As the date of our daughter's arrival draws nearer, I begin to get more and more afraid. Nightmares plague my nights, visions of a dead baby make my skin crawl. Most mornings, I'm begging Peeta to stay. He doesn't, though; can't because of work.
At two weeks to go, we get the all-clear from our doctor for a home birth. Peeta almost cries in the examining room, immediately calling my mother to let her know. She is a God-send, that woman, coming over daily to rub my feet, make lunch, do laundry, or just keeps me company. I swear her and Peeta are in competition to be the most excited and to dote on me most (I'm not complaining).
Everything is going according to plan, despite my nerves. Haymitch hasn't been near alcohol or coffee in a few days. Erin comes over after school some days to do homework or just to chat. For a week, we avoid the topic of Thom, but then the conversation becomes inevitable. She cries as she tells me her side of the story. When she tries to justify herself to me, I stop her. There's no need to explain why she did the right thing.
On Friday, Peeta leaves for work while I'm still in bed. He brings breakfast to me and kisses me twice before leaving – once on the lips and once on the stomach. I smile sleepily and by the time I hear the door shut behind him, I feel fully awake. Breakfast, again, is delicious.
Since I feel so heavy, I only get up to go sit on the couch downstairs. I'm just starting in on my second crossword puzzle when I feel an uncomfortable twinge in my stomach. At first, I think it's just a kick, but it lasts much longer, and isn't localized to one spot; it's all across my middle. My second thought is that I'm cramping and I've lost my baby. I jolt into action, grabbing the phone on the way to the bathroom. Luckily, I don't find any blood, but my phone conversation is becoming its own problem.
"Hi, you've reached Mellark Bakery. Unfortunately, no one is able to take your call at the moment. Please leave a message and we'll get back to you as soon as we can." My husband's voice on the voice mail message pisses me off. The machine beeps just as a stronger twinge moves across my stomach.
"Owww," I start my message. "Dammit Peeta! Answer your stupid phone. I need you to come home right now. I think I'm having contractions, and I need you." I forget to say goodbye before I hang up and call my mother. While the phone rings, I get a heating pad and sit back on the couch.
"Hello?"
"Mom, it's Katniss. I need you to come over right away. I think I'm having contractions, but I'm not sure," I explain, wincing.
"Right away. Hold tight." She doesn't say goodbye before she's gone either. The pain isn't too bad now, but I know it's only going to get worse. In anticipation of the discomfort, I change into old sweatpants and a t-shirt of Peeta's. When I get back downstairs, my mother is there in the kitchen making tea.
"How are you feeling?" She helps me sit on the couch.
"I'm okay for now. It's just a bit of pain when the contractions come. Otherwise I'm completely fine," I explain.
"Here, you should time each contraction," she says, handing me pencil and paper to keep track. "Is Peeta on his way?"
"No. I couldn't get ahold of him at the bakery, so I just left a message," I close my eyes tight and grip the edge of the couch. Immediately, my mother is there beside me, telling me to keep breathing, to focus on getting through the pain.
"Just imagine how much closer you are to having your baby every time it hurts," she instructs. I can't tell her how much that scares me though. I wish Peeta was here. He understands how I'm feeling emotionally right now. Just my luck, though, that we still can't reach him. My mother offers to walk to the bakery to get him, but the pain is increasing quickly, and I don't want to be alone. In the end, I agree to let her call Haymitch so he can go to the bakery for the father of my baby. In the meantime, I'm feeling so uncomfortable. When the contractions come, I don't even have the energy to be afraid; I can only think of how much it already hurts.
After a couple hours, my mother phones for another Healer to come and assist – as we've all agreed – and then she tells me that I need to take off my sweatpants and underwear so she can see how progressed I am. This makes me extremely self-conscious. Peeta and my doctor are the only people to see me down there. But this is my mother, I reason. She's seen all of me, too, no matter how modest I was growing up. She helps me undress my lower half, then pulls on a rubber glove.
"Okay, Katniss, you're not quite at four centimetres," she says, throwing the glove away. My body relaxes and then slumps at the news. Only four? I'll never make it to ten. Already the contractions are coming just minutes apart.
"Where the fuck is Peeta? Or even Haymitch?" I whine. A knock comes at the door and I sit up straight. My mother answers, but it's just the other Healer, Elisha. I don't bother trying to cover myself up. She'll be having a peek there soon, anyway.
"I'm sure Haymitch and Peeta are on their way now. Why don't you try and rest? Save some energy for later," she suggests, helping me lay down. I do close my eyes, but sleep doesn't come so easily. Eventually, I fall into a light sleep, waking up occasionally when the contractions hit suddenly. Every time I open my eyes, it's my mother who smooths back my hair, not Peeta.
When I can't sleep anymore due to the pain, Elisha checks me. I'm at five now, halfway there. I swear like a sailor with every contraction, cursing Peeta the most. But finally, just as I'm being told that I should get up and walk around, the front door flies open and there are Peeta and Haymitch.
"Oh, Katniss," Peeta comes to my side, helping me stand and pulling me into a hug. "I'm sorry I took so long. How are you feeling?" He asks gently. By this time, I'm sobbing.
"It hurts, and I'm tired, but I can't sleep," I take a rattling breath. "And I just want our baby safe in my arms." Peeta rubs my back while I hold onto him.
"I know, I know," he starts swaying side to side to help with the pain. "Keep breathing, in and out. Try to relax, everything will be fine." The next hour and half consists of Peeta leading me around the house, stopping when I have a contraction so he can whisper comforting words to me. Elisha and my mom offer me water, Haymitch stays in the background, observing. After two hours, they break my water for me. The gush from between my legs is warm, but relieving.
"Can I please lay down?" I beg Peeta who has been parading me around until I'm seven centimetres dilated.
"Sure, do you want to go upstairs to bed or just stay on the couch?"
"I don't care- oww!" I grab for Peeta and get a fistful of shirt. Patiently, Peeta loosens my grasp and lets me squeeze his hand instead.
"Let's bring her upstairs, Peeta. She'll be more comfortable," my mother says quietly. It takes Haymitch and Peeta supporting me on either side to get upstairs. I'm so sweaty and tired that I nearly fall into bed. My mother has already laid down towels to keep things clean for me.
"What can I do to make it better?" Peeta asks for the billionth time. And again, I just respond with: "Make it stop!" Unfortunately, Peeta can't – no one can – but he somehow does exactly what he should do. This time, he lays behind me and reaches his hand over to rub my stomach. In my ear, he whispers words meant for our daughter.
"Hi, baby. We're so excited you're on your way. Please come quickly and safely." I'm sobbing now, but from Peeta's words, not the pain. "Just three more centimetres and Mommy can start pushing."
Finally the time comes when the pressure is too much and my body starts pushing on its own. Peeta takes his spot beside the bed, holding my hand and wiping sweat from my forehead with a cold cloth. Everything feels unbearable. Haymitch stands on the other side of the bed looking a little pale through all of this.
My mother tries to explain what's going to happen now, telling me to pull my legs back when I push, and to push with the contractions. None of this gets absorbed, but Peeta listens. He holds one of my legs back and coaxes me to get the other one.
"Owww! Ow!" I start pushing before they tell me to.
"Good job, Katniss. A little harder," my mother and Elisha just watch me push. Apparently the bus can drive itself at this point.
I push for an hour before Peeta takes a look and tells me he can see the head. I've become so hot and sweaty that I've ditched Peeta's t-shirt and am now in just my bra. I'm exhausted and hurting. It feels like there's something wrong, but I can't stop pushing.
"You're doing great, honey. She's almost here," Peeta kisses my forehead. Even Haymitch says I'm doing a fantastic job. I push harder and harder, but don't feel my daughter coming down.
"I can't!" I exclaim loudly, leaning back against the pillows. "She's not coming out!"
"Yes, she is, Katniss," my mother prompts me to pull my legs back even more. "I promise she is. Just keep focused, okay?" I try, I really do. But something really feels wrong when I push. I try not to think of the placenta accreta.
"Hm, she's a little stuck," Elisha says. Peeta looks and I see him wince.
"Why? Is she okay? What do I do?" I panic. Haymitch and Peeta both try to comfort me.
"All you have to do is push harder. It'll hurt a little more, okay?" Elisha and my mother try helping me by stretching my cervix while I push. It hurts so much now that I scream, squeezing Peeta's hand. It takes one contraction before I feel the relief of having her head out.
"One more push should do it," my mother gets a blanket ready for the baby and I don't stop pushing until I feel her slip out of me.
Her cries are loud and music to my ears.
