Chapter Ten
"Come on, Clove. Breathe." Cato whispers these words for what seems to be the thousandth time in the past twelve hours. In a way only he can pull off, it's both annoying and reassuring. "You're almost there."
He seems like he knows for sure. But it feels like there's no progress, like its taking forever. I knew that the delivery would take a while, but I wasn't expecting it to be this hard. In the last twelve hours, I have felt worse than I ever did in training, in the Games... Ever, really. Though I hate showing vulnerability in any way, shape, or form for any reason whatsoever, I've allowed myself to do just that. This has also shown me more of a nurturing, thoughtful, gentle side to Cato. I have always known it was there, but this all reinforces the knowledge that he will be a fantastic father once I finally get these babies out of me...
Between contractions, I feel fine, though exhausted. But when they're actually happening, I can barely breathe or move. I am so glad that the only people I here right now are Cato and my mother, who is helping us deliver the babies. Unlike most districts, District Two does have some organized health care, though it's usually saved for anything that absolutely cannot be taken care of at home. So here, like everywhere except the Capitol, home births are more common than not.
Tiny crescents form where my fingernails dig into the palm of Cato's hand, while my mother does a quick examination for progress. Anywhere from minutes to another hour or so, possibly longer," she speculates before we ask to be alone.
Moments after she leaves, the contraction peaks. 'There could be hours still,' I remind myself as I roll onto my side, biting down on the pillow case to prevent any noise from coming out.
"It's okay, Clove. It'll be over soon. You're doing great." Cato cups my face in one hand, kissing the tip of my nose until it gets more bearable.
"Thanks for being here." My whisper is soft, but I mean it.
Half an hour later comes the happiest moment of my life. In the middle of an extremely hard contraction, I close my eyes and lay still and flat, head spinning. Then, I hear it; the first cry of a newborn baby. Our baby. Little Veronica Elise Marshall, measuring 20 inches, eight pounds, three ounces, is handed to me minutes later. Staring at her is indescribable. The moment feels like a little infinity. But too soon, I have to let go. Handing her to Cato, I watch his reaction- a huge smile accompanied by, though he will never admit it, a steady flow of tears- as I get ready to deliver her brother.
This time is easier, even though he is bigger. Leo Thaddeus Marshall, measuring twenty two inches, nine pounds, and eight ounces and with a very large head, is handed to me seven minutes later. Minus the largeheadedness, he looks exactly like Cato.
Having them both here, both finally here, is the most wonderful feeling ever. After I'm cleaned up a bit, Cato slips in bed next to me, holding me as we hold both now-sleeping babies between us. That amazing moment is when I wished I could freeze time.