in through here, though, and touch him. Just be aware of his IV and ventilator.”
“How long will he have these things?” I asked.
“It’s hard to say. Some babies need it less, some more. Only time will tell.” She gestured behind her. “I’ll give you a minute, and then we’ll get you back to the room, Becs, so you can rest. I’ll be at the desk if you need me.”
Staring at his little face, I felt a warm sensation in my chest and knew immediately what I was feeling. I watched Becs put her hand through the side where the nurse indicated and lay it over his small arm. Her breath hitched when he shifted at her touch, and I squatted beside her.
We stayed that way for a moment until she spoke quietly. “I think he looks like a Wyatt.” She shifted her eyes and met mine. “What do you think?”
Grinning, I glanced at him. “Wyatt Pierce.” I jerked up my chin. “I like it.”
She nodded and blinked back the tears that had filled her eyes. I remembered what the doctor said and understood it was perfectly normal, but the urge to wrap my arms around her was strong.
“Wyatt Jonathon Pierce.” She ran her fingertips along his tiny arm. “Jonathon. After my dad.”
“And Bear.” I leaned my shoulder against her wheelchair.
