Five to seven minutes…

Safe

                       Safe 

          SAFE

Why is she making it so hard to keep them safe?!  

Why are we HERE?!

We should be home.

We should be with her family.

We should be with my family.

We should be at a hospital.

We should be anywhere but at work.

He wanted her to be at home, alone with him.

         Five to seven minutes…

When the contractions started around 4am, she assured him they were barely noticeable.  

Her due date was in two days, so it made sense they had started now.

All the books said labor can often start while you are relaxed and sleeping.  

They had stayed in bed, watching her belly, talking to their baby, preparing to welcome them.  

Jim had laid his head on her belly and talked to their little.  Sternly scolding that they needed to make this process as kind as they could to their mother.  Pam giggled as he gave the baby instructions how to exit her body, and that he would be ‘inspecting’ the path in one month for any damage and the bill would be presented to them upon their 18th birthday. 

When the next contraction didn’t come until 5:30, she had insisted on going to work.  She wanted to save all her time off for after the baby arrived.

Okay

Let her feel safe.

If she wants to make sure she has more time later, we will go to work.  Work is closer to the hospital by three minutes anyway.  She promises they will go to the hospital when the contractions are closer together.  Five to seven minutes is what the books say.  

But there is NO WAY she is standing in the shower herself.  What if another contraction comes and she falls?  

Thank you God.  She is open to my help.

         Five to seven minutes…

Shave her legs, apparently the hospital staff will care about that while she is spread open and pushing a human being out of her body.  

Shampoo & condition her hair, you betcha.

Scrub her whole body, focus on her back & legs because she can’t reach them now, hold her up when her thighs start to cramp.

Help her dry off.  Use her favorite lotion, kiss her repeatedly, remind her how much you love her.

Stand behind her while she insists on doing her hair.  Every woman should apparently care about hair and makeup while in labor.

Help her get dressed, touch and check every inch of her again for signs of…  of what…?  You think there is some digital countdown clock like microwave popcorn that will illuminate from her skin?

Pam looks so calm.  

She is a liar.

On the outside she is calm, but she knows when he is looking at her… she tries to hide the facial expressions that tell him she is over-thinking.

But she insists she is fine.

If nothing else, the last eight months he has recognized when he can and cannot argue with her through reason.  

         Five to seven minutes…

She will eat breakfast, good.  She needs some calories in her.  Everything he has heard from friends and birthing coaches is what she is about to do is a goddamn marathon worth of work.  Feed her.  

Scrambled eggs with spinach… check.

Toast… check.

Bacon… yuck.

Herbal tea… check.

Kevin will feed her again in two hours.  She had really come to enjoy her snack/meals with Kevin.  And, weirdly, Kevin didn’t make any of it sexual innuendo. 

Time to go to work.

         Five to seven minutes…

He watches her through the morning, sucking in breaths, trying to hide the contraction pains.  

Closer together.

Well under an hour now….hell, we are under a half hour apart now…

She promised ‘five to seven minutes’ and here we are… negotiating with a promise to leave at five minutes.

She holds her back, crutches over and I am supposed to just watch.  Because I can’t touch her, I can’t wrap her up in my arms and force her to accept my help.

I am just supposed to sit here.

I am supposed to work.  

I am supposed to sit idly by as if my wife is not in whole-body pain and my child is trying to squeeze its way through her.  

Go AWAY Michael.

         Five minutes…

I don’t want him here.

I don’t want US here.

I don’t want to be watching everyone pay attention to her while I am supposed to ignore her.

I want to be sitting behind her, in our bed, while we watch silly TV and I rub her back through contractions.  

I don’t want to be sitting in a conference room while Andy gives a shitty performance of Dance Dance without music.  

         Five minutes…

I want to pick her up and put her in our car and go home or to parents houses or to a park even… anywhere but the office. 

I don’t want to be here.

She is holding my hand, crushing it in pain.  And in front of these goddamn cameras I have to pretend it doesn’t bother me or worry the fuck out of me.  

I have to pretend that it is totally normal I can’t have private, loving time with my wife as she labors for our child.

I cannot sit still when they start talking about how to slow labor.  Meredith running out of the room for a nipple-less shirt.  I feel a jerk in my spine, shooting me straight up when Kevin suggests sticking things inside my wife’s ass.  

What the fuck.

This is NOT how our baby should be born.

         Five minutes…

We should be home.  Together.  Talking and preparing and supporting one another.  

I shouldn’t be alone at my desk, not touching her and monitoring her.

I shouldn’t be in the hallway, freaking out with birthing books and a goddamn camera crew in my face.

“Five to seven minutes……. Five to seven minutes……. Six minutes, different, but not really…..” 

I gotta get out of here.  Everyone in here is making me crazy.  I want to kidnap her out of here and she won’t let me.

Angry, frustrated and out of options.  Go sit in the car, don’t upset her.

         Five minutes…

Try sitting in silence.

    Definitely no

Try listening to music.

     Nope.

Try calling dad.

     Not answering the phone.

She’s going to be fine.

They are going to be fine.

         Five minutes…

A girl……

A little baby girl….

Her water….       WHAT?!?!?!?!

         Five minutes…

Fucking UltraFeast… Fucking Kevin…. 

We need to GO….

She promised… five minutes…

Promised….

Please, baby, don’t be scared.  

Don’t be scared, you got this.  

You can’t be scared because I am fucking petrified.

         Five minutes…

TWO MINUTES…. WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!

Get her to the car, get her to the car, get her to the car….

I don’t even care that Michael is going to drive, get her to the car…

Hours and hours and hours

                                                     ….teal teapots....

Dear God, you are so incredible.

Does she have any idea how in awe I am of her every single day?

Breathe baby… just breathe… she will be here soon…

I am right here.  

                                                     ….rooftop picnics….

Squeeze my hand, break it if it helps, I learned how to diaper one handed from both hands.

Come on babe, let’s walk a little.  Maybe gravity will help get her moving.

How much more can she take?  Ten hours….

                                                     ….stolen kisses….

Babe, you are so amazing… I wish you knew just how incredible you are…

Another check.  Another not ready from the professionals.

How many people are going to stick their hands in there?!

We got to two minutes apart over ten hours ago….

She is so tired.  I have never seen her so exhausted.  You need to rest, let me rub your back.

                                                     ….are you free for dinner….

If I could take any of this pain away from you I would.

Breathe.  Breathe.  

How can she make it through this.  Every contraction… she is in so much pain.

                                                     ….more socks….

Come on… she has to be ready….

Eighteen hours…. Please, God, this can’t last much longer….

                                                     ….meet me at the exit 17 rest stop ….

Someone, anyone, a janitor for Heavens sake… come in here and check her and tell her she can push.

                                                     ….how I feel when she walks in a room….

Her body just can’t take anymore.  

She is so tired, can’t rest, can’t sleep.

                                                     ….she made a sale….

You can do this my love, my everything.

Come on, just a little more.

                                                     ….we are having a baby…..

Time to push.  

                                                     ….mental picture…..

Arm behind her back, is that all I can really do?!

Kiss her head.

Whisper words of love.  You are right… I don’t yell.

                                                     ….perfect end to a perfect day…..

Tell her how amazing she is.

Yep? I can shut up… 

Okay, yes, I will keep talking.

“I love you Beesly… you are doing so amazing… bring our little girl to us, you’ve been a little selfish with her the last nine months, I think it’s time for dad to carry her a while… come on love…”

Her whole body shining with sweat and exertion.  

Watching every muscle in her legs and neck, every uncovered inch of her straining….

“Come on baby… so close… you are so incredible… I love you so much…”

Scream all you want for both of us my love. 

Oh….

Oh wow…..

Look at her… 

Look at them….

They are so beautiful….

                                                     ….you are everything…..