It's impressive how fast you can forget almost literally everything when you think your wife might be about to give birth.
I managed to drive almost completely on auto-pilot to the hospital, despite Monica nearly bent in half at one point as what we were assuming was another contraction hit her; I very calmly parked the car in an actual parking space; I remembered to bring the twins and Monica with me into the hospital…I felt like I was doing all right. Then she had…an episode at the front desk.
At least it got her into an exam room quickly. All the words and concepts I've been learning for the past few months evaporated at that point. They checked her out, using words like "effaced" and "dilated," and I know for a fact that I used to know this stuff. In fact, I knew this stuff about an hour ago.
Not now. Now, I'm useless. The upside is that apparently she's now dilated enough to be admitted.
One thing I have managed to retain is that, when a woman is that far along in her pregnancy, she has to go to the doctor constantly to have someone check her cervix for…stuff.
No thanks.
At any rate, Monica was likely in labor most of the day and didn't know it because she's now in a hospital bed, waiting, with contractions about fifteen minutes apart. All of our friends have been called and, despite us both telling them they don't have to be here for this, they're all on their way. My mom's driving in from upstate, and my father managed to get his flight bumped up a couple of days.
I'm sitting on the bed next to her holding her hand, Jack in my lap, Erica tucked under her other arm when her parents finally arrive, both looking slightly panicked.
I understand that feeling very well. I'm probably a lot more nervous about this than I ought to be, considering we already have two kids, but…three of them. That's a lot of little people running around. That's a lot of people whose lives depend upon me and Monica and our ability to not completely screw them up.
Judy rushes over to the bed, kissing everyone within reach, placing a hand on Monica's knee.
"How are you? Is everything all right?"
Monica's eyes grow wide as she tries to stifle her laughter. "I'm fine, Mom. I'm just having a baby. People do that all the time, you know."
"Yes, but it's not usually my daughter."
Big Jack walks over to us, standing behind me as he puts an arm around Monica's shoulders, essentially pushing me out of the way. I stand up with a sigh, bouncing my son on my hip. "How's my Har-Monica?"
"I'm okay, Dad." She leans forward a bit, giving me a look, and I just shrug at her. I'll let her parents have the moment if they need it. "And Mom, by the way, ow." She points down to her leg, where her mother's hand has gone white-knuckled from gripping her so hard.
Judy relaxes her grip but doesn't move her hand. "Do you need anything?"
"No, I'm set. And, you know, my husband's actually here if there's anything I do need."
Almost as if noticing me for the first time, Jack and Judy turn to look at me, smiling vaguely. "Yes, of course he is," she answers. "Do you want us to stick around the hospital, or…"
I swear Monica looks more panicked at that prospect than actually giving birth. "No, that's okay. Please just take the twins with you. They've already been fed, but I accidentally let them nap too long today so it might be a while before they go down for the night."
"Well, let's be honest," I finally say. "Jack's probably ready for sleep again right now. Erica's going to be the one who won't sleep. But there's plenty of extra stuff in their diaper bag; clothes, bottles, toys, whatever." Jack and Judy look at me almost blankly for a minute before turning back to Monica. I sigh and kiss my son's little head. "It's a good thing your dad had nothing to do with this, right, big guy?"
I'm sure it's completely coincidental, but Jack reaches up and pats my cheek for a moment before putting his head on my shoulder and smacking his lips. That one little moment makes me feel a million times better.
"If we can, we'll call you in the morning," Monica says, pulling Erica against her chest, giving her a hug. "The doctor says I'm progressing pretty quickly right now, but we'll see."
"What time can we come back?" her father asks, stroking Erica's hair.
Monica gives me a look and I just shrug—all I know is right now they don't want to hear it from me. "Ummm…well, the twins are usually up between six and seven. Even if Erica doesn't go to sleep until late tonight, please don't let her sleep in tomorrow. But, I guess…after they've had breakfast is fine. But please, please…if I haven't gotten much farther in this, don't come rushing back here. I don't want them sitting around in the waiting room for hours."
"Okay, but what if you can't call?" asks Judy.
"If Chandler can't call you, that probably means I'm pushing. So…" Monica looks at me helplessly—I know she doesn't want to have to deal with this right now. I push my way back to her, dangling Jack over his mother.
"Say 'bye bye' to Mama, kiddo."
"Bye," he answers, grinning, and Monica leans up to kiss him.
"Night night, sweetheart. I love you." She turns to Erica, taking her face in her hands and giving her a kiss. "Night night, baby. I love you."
"Come to Nana, Erica," Judy says, smiling at her granddaughter, but Erica's face scrunches up as she turns away.
"No!"
"Oh, God," I mumble, walking around to the other side of the bed, hoping to nip this tantrum in the bud. "Come see Dada, Eri." Still sulky, she turns to me, holding out her arms—at least my kids are still on my side—and I pull her to me, a baby now on each hip. "The three of us are going to have to get used to this, guys—Mama's gonna have to spend a lot of time holding your brother or sister for a while. I think we'll be all right, though. What do you think?"
Monica's eyes fill with tears; I'm guessing she hadn't given a lot of thought to how much the baby will need her, especially since she's going to be the main food source for a while. Neither did I until just this moment.
"Erica, look at Daddy." Immediately, she leans back, staring at me with her big, brown eyes. "I need you go with Nana and Grandpa, okay? Be a big girl for me. You'll get to do all the fun things that Mommy and Daddy never let you do, and in a few hours, you'll get to meet the baby. Can you do that?" I don't know how much of it she understands exactly, but she finally gives me a little nod. "Thank you. Kiss?" She puckers her lips for me—they're even cuter now that they understand exactly how to do this—and give her a kiss. I look over at Jack, who's already puckered for me, and chuckle as I kiss him, too. "And you…don't sleep too much. Hug," I tell them both, pulling them close for a few moments before passing Erica off to Jud—who looks suitably impressed—with no fuss this time. I hand little Jack off to his grandfather, then hand off the diaper bag as well. I don't want them to feel like we're rushing them out of the room, but…
"We really appreciate you taking them for us," Monica adds, holding her hand out for me, linking our fingers together. "But we don't want them around for this. I don't want to scare…them…" Her breathing grows rapid suddenly, her eyes wide for a moment before her face collapses in pain. "Owwwww. Augh!" Her fingers tighten around mine as her entire body tenses up, horrible, high-pitched noises coming out of her.
I immediately sit down on the bed next to her, pushing her hair back with my free hand. "Listen to me, Monica. Just breathe. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out. Breathe." She fights it for a few more seconds before she finally gasps for air, trying to breathe slowly, her face still scrunched. "That's it. That's it." Eventually, her grip starts to loosen, her breathing evening out. "You okay?"
"That sucked."
I chuckle a little, kissing her temple. "It looked like it." We hear a squeak and look up; we completely forgot her parents were still in the room with the twins. Her father looks horrified, his face pale, and a second later, he turns and disappears through the door.
"What was that?" Monica asks, reaching out to stroke Erica's foot; Erica's looking at her mother in shock.
"I don't think your father was prepared to see you like that," Judy answers, though she doesn't look much better herself.
I kiss Monica's knuckles, sliding off the bed. "I'll…go see if he's okay."
I go out into the hall and see him slumped against a wall, holding my son close. "Uh…sir?" I take a few steps closer, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Everything all right?"
He stands up quickly—fast enough that I jerk my hand back, startled. "You did this to her."
I take a few steps back, shocked. "Excuse me?"
"My little girl is in pain because of you."
I've truly never found Jack Geller intimidating—maybe it's because he's always been more like a big teddy bear than anything else, or because he's usually fairly absent-minded—but right now, I don't know that I've ever been more scared of another human in my entire life, and I honestly have no idea how to respond to that. It is because of me she's in pain right now. Well, at least partly because of me.
"I know. And if I could do it for her, I would. In a heartbeat. But she does want this, sir. And we both know that even if there were an easy way out of this, she wouldn't take it." I take a deep breath, approaching him slowly. "Monica is so strong. There is no one in this world who can handle this better than she can. I will be with her every step of the way."
He rubs his hand over his eyes—I've always known that Jack is protective of his daughter, but this is the first time I've ever had the chance to experience this sort of ferocity…and I think I understand it. "You don't know what it's like…to see someone that you love in pain like that…"
"For what it's worth—I think I do. I love your daughter and our children more than anything else in this world. There is literally nothing I wouldn't do to save them from hurting. And one day…that's going to be Erica in there…" I feel a lump form in my throat at the thought of my little bitty girl going through this. "And that thought already scares the hell out of me."
His arm shoots out and I tense for a moment before he wraps it around me—in all the years I've been with Monica, I'm pretty sure this is the first time he's ever actually hugged me. My son makes a quiet noise of protest as he's squished in between us, and it strikes me as interesting—three generations of men, not a single drop of blood that ties us together, but we all have one thing in common.
We all love that woman lying in that hospital bed.
Fortunately, we're saved from ourselves by voices coming down the hall at us—it's easy to tell, just from the commotion it's our friends. An instant later, Jack has composed himself, looking once more like the goofy guy we all know. Their greetings are lost in a jumble and I just point at Monica's room; they all greet both Jacks as they walk by, then Erica as Judy walks out the door.
I lean forward and kiss my son's head. "Love you," I whisper, rubbing his back for a minute. As I turn away, I see Big Jack with his hand out, and I shake it briefly before turning toward the door. I lean down and kiss Erica's cheek and whisper into her ear, "Don't grow up too fast." She looks at me and burps.
I think I'm okay for a while.
"Take care of her, Chandler," Judy says to me, softly, and I pat her arm reassuringly.
"I will." I walk back into the room; Monica, not surprisingly, looks overwhelmed. She holds her hand out to me and I immediately take my place at her side.
"Has your water broken yet?" Phoebe asks suddenly, and everyone looks at Monica, interested.
"No, not yet. But—"
"How dilated are you?" Rachel asks, and Joey holds up his hand.
"Whoa. Too much information, Rache."
"But I want to know!"
"Guys!" Monica exclaims suddenly, and all eyes are on her. "Everything's fine so far. Contractions are about every fifteen minutes, and things are progressing quickly. For right now. We don't know how long it'll be, though, so if you guys don't want to hang out here, you don't have to."
"Like we'd miss this," Ross answers, smiling at us goofily.
"And don't worry," Phoebe says, patting Monica's foot. "I've already briefed Mike about what happens when one of us goes into labor. He's prepared to wait it out."
He just shrugs a little, his arm going around Phoebe. "It'll be good practice."
"But seriously, Mon; how do you feel?" Joey asks, and Monica just shrugs.
"Okay, right now. Not so okay during contractions, but I'll get through it."
It's great that our friends are here, and I love that they care so much, but I'd much rather spend this time with just Monica.
Especially because they keep bombarding the poor woman with questions.
Amazingly, the first time she has a contraction with them in the room, they don't seem the slightest bit phased. Nor are they bothered the second or third time it happens. They carry on conversations, play card games, almost as if nothing huge is about to happen. They don't even notice when the nurses come in to check on her and the baby.
I guess it's to keep her occupied, so she doesn't think about what her body is going through, and for the most part, it seems to be helping. They're making her laugh, talking to her, talking around her—in general, just being themselves.
The next contraction hits, though, and it sounds different, like the baby actually really making moves to leave her body soon. She clutches at my hands as the room around us goes silent, waiting.
Monica looks up me finally, panting, her face red. "Where's my doctor?" she asks, her voice small.
"Oh, honey." I kiss her forehead. "I don't know. I paged her, but—"
A moment later, Dr. Rosen strides through the door, almost as if her ears were burning. "I heard you have a baby coming out of you, Monica." She looks around the room, surprised to see such a gathering of people. "Can I assume this is the 'everyone' I've heard all about?"
Monica smiles weakly, the back of her head resting against my chest. "It is," I answer for the both of us.
Dr. Rosen smiles warmly at the group. "It's great to meet all of you. Now get out." Our friends start to protest, but she just holds up a hand, cutting them off. "Your friend is doing a lot of work right now, and she needs every spare second to rest. Go wait."
One by one, they filter past us, giving hugs and kisses before they leave the room, and Monica looks immensely relieved. "Thank you."
The doctor pulls up a stool, sitting next to the bed. "You could have told them to leave, too, you know."
I just snort. "Yeah, right."
"I didn't know if you were going to make it," Monica says, and Dr. Rosen just smiles at us.
"Like I would miss this. No, I was just out of the area when you paged, and I hit some traffic getting back. But tell me, Monica—what's going on?"
"Don't you want to check me out first?"
"No. I've got the charts right here," she answers, holding up a couple of files for evidence. "I want to know what you know. From the beginning."
That's what we've both always liked about this doctor; she knows that there's a lot that goes on that doesn't end up in a chart.
Monica just shrugs. "I guess it started with lower back pain—I didn't really notice other than my back was sore and tired. Is that normal?"
"To not notice the early stages of labor? Absolutely. Sometimes it's better that way, especially if your water hasn't broken—you can just sort of go about your life normally for a while longer."
"Okay—water still hasn't broken, though."
"That's okay, too. Don't get too bogged down in what happens to other women, or with what you see in movies. Labor is always different. You could still have hours before your water breaks. It's possible we'll have to break it for you. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, though. Keep going."
"Contractions are about fifteen minutes apart, give or take a minute or so. They feel like they're getting stronger, though."
The doctor looks over at me. "Anything she's leaving out?"
"I…I don't think so. She's dealing with the contractions really well so far. I'm really impressed."
"That's good! So you think you're going to try this medication-free?"
Monica looks up at me and I just shake my head. "That is completely up to you. It's your body and you're the only one who knows how much of this you can handle."
She nods, looking back to the doctor. "Yeah. I don't want to wind up getting so numb that I can't even feel when to push."
"Okay—sounds good. Just remember, if you change your mind, your window of opportunity is only going to get smaller."
"No…I want to try."
She gives Monica's ankle a pat then scoots the chair down to the foot of the bed, pulling gloves out of her pocket. "All right. Let's check under the hood, shall we?" She flips back the blanket, and I can see her nodding. "This looks good. You're about ninety percent effaced and almost six centimeters dilated."
Monica and I both groan. "That's what I was the last two times they checked me!"
Dr. Rosen pulls the blanket back down, stripping off her gloves. "No one ever said this was going to be easy or fast. Sometimes labor slows down or stops completely. We'll keep checking, so don't worry about it too much, but you're probably going to be in for a long night. If you want, you can still get up and walk around, as long as you think you can handle it. And as long as Chandler's with you. It's possible that it'll speed up the whole process, and if nothing else, it'll help you pass the time. Don't go wandering for too long at a stretch, though, either. I'll need you back here every ten, fifteen minutes to check you out some more, and you don't want to run yourself down too much."
We both nod, and she gets up, leaving the room.
"So…want to wander the halls of the maternity ward?" she asks me, sighing.
"I can't think of anything I'd rather do," I answer, helping her stand up, sliding her robe over her shoulders. Her hands immediately go to her back, and she suddenly looks much more pregnant than usual. I rub my hand gently over her belly, which now feels more firm and tense than it ever has.
She takes my hand as I lead her into the hall, leaning against me gently. "I was really hoping I'd be farther along; instead, it's like it's stuck in neutral."
"Gee—our child is stubborn and a pain in the ass? Whoda thunkit?"
She gives me a look, but says nothing. We walk quietly for a few minutes, slowly. I want to be able to distract her, keep her mind off of the wait if nothing else, but right now all I can think about is her and what her body is doing.
"Does it feel weird?" I finally ask.
"A little. I mean, I can feel the baby's head right down here." Her hand rubs under her belly, right at her groin. "It's right in my pelvis—there's so much pressure there right now, it's unbelievable."
"Does it hurt?"
"The head? Right now, not really. Or at least not enough to negate the fact that my body is trying to force a person out." Her hand grips mine unexpectedly; I'm pretty sure I can feel my bones rubbing together. I take her other arm in my hand and turn her toward me, her eyes are squeezed shut, her face contorted in pain.
"Look at me, Monica." She shakes her head as she grits her teeth, her hands digging into me, a low grunt pushing its way out of her. "Come on, look at me." Her eyes fly open and meet mine—she looks absolutely terrified right now. "In and out. Remember?" I take a few deep breaths, trying to get her to follow me, and eventually, she does, her chest rising and falling in time with mine. "That's it."
Her grip on me loosens marginally, her head coming to rest on my chest as her shoulders rise and fall as she struggles to relax. "Why are you so calm?"
"So you don't have to be," I answer, kissing her hair.
"I love you," she whispers, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her as closely as I dare at this point.
"I love you, too."
I feel some of the tension in her arms fade after a few long minutes, and she laughs a little. "You know one of the trickiest parts of this whole contractions business?"
"What's that?"
"It's not like your entire body just relaxes after one. So, your body goes all tense, and then the contraction ends, and it takes at least another minute if not longer for the rest of your body to feel safe enough to relax. So I know they want to time contractions from the end of the uterus-in-a-vice sensation to when it starts again, but…"
"It feels like they're closer? Is that what you mean? I mean, when you take into account all the rest of the sensations?"
She nods. "Yeah. I don't think my brain is functioning at capacity right now."
"It's just possible that your body is focusing its energies elsewhere right now." I link her arm through mine, steering her back in the direction of her room. "Let's head back for a little while, okay? Maybe we'll just walk around in the room."
"Okay," she answers, her voice small and tired.
We do take the long way back, taking our time, circumventing the waiting room. We're only a few feet from the room when she stops and looks at me.
"Another one?" I ask, and she nods as her mouth drops open, a yell falling out. Her knees buckle and I grab onto her elbows, trying to keep her upright. I try to calm her, but I don't think she can hear me over the yelling. I feel an overwhelming sense of helplessness—my wife is agony and I can do nothing to stop it.
I see the door to her room open and Dr. Rosen pokes her head out. "I thought I heard your dulcet tones."
And I thought I had bad timing with my quips. "Doc…"
But she's already holding Monica's hand, encouraging her to breathe, trying to relax her. Monica whimpers as the contraction passes, slumping against the wall as she pants.
"Bad one, huh?" the doctor asks; Monica gives her a look of death, but says nothing. "Let's get you back into bed for a while, okay?"
We go a couple of steps before Monica pauses again, a weird look on her face.
"What's wrong?" I ask, instantly alarmed.
"I think…my water just broke?"
"You think?"
"I hope that was my water, or else the entire family is in need of diapers."
The doctor steers us forward, guiding her to the bed; I help ease her into it while the doctor grabs a cloth and fresh pair of gloves. Her head disappears for a moment, then she wipes off Monica's legs. "Definitely your water. And, good news, you're one hundred percent effaced. You're dilated…about six and a half centimeters." Monica groans and the doctor tries to be encouraging. "That's good. That's progress. I know you're ready for this to be over, but babies come in their own time, in their own way. Everything looks good though, so I don't want you worrying about any of that." She peels off her gloves, giving her hands a quick scrub down. "What I want you to try to do, since you're not ready to push yet, is eat ice chips and try to sleep just a little."
Monica rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Right."
"I'm serious. I know it sounds impossible, and it may not happen much, but try. When a contraction ends, close your eyes and rest. If you focus on that part, you might surprise yourself. Chandler, I want you to help her. Rub her shoulders, her back, whatever she needs to relax. You need sleep, and since this baby wants to make itself know when you usually sleep, it's even more important that you try, okay?"
Monica nods, finally, and says, "I'll try."
"Good. The nurses and I will be back to check on you—unless something major happens or you dilate completely all of a sudden, we'll try to be quiet so you're not disturbed. Now close your eyes."
Reluctantly, she does, and I slide my arm around her shoulders, pulling her head into the crook of my neck. The doctor hooks up the fetal monitor then slips out of the room, and I kiss Monica's temple. "Just try, honey," I whisper, and I feel her sigh against me, her body relaxing marginally.
I play with her fingers, waiting for the next one to happen. I keep my eye on the clock, even though I don't really know how long ago the last one was. Amazingly, checking my watch isn't anywhere near my first priority when my wife is screaming in pain.
Somehow, against all odds, Monica does manage to sleep between some of the contractions. Aside from asking for ice chips or asking me to help her to the bathroom, she's mostly quiet when not crying out in pain. The medical staff flits through occasionally, checking the baby, checking Monica, silently mouthing the centimeters to me so I can keep tabs. About midnight, she stalls out around seven centimeters, her contractions steady at ten minutes apart.
This is torture.
I know it has to feel worse for Monica, but this is agony. She already looks so worn out; her face is coated in a fine sheen of sweat, and every so often I can see her belly sort of constrict.
Though that might be my imagination.
It definitely feels harder when I put my hand on it during a contraction, which makes sense.
Feels really damn weird, though.
I do my best to tune out Monica's cries, instead trying to focus on just helping her through it, holding her hands and keeping her calm.
It's not easy, but at least it keeps my mind off how nerve racking this whole thing is.
Time passes so slowly, and so quickly at the same time.
At close to four in the morning, after checking on Monica again, I get a happy thumbs up from the nurse, who whispers "eight" to me, and I feel a huge sense of relief. Finally, progress.
The contractions don't seem to speed up much, though, which is a little disheartening.
At four thirty, Monica stops trying to pretend to sleep.
"This is insane," she says, rubbing the sides of her stomach.
"It looks like you're moving along much faster than Rachel did, if that's any consolation."
"It would be, if Rachel hadn't been in labor for—what was it?—four, five days?"
I wrap my arms around her, giving her a little squeeze. "Something like that."
"Did you get any sleep?"
"Yeah, right."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry; there was no way it was gonna happen, though."
"Am I any farther along?"
"Eight centimeters."
She lets out a long sigh before shrugging. "That's something." She hunches forward, her eyes closing. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh."
I link my fingers through hers, letting her squeeze as much as she needs.
This time, she manages to take a few deep breaths without my prompting, but when she sits back against me, she has tears running down her face.
I barely refrain from asking if she's okay, knowing she's not. "You're doing great," I finally whisper, even though I know it's not enough. "I think that was a little closer than the last contraction." I look at my watch, surprised—they're down to about six minutes apart.
That kind of jump has to be a good sign, right? That, or my timing has been off and her contractions weren't as far apart as I thought.
I don't say anything to her, in case I'm wrong. Instead, I sing to her, tunelessly. "Moon river, wider than a mile. I'm crossing you in style someday."
She groans, chuckling a little. "The baby doesn't like when you sing to it."
"The baby doesn't, or Monica doesn't?"
"Definitely the baby. You know I love your singing voice."
I shrug, singing again—if it makes her laugh, if it distracts her, I'll do anything. "Dream maker, you heart breaker, wherever you're going, I'm going your way."
She laughs again, her voice mingling with mine. "Two drifters off to see the world—there's such a lot of world to see."
I kiss her cheek; she gives my hands a squeeze, and this time not because she's in pain.
"We're after the same rainbow's end, waiting 'round the bend, my Huckleberry friend."
She leans her head back and I kiss her gently, whispering against her lips, "Moon river, and me."
"I hope the baby doesn't mind how ridiculously cheesy its parents are," she says, shaking her head.
"Doesn't seem to bother the twins. We'll just be one big, cheesy family."
"I can live with tha—oh, God. Ohhhhhhhh! Owwwwwwww!" Her body hunches forward again as she groans out in pain—I vaguely see Dr. Rosen enter the room, but all she does is put her hand on Monica's leg and tell her to relax.
Her head falls back against my chest as she gasps, and the doctor assumes her position at Monica's feet. "Good news! You're at ten centimeters."
"But…she was just at eight less than an hour ago."
The doctor just quirks an eyebrow at me. "It can change that fast, Chandler. When the body decides that it's time, it's time. Let's get you to the delivery room."
The world around me feels like goes hazy all of a sudden as I slide off the bed; a few moments later, a gurney appears and Monica's being transferred from one to the other.
I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Monica yells out again, and they stop moving her for a moment, the doctor checking to make sure…I don't know, to make sure the baby's not falling out or something.
When we get to delivery, I help move Monica one more time and slide behind her; we decided early on that this was how we wanted it, so that we'd both see the baby at the same time, and so I can try to help her during this. The doctor checks her again—the contractions are getting closer, but she won't let Monica push.
"When?" I ask, desperate to get Monica out of this sort of pain.
"Soon," the doctor answers. "Unfortunately, babies don't punch a clock. We're kind of at their mercy."
"The end part's no fun," Monica moans. "I like the first part—let's go back and do the first part."
"You mean the actual making of the baby? Sounds good to me."
She laughs a little, and another contraction causes her to bunch up as she moans.
"I want you to push next time," the doctor says a few moments later.
"Really?" I've never seen Monica look more relieved or more horrified in her entire life.
"Yeah. It'll still probably take a while, but I want you to start pushing. You'll still have some time to rest in between them."
I swallow hard and grab the backs of Monica's legs, ready to pull them up when I need to. I can feel her heart pounding against my chest and I kiss her neck. "You can do this," I whisper. "You can do anything."
She nods and links her fingers with mine, ready.
The doctor and nurses make small talk, but I can't hear them.
All that matters right now is the woman in my arms.
It occurs to me that, this whole time we been in the hospital, I haven't heard Monica say anything negative. She hasn't said that she can't do it, she hasn't demanded the baby be removed by force, she hasn't even said, "no." She just grits her teeth and bears down, making noises that, to me, sound horrific, but I'm sure are fairly standard.
Maybe she's still afraid of jinxing it.
More likely, she's just that tough.
She truly is amazing.
I hear the doctor tell Monica to push and we pull up her legs as she grunts; I can feel the tension in her body as she strains until the doctor tells her to stop.
She leans against me, panting, waiting for the next one.
"I was kind of hoping that'd be it," I mumble in her ear, and she chuckles a little.
"You're an idiot."
I just nod, remaining silent. We both wait.
"Relax a little, Monica," the doctor says. "You've got a long way to go."
"Then why are you telling me to push?"
"Because the road can be even longer when you don't. Push at the next contraction."
A couple of minutes later, I feel Monica's body tense again and she leans forward, the noises coming out of her sounding more like a growl than anything else.
This is not a woman I'd want to mess with.
This whole thing feels like a vicious tease—Monica contracts and pushes, pushes with all she's got, and nothing. The doctor keeps telling her to push, and she doesn't seem at all worried about the fact that nothing is happening. And Monica just keeps going. She pushes when she's told to, she relaxes when it's time—she looks very focused, like an athlete in the Olympics.
And really, I don't know how else to describe it right now—this is the ultimate test of endurance.
She's magnificent.
She collapses against me as another contraction ends, and I grab a towel to wipe her forehead. I don't know how she's doing this; the contractions are only a couple minutes apart now.
"You're doing great," Dr. Rosen says, giving Monica an encouraging smile. "Don't push next time—give your body a break."
"I don't need a break," Monica gasps, and I know she means it, even if it's not true.
"Do it anyway."
"I want to push," she tells me, her voice small.
"I know, baby. I know. But give it a minute. Please?"
Her body constricts again, and I have to watch her fight against her body's natural instinct. "I still feel like I'm pushing," she grunts out through gritted teeth.
"The body does that," the doctor answers, not looking up. "It'll try to push the baby out no matter what—I just didn't want you to help it this time."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh. This feels worse than pushing. AUGH!"
"Breathe, Monica. Just breathe."
She gives me a dirty look over her shoulder, and I open my mouth helplessly. She takes a few deep breaths anyway.
"I just saw the top of the head," the doctor finally says.
Monica's eyes grow wide as we both exclaim, "WHAT?"
"It went back into hiding, but you're almost there. Hopefully with a few more pushes the baby'll be crowning."
"Only crowning?" I exclaim, and the doctor gives me a look and I close my mouth.
"Push next time, okay?"
Monica nods, getting her body ready for the next round.
She pushes, then she stops.
She pushes, then she stops.
It feels like an endless cycle.
This baby really is stubborn.
"Okay, STOP pushing!"
Monica gasps, her body nearly bent in half. "Why?"
"Your body needs a minute." The doctor reaches down, inspecting. "It's crowning. Want to feel?"
Monica and I exchange a quick horrified look before each reaching a hand down, letting the doctor guide us.
That is definitely a head-like shape. And it is definitely bizarre.
Monica pulls her hand away, grabbing onto me once more. "That's weird. That's weird!"
She starts to groan again, her body arching forward.
"Don't push."
"I can't help it," she moans, her body straining.
A minute later, her body droops against mine. "You're so close," I tell her, trying to be encouraging, not really sure how to be. All I can tell her is that she's doing a great job, and that doesn't seem like enough. "Great" doesn't seem like nearly enough.
A couple of contractions later, the doctor says, "Okay, Monica—on this next one, I want you to push like you've never pushed before. Give me everything you've got."
"That's. What. I've. Been. Doing," she growls.
"Give me more." I do enjoy how this doctor isn't the slightest bit intimidated by my wife, though I suppose she's delivered enough babies to know what expectant mothers are like.
"You can do it," I tell her, ready to pull her legs up again. She nods against me, her fingers tightening around mine.
"Push!" the doctor yells, and Monica lurches forward, her chin against her chest, her face turning red, silent as she uses her breath to push. Just as her face is turning dark, she opens her mouth, letting out a yell like I've never heard, her body shaking against mine.
"Stop pushing." The doctor grabs a little bulb thing and smiles at us. "The head's out. Just gonna clean the gook out of its nose and mouth, and then you can push some more."
"I still have to get the shoulders out?" Monica asks, her voice weary, her body even more so.
"After the head's out, the rest of the baby usually follows pretty easily. Just give us a minute to make sure this part is done."
Monica whimpers through another contraction, fighting off her body, knowing our child is right there and needs her to wait just a few more minutes. "Almost," she whispers to me. "Almost."
Dr. Rosen looks up at us finally. "I need another big push, Monica. You're almost there. Your baby's almost here. You ready?"
Monica nods, and I swear I see her get calm and collected, and even more determined.
This is it—the home stretch.
She takes a deep breath and leans forward; I grip her legs, doing my best to help. Her body starts to shake again as she pushes, strangled noises leaving her mouth every couple of seconds as she pushes, sweat pouring down her face. I see the determination start to fade from her eyes as she starts to lose juice before she grits her teeth once more, her mouth opening a second later as she screams, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."
An instant later, a weird, alien-like cry fills the room and Monica gasps for air. The doctor grins at us as she holds up the baby.
My mouth drops open; I can see Monica go slack-jawed, too.
It's our baby.
It's actually our baby.
Holy shit.
*A/N…one thing—it's tough to try to write the passage of time without making something drag on forever. Also, how do you describe something like this? Hopefully, it came across properly.
Another thing—seriously, there's no one out there who pressures me to write. All of you are wonderfully encouraging, but there's no pressure, so please don't worry about that. I pressure myself, but I'm aware of what I'm doing. The pressure is only in that I have a goal to write/post every day, mostly because it gives me focus, and until the last few months, that is not something I've ever been able to maintain. My only irritation with writing this was that I couldn't get it out fast enough for my liking, or to keep up with where I wanted it to go. You guys are great—so thanks!