It’s exactly what I needed to hear to calm my rising anxiety. He kisses my expanding belly and stands. “Come on, love, let’s go back to bed,” he says, offering me his hand like he has a million times over the last nine months. Just like I have a million times before, I slide my hand in his.
Casen
I feel a sharp nudge in the middle of my back, rousing me from a deep sleep. Looking to the clock on the nightstand the bright green numbers read 4 a.m. You have got to be fucking kidding me. We’ve only been back to bed for an hour and Jen decides to practice her nightly ninja skills, I think to myself as I attempt to fall back to sleep. Sharing a bed is not something she’s adapted well to, the concept of his and her sides of the bed is a lost concept in this house. She thrashes around in her sleep so much that snuggling or spooning is actually code for restraining her from karate chopping my nut sack in her sleep. It’s not even that she’s having nightmares; she’s just a wild sleeper.
Closing my eyes, I feel the deep calm of sleep begin to take hold once again when a solid push nails me. “Casen, wake up,” Jen says with another nudge. Only one eye pops open, I’ll reserve the second once I find out the reason for this early morning wake-up call.
“We are out of watermelon and ice-cream. I’ll get more tomorrow, just let the sun come up first,” I tell her, snuggling back into the blankets and closing my eyes.
“No, Casen, wake up. I think my water broke,” she says in a surprisingly calm, hushed tone.
Both eyes snap open and I rise up in bed as quickly as possible, getting tangled in the sheet and nearly falling out of bed. “What? Are you sure,” I ask, flipping on the lamp but remaining quiet as not to wake Hendrix.
“Well, I’m not positive, but I’m having a fluid situation and I’m pretty sure I know how not to piss myself,” she says sarcastically, her volume indicating her lack of concern for keeping Henry asleep.
I jump out of bed and run to my shirt and shoes. I grab all of the bags we’ve had packed for weeks and stand waiting for direction. “Are you having contractions? Are you in pain? Do we need to leave for the hospital? Why aren’t you getting dressed?” I fire off question after question in lightning speed, unable to contain my nerves and excitement.
“I’m not, that’s why I’m not sure if my water broke. I would think I would already be in pain if it had.”
“Well, what did the book say?” We bought every baby preparation book available on Amazon, surely something in one of them mentions this scenario.
“I didn’t read them. I got to week twenty-four and then started skimming and looking at pictures. I’ve given birth before; I figured I didn’t really need to read up on that part. How does one not know they are in labor?” I nearly drop the bags as a now wide-awake Henri barrels me over, wanting to go outside.
“Well, let’s go just to be safe. Worst case scenario, they send us home.” I leave the room with the bags to let the dog out and load the car. Hustling back into the bedroom after buckling in the infant seat, I find Jen doubled over breathing deeply.
“You okay, sparkplug?” I ask tentatively.
“What in the hell have you been doing? I’m definitely in labor, we need to get to the hospital,” she squeezes out each word through clenched teeth and my stomach begins to twist in knots at the sight of the woman I love in such pain. I know I need to snap into action, but panic mode has set in and I stand there frozen at the realization I’m about to be a father.
Her contraction subsides and she storms over to me, snatching the car keys from my hand. “I’m headed to the hospital; if you want a ride, I suggest you get your ass in gear.” That’s all I need to get me moving.
“I’m focused. Give me the keys, I’ll get you there,” I yell after her as she reaches for the driver’s door to our new SUV. Of course, Nelly is tucked safely in the garage, we sold off Jen’s car and bought this a month ago. I run around to the passenger side, lay a towel on the fresh leather, and ease her into the seat.
Throwing the car into drive, I race down the street of our suburb, away from our new home we bought after signing the record deal, and toward my new family. Jen’s eyes are closed, her brows scrunched, breathing deeply with each painful contraction. I notice my breathing matches hers, my brows scrunch together when hers do. I only wish I could also take some of her pain away.
“Sparky, you hanging in there?” I ask, bracing myself for a harsh, abrasive response.
“Mmm hmm,” she mumbles through a deep cleansing breath. She briefly opens her eyes to see we’re stopped at a red light. Unfortunately for me, we’re the only car in a two-mile radius. “You only have one job, Casen. Get me to the hospital,” she snaps. “Is it really imperative that we stop at this light at 4 a.m. when there are no other cars around? Treat it like a four-way stop, dammit,” she hollers as the pain of the next contraction takes hold.
“Okay, babe. I’m hurrying. We’re only five more minutes away from the hospital, just hang in there.” I try to keep my voice as calm as possible as I slam the gas pedal to the floor and barrel through the light.
I cut those five minutes to three by disregarding all traffic rules, pulling the car into a parking space just shy of 4:30. I rush around the car to grab Jen’s bag and help her out of the car. Our pace drastically slows though, as she has to stop to breathe through each contraction, which by my mental count are only two minutes apart. It probably takes us more time to walk to the labor and delivery nurses’ station than it did for me to drive us here. I will not be mentioning that to Jen, though. I would like to have more children in the future and I’ve learned she’s keen on collecting the man parts of men who piss her off.
“Can I help you?” a plump, middle-aged woman behind the desk asks, obviously irritated she’s working the night shift. Pam, the desk worker, immediately rubs me the wrong way, and I begin to silently pray our interaction with this woman ends after we leave the check-in counter.
“My girlfriend is in labor. Her water broke about thirty minutes ago,” I tell her, doing my best to be polite as Jen concentrates on her current contraction.
“Are you sure your water broke?” she asks dismissively.
Jen looks up from the white tile floor which has become the all-important focal point and serves me the iciest of death glares. Instead of relaying the message that she is seconds away from being stabbed in the eye with her flower pen, I opt for, “We’re pretty sure.”
“Okay, well, have you filled out any of the pre-admission paperwork?”
“No, our appointment is next week.”
When she rolls her eyes and heads off to another room to retrieve the paperwork, all of my patience disintegrates. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I spit out in a hushed tone. Jen shushes me, but I ignore her. “What are they going to do, send us to the parking lot to deliver the baby in the car?”
Jen twirls around, pinning me with the death glare previously reserved for Pam. “You will shush, Casen Thompson. These women have to put their hands near my vagina; you will not piss them off.”
Stepping into the fray of growing tension, Pam returns with the necessary paperwork along with another nurse. “Here, you’re going to have to fill this out,” she says, shoving a clipboard at me.
“You can follow me to an observation room,” nurse number two says.
“Observation room? Do you think she’s not in labor?” I ask.
“Well, sir, we have to be sure before we send you to delivery,” Pam chimes in.
We’re taken to a room the size of my closet with a single bed and a monitor. Jen changes into a hospital gown and climbs into the bed so the nurse can attach the monitor. Instantly the baby’s heartbeat echoes through the room and the screen shows the peaks and valleys of Jen’s contractions.