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I sit by Pam’s belly and she turns and leans into me. I wrap my arms around her. I can feel the roundness of her belly separating us, linking us. Minutes before she was doubled over, panting, groaning in agony as another contraction hit her body like an eighteen wheeler. I sit and wonder—what have I done to her? Her hand is clenched in my, her face is beaded with sweat and tears. She clutches her belly again, gasps for air, and I wait for another wave to collide with her innards. But instead she smiles, so I smile. Pam pulls my hand under her strained hospital gown and I can feel the outline of our baby through her hot skin. I wait and wait, stroking the taunt skin of belly and then I feel the slightest of movements, and then… There it is! Our baby is kicking, and I know it won’t be long now.
The doctor comes in and checks Pam again. “Eight centimeters,” she coos. Pam nods, and her hands seizes her belly, moaning as another contraction sweeps her body. I look at the monitor and the lines continue to spike up and down. I sense the monitor is also catching my heart’s frantic palpitation. I whisper to Pam how wonderful she is and how much I adore her. God, I love this woman. She smiles and grimaces and I am numb by her strength. She is full with life.
Time passes and we’re in the homestretch. I’m scared, eager, anxious, and happy—I’m an emotional basket. Pam’s cheeks are flushed and it exudes warmth against my neck as she pushes again and again like a training drill. She has her back against my chest and her hands clutch my and our fingers fuse together. I’m tired. Pam is exhausted. Her head falls back on the pillow and she gasps, moans, groans in agony. Another push, another groan and them…. time stops. Pam is released.
A small cry pierces the room and my heart bursts into small pieces around the faint tile floor of the delivery room. Pam is crying, I’m crying. I kiss her and linger, linger, linger… I want her to know how happy she makes me feel. The doctor places our baby—yes ours, just ours, on her belly and Pam smiles touching his delicate, slippery velvet head. It’s a boy. His face is so pink and creased and his arms flutter blindly in the air. I take his tiny hand in my and my peripherals fire like the fireworks on the fourth of July. We made him. The totality of our love has been succumbed into this tiny human being. I’m wordless by the sheer fact of… everything.
Pam cradles our baby in her arms and as I lean over our foreheads touch. She smiles and I’m drunk with the overwhelming love I feel for her, for my son. “Thank you.” Is all I can muster to say because right now words are not enough.
Story Notes:
I should've been writting a term paper. But instead I decided to write this.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I should've been writting a term paper. But instead I wrote this.
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading.
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Ps. I'm still writing "Learning to Love Again." This was just something in the spur of the moment.
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Ps. I'm still writing "Learning to Love Again." This was just something in the spur of the moment.
Dedeen is the author of 20 other stories.
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