“I didn’t find out. You called her ‘a her’ and I went with it.”
Her eyes narrow and I swear the chuckle I’m holding in will burst out of me. Before she can say anything else, her face gathers at the brow, pinching in pain. “Andy, I want pain medication.”
It had been Cate’s idea to go without meds. I’d supported her decision either way. “Okay, let me see if Dr. Yancey is on the floor.”
I’m about to let her go when a man walks in as Cate continues to squeeze my hand like it’s an orange and she’s trying to make juice. The man holds a chart, but I don’t recognize him.
“Dr. Carter,” Cate says in surprise.
His face grows a smile at my wife in a way that says he’s familiar with her. “Mrs. Mercer, it’s good to see you again.”
I hold up a finger. “A moment.”
He glances up at me and I’m sure he’s dealt with plenty of fathers over the years.
“Sure.”
When Cate’s pain passes, I kiss her knuckles. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to step over here and talk to Dr. Carter.” I nod at the nurse and she steps over to reassure Cate while I confer with the good doctor.
Three steps and I stand to one side of the room with the other man. He gets the jump on the conversation to come.
“Dr. Mercer, your wife has nothing but great things to say about you. I’m sorry we haven’t met. Apparently, the two times I had the pleasure of seeing your wife, you had emergencies that kept you away.”
I take his proffered hand and shake it.
“Nice to meet you Dr. Carter. My wife mentioned you.” She had. She hadn’t said he was a he. Not that it should matter. I get to the heart of the matter. “Cate wanted to go without an epidural; however, she’s changed her mind.”
“I’m sure you know it all depends on how far along she is. Can you tell me about her contractions?”
I run down medically how labor began with her water breaking and what we did since that point. We’d opted to stay at home where I walked with her, rubbed her back and generally got her through the pain until this point. Last checked, I clocked the contractions at about five minutes apart and told him so. Although things had progressed on the drive over, she’d been so worried, I found myself talking to her instead of timing the pauses between her pain.
“As long as she’s not crowning, I can send the order for an Anesthesiologist to come down.”
“Andy, I think I need to push.”
Dr. Carter and I turn to see Cate. Her face is strained like she’s physically holding herself back. Frozen, we both watch as the nurse checks her.
“Dr. Carter, I think it’s time.”
He glances at me and I feel like an ass. He’s a doctor, not a pervert. I nod giving him permission to do his job as I quickly make my way over to Cate.
“It’s too late isn’t it?” she asks.
I give her my hand and push tendrils of hair off her forehead. “Let’s see what the doc says.”
Dr. Carter gives us the news. “Go ahead and push Cate the next time you feel it.”
And just like that, my gorgeous wife pushes our son into the world.
Over five years later, I steer my car through the streets of DC to get home. Traffic is ridiculous despite it being before rush hour. I’d hoped to be home by now. I pull into our Great Falls neighborhood in Virginia, just outside of DC. Our home is lit up and a smile forms on my face. When we first bought the place, Cate had been reluctant. I sold her on the safety of the neighborhood and good schools.
When I open the door, the real reasons for the large five bedroom house come running toward me.
“Daddy,” shouts my two and half year old daughter. Her blonde curls bounce as she wraps herself around my leg. I pry her off so I can toss her up and catch her, sending her into a fit of giggles. Her pink princess dress circles her before she lands in my arms. “Daddy, Dew called me a baby and said I need a labodomee. What’s a labodomee?”
I laugh for several reasons. One because she hasn’t yet mastered the word Drew, opting to call him Dew instead. Ethan had proved too much for her as well. Two, a lobotomy. I shake my head wondering where he hears this stuff.
“Ethan,” I call out. I had intended to ask my five-year-old about school. Instead, I will have to address his treatment of his sister.
My son with his dark hair so much like his mother’s is decked out in scrubs and carrying a doctor’s bag. He strolls around the corner as if all’s well in the world wearing a plastic stethoscope around his neck.
I bend down so we can talk man to man. “Ethan, let’s talk like men.”
“Then call me Drew, Daddy, just like Grandma calls you. I wanna be a man, just like you, Daddy.”
It’s hard to maintain my parental look. “Okay, Drew, did you call your sister a baby?”
His face changes to remorseful as I’m sure he knows he’s in trouble. “Emma cries too much and babies cry. So she’s a baby.”
I can’t argue with that logic and good thing my daughter who clings to my chest chimes in.