"San, you okay in there?" I can hear her dry heaves through the closed door, so I'm not sure what prompts me to ask this. I grab a ponytail holder from the counter and slide in behind her. Her fingers have a white-knuckled grip on the edges.
"I think I'm having contractions," she attempts around a gag as she catches her breath. A whimper breaks her voice, but she sighs when she feels me lifting her hair off her sweaty neck.
"When did they start, San? Why didn't you tell me you were hurting?" I cringe as the question comes out before I can stop it. The last thing I want is for her to think I'm upset.
"I didn't want to interrupt game night. Fuck, B, it really hurts."
"Shh, baby. I'm right here. Come 'ere," I whisper as I bring Santana against my front as tightly as I can. I mimic a pattern of breathing for her to imitate, to focus on. Her hands are shaking, searching for something to ground herself. She squeezes once my hand slips into hers, her fingers flexing against the counterpressure my hand provides.
"Britt," the whine comes out in a gasp, and I have to grit my jaw to keep the tears out of my voice.
"Breathe, baby. You can do it," I breathe into her ear, caressing her cheek with one hand, my other hand providing continuous pressure. "Has your water broken yet?"
"No, the contractions just started," she whispers as she lays her head back on my shoulder, humming as my hand sweeps the hair from her face.
"Do you want to lie down, or go sit with them in the living room?" I ask quietly, placing a kiss against her hairline.
"I don't want to worry them," her answer is shaky as she tucks herself further into me.
"I think they'd be more worried if they didn't get to help us through this. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, not even for a second," she nods at this as she rides through another contraction, her hand trembling in mine as she bites back the groan.
We take our time to breathe before she moves to the sink. Her hands are still a little shaky and she struggles with the toothpaste. She sounds defeated when she asks in a huff, "Britt, I'm shaking too much for this. I'm gonna get toothpaste everywhere."
It's what she dislikes most in the entire world—having to ask for help with things she's worked her entire life to do independently. She defeatedly hands me her toothbrush and toothpaste, her hands kneading her lower back as she waits. I press a kiss against her cheek as she brushes and I leave her be to process the anxiety that asking for help manifested.
"Q, my move is totally, without a doubt, one hundred percent bullet proof. You play this move and you'll win every time!" I hear Rachel exclaim, evidently trying to convince her girlfriend she's right.
"Whatever you say, sweetie." Quinn says through a giggle, which makes me giggle. They look up from their game when they hear me laughing.
"Who's winning?" I ask around a laugh as I nod toward the game.
"I am," Rachel sounds serious, but the squeal Quinn lets out as she pokes her side tells a different story.
Quinn's laughter evens out as she looks past my shoulder at Santana making her way down the hall.
"Everything okay?" Quinn asks sweetly as she watches Santana take slow, careful steps.
"I'm having contractions," Santana murmurs through a half smile.
Rachel squeals quietly and giggles into her hands.
"Finally! We've been waiting for this debut forever," Rachel exclaims in all her loving glory and I can't help but to nod, because she's right.
"They're a week late— they better make their debut," Santana's huffy and uncomfortable and I hate that there's nothing I can do.
Quinn is already reaching for her phone as she nods in my direction, "I'm going to see when they want you to come in, San."
She starts with a response which turns into a hiss when another contraction sneaks up on her. Doctors and nurses have been by our sides every step of the way, but no amount of reassurance and scans and breathing practice has prepared me for seeing her in this kind of pain.
She grunts and gestures to her back, "I'm feeling everything here."
"Deep breath, baby. There we go," I whisper as I roll my palms gently into Santana's lower back. She grips the edges of the kitchen island, attempting to push her back into her my hands harder.
"It's not going away," she whines and rolls her head back.
"Would you like to go ahead and go to the hospital, San?" I try my hardest not to worry, but I'm failing miserably.
"The doctor says they want you to come in when the contractions are every four minutes, or if you water breaks," Quinn's voice is melodic and soothing, "you should change your position, San. Let's get the pressure off your back."
Rachel, almost comically, gasps and shoots off the couch. I can hear her trying to get the birthing ball down the hallway. With just a few crooked picture frames along the way, she manages to get it to the living room with a resounding, "Ha!"
Quinn is stifling her laughter with a hand under her nose and has to wipe a tear when Santana asks, "the ball?"
We manage to gather ourselves after a while and I guide Santana to the ball and wait for her to find the most comfortable position. She rolls the ball closer to the couch so that she can brace herself as she sits. I only help long enough to keep the ball steady. She sighs in relief as she leans against the couch, her hips rocking gently back and forth.
"What do you need, baby?" I ask gently as I guide her swaying movement.
"Just you," she whispers, leaning her head against the arm she lays flat on the cushion.
"I'm not going anywhere," she hums in response to the way my palms soothe the pain in her back.
Feeling the need to support her best friend in any way she could, Rachel worked on preparing the house, keeping it as calm and soothing as possible.
After a while of soothing the back aches, Santana asks me to help her up, taking Quinn's suggestion of walking. She turns to wrap her arms around my shoulders and presses her face into the juncture of my neck and shoulder.
"You're okay, baby. Has the pain moved?" I wince, briefly, at the way she startles at my whispers.
Her fingers comb the baby hairs back behind my ear as she soothes my guilt, and I can't help but reminisce on the journey that lead us to this moment. It's a journey that started in the early morning pinks and oranges of dawn, much like so many of our moments.
"How are you feeling about today?" Her voice is tender and attentive, but there's a sadness in the way her hands hold my shirt.
I remember the way her hands trembled and the tear that rolled down the bridge of her nose. I remember the way it scrunched as I kissed her between the eyes. I remember thinking that my anger wouldn't do us any good.
"I'm angry," I sigh and she tenses, "but, Dr. Abbott said that there are no indications that pregnancy or delivery would have any negative effects on your eyes or your health. I know they shared really scary stories, but she's scanned your brain and your eyes. She said your optic nerves are stable and can withstand the pressure of pushing. If we need to have a c-section, we will. But we have every opportunity for a healthy delivery"
She's tensing against me as another contraction starts, but I can't help smiling. We'd come so far to get to this moment and the tenseness in her muscles right now are vastly different from the kind that caused her so much pain that night—
"The doctor said CPS is involved with one in four of families like us. He said blind mothers have had their rights terminated. He said it would be easier for you to carry, and it's really hard, right now, for me not to agree, Britt!"
"You're going to be an amazing mom, San," she sighs at this, but I continue, "we're going to find the perfect doctor for us. I know that you're questioning a lot right now, and I could never pretend to know exactly what this feels like for you. But you're going to be so amazing. You are so amazing. Our child is going to be so loved and they're going to know how hard they were fought for, how hard you fight every day." My voice cracks and she nods vigorously against my chest, her tears seeping into the fabric of my shirt.
"We're really going to do this, aren't we?" Her words come out in a rushed whisper and I can't help but to laugh as I bring her lips against mine.
"I think we need to go to the hospital, Britt," her sudden announcement brings me out of the memory. There's a slight sheen of sweat in her hairline and I can tell another contraction is following on the previous one's heels.
"I'll get Quinn to call Dr. Abbott and then I'll pack the car," she wipes some sweat from her brow with the heel of her hand and murmurs in agreement.
We both chuckle a little when Rachel comes through with an armful of bags and manages to open the front door.
"You guys head that way and we'll be there shortly," Quinn whispers around the phone receiver, "Dr. Abbott says she'll stand by, and says to tell you that you're going to do great, San!"
Aside from one painful contraction and some groaning that could rival her singing voice, the drive to the hospital is pretty uneventful. She's breathing heavily as I pull the car into a spot and park, her knuckles tight around the grab handle. She moves to unbuckle herself when I turn the engine off.
"I'm not sure if I want my cane or not, B," she's a little shaky and I can hear it in her voice.
"I'll grab it just in case, baby. You okay to walk or do you want me to get a wheelchair?"
She refuses immediately, adamant about walking, as she braces herself on my shoulders and stands. We get a few surprised looks as people take in her cane. My arm is curled around her back for balance and her right hand has a tight grip on my mine. Her doctor rounds the corner and smiles gently in our direction.
"Hi, Santana and Brittany! We have a room set up and I just got off the phone with Dr. Abbott. Ready?" We had a rough start, but we ended up finding the perfect doctor.
"Uh huh," it comes out as a squeak and the doctor gives us a moment to breathe before guiding us to our room.
Rain starts to pitter patter against the window in almost the same pattern as the water I trickle down her back. I'm not sure how much time has passed, but dark hair has fallen out of the bun I tied and rocking of her hips doesn't seem to be relieving the back labor. I ease the hair plastered against her face away from her eyes, scooping her hair back up into a tighter bun.
"Thank you," her voice is strained and tired as she tenses and groans openly into the room. Her nurse had checked her not too long ago and said it would be a while, and that was no exaggeration.
She transitioned from the bed to the tub after the back pain caused her to be sick, but it hasn't helped. We even tried the birthing ball for her hips, but that hasn't helped either. Her contractions moved to her back and they haven't eased since. She swears she can't do it, but I swear she's the strongest woman I have ever met.
There's a gentle tapping of knuckles on the door as it opens slowly, and Clara, the nurse with a soft, gentle voice comes in carrying a contraption I'm not quite sure what to call.
"Hi, Santana. I have a birthing bar here. I was thinking we could connect it to the bed and we can try to stretch some of this back pain out. Are you up for that?"
"Yes, please," the relief in her voice and the strain with which she stands and leans into me makes me tear up.
"The bar is set up at a slight incline forward, and what you'll do is hold onto the horizontal bar, squat, and let gravity drop your hips," she's kind as she explains, allowing San to figure out the position on her own. She checks her temperature and oxygen levels before leaving us to take in the rain and thunder.
"How does it feel?"
"So good, Britt," I have to stifle some laughter that I'm sure she hears anyway.
She leans to the side, her cheek resting against her arm, and I can't help but to lean up and steal a kiss. She smiles into it before gasping. It scares me and I think she's having another contraction, but she suddenly whispers, "I'm naked, B!"
"You are," she huffs at my attempt to flirt, but laughs lightly into my lips. "Would you like your gown?"
"Please," her voice is strained and startled by a sudden contraction, "Wait, don't go!"
"I'm right here, baby," she lifts her head up as I crawl onto the bed in front of her. I catch the bead of sweat trailing her jaw with my thumb, caressing there as she leans into the touch. Her thighs tremble as the tendons in her neck strain, her breaths getting stuck in the middle of it all.
I'm not sure who lays down first or how long we lay there or how many contractions come and go, her hand holding mine tightly to her chest, before she says she feels pressure.
"Really? You think this is it?"
It takes a few tries and breaths to get her response out as I brush a few stubborn hairs from her face, "Can you let everyone know we're close, and they should head this way?"
"Okay," I whisper against her forehead before getting up to find my phone. San presses the call button as I send them the first text.
San is close. You guys should head this way…
Really?! Okay, we're loading up now. Is there anything you want us to pick up? Parents and Abuela are here, too.
I think I'm okay. They're checking her now, but she feels pressure.
We'll be there soon, B. You're gonna do great. Both of you.
"They're heading this way, babe," she hums in response as Clara knocks gently.
"How are you feeling, Santana? I'm going to lift the blanket to check, okay?" She's patient and kind and waits for San to give her the go ahead.
"There's a lot of pressure," her voice is shaky but Clara hums and reassures us this is normal.
"Did the pressure get worse after your water broke?"
"Mmhm," San's response trails into a gasp and a whine, "almost immediately."
We count San through the contraction and let her catch her breath before continuing, "I'm going to go get the team and then I want you to give me some practice pushes, ok? You're ready; you're doing so great!"
She brings my hand up to her mouth, placing a hard kiss on it, before whispering, "We're going to be moms, Britt."
I can't help the cry that escapes and I lean into the hand she lays against my cheek. A knock on the door brings us out of our moment, and I get butterflies, "I love you."
"Hi, ladies! Are we ready? It's just me and Olivia. She's going to monitor the machines and be an extra hand if needed," Clara explains as she sets up the bedding.
"There are a few positions you can choose from, and I'll show you each one," Olivia is calm and patient and I will never be able to thank this team enough for what they've done for us.
"I want you to prop your legs up with your feet touching, and then I want you to drop your knees out to the sides," she's gentle in her guidance, "how does this feel?"
Santana tenses before she can respond and bites out, "Oh my— I need to push. I'm sorry!"
"You're okay, honey. Push!" The nurses count her through the cycle before guiding her to release her breath.
"I don't feel grounded enough," I can tell she's feeling panicky and disconnected, so I cradle the back of her thigh in a tight grip and wipe the dark hair from her face with my free hand. Olivia takes my lead seamlessly with her other leg.
Her grip on my hand rhythmically loosens and tightens in time with her heaving chest as she works to ground herself. She's so beautiful in this moment, always, but especially now.
"I'm right here, baby," I whisper, realizing Clara and Olivia have been here with us the entire time. They're waiting with an unrivaled amount of patience, ready and encouraging.
"I want you to tuck your chin against your chest and bear down," she encourages, "We're going to try for as many pushes as possible for one contraction."
Santana follow's her body's instincts and curls into the next contractions. We get to eight before her push fades into a groan.
"You got this, baby," I can tell she's frustrated that she didn't make it through the full count.
"Brittany's right! Take a deep breath and curl in."
Olivia cheers softly from Santana's right side as we get to ten, "You got this, Santana! Take some breaths, okay?"
Santana groans openly on the next push and a bead of sweat rolls down off her chin and dampens her gown.
"Doing so good, San," I'm not sure if she hears me over the roar of her heartbeat, but her grip on my hand gets tighter.
"I see hair, Santana! Lots of dark hair!" Santana laughs through the next push, which causes me to laugh.
I manage around a sobbing laugh to look down and see beautiful, dark tufts as she begins to crown, "Oh, my god, San! Our baby!"
Santana sobs through the next push and grips my hand like a lifeline, "Fuck!" Her chest heaves as the curse leaves her lips in a tumble of gasps and moans.
"Such a beautiful face, Santana! One more good push when I say, okay?" Clara clears our baby's nose as Santana struggles not to push. They look at me to give her the go ahead.
"Push, baby!"
It only takes a count of six before we hear the rush of fluid and Santana moans in relief.
"We have a baby, Santana! You did it!" At the shrill, beautiful sound of first cries, her hand lets go of mine and grips my shirt as I press my forehead against hers.
"Here he is, mommies!" Clara lays our son directly onto San's chest as she gently wipes the fluids from his eyes and mouth.
Her hands, always so strong and sure, are confident as one cradles his head and the other braces his back. And I can't help but to sob into the kiss my wife presses into my lips. Our son's tiny hands flail, and when Santana presses a kiss into the one that lands against her lips, I am so overwhelmed by the surreal realization that this is how our life was always meant to be.