He shrugged. “That’s a little better.”
“Porter! Stop it! This is serious!” I squealed. I pointed down to the sheet. “That’s not pee!” Now he laughed, beautiful joy shimmering all over his face. I heard big belly laughs and saw his gorgeous smile. It was contagious. I started laughing too. At first, just small spattering laughter. Then it grew into the kind of laughter that made your eyes water, laughter that bent you in half and made you grab your stomach. My stomach was huge, but it still shook heavily with laughter. Then I laughed even harder as more fluid trailed down my legs. The whole situation was hilarious.
But then all the hilarity ended when my stomach was ignited in hot fire as I experienced my first honest-to-goodness contraction.
“Oh holy shit,” I said as I grabbed my belly, wincing in pain. Porter had no jokes about language as he flew to my side, instantly alarmed by my discomfort.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, panicked.
“Contraction,” I managed to utter, still clutching my belly. The pain started very low, but shot out and felt like my entire belly was in a vice grip. It lasted forever, or about thirty seconds, which in labor time is forever. When it was over I took a few deep breaths to stop myself from vomiting and then stood up. “That was terrible. I thought they were supposed to get worse as labor progressed, not start off so painful you wish you were unconscious.” I looked at Porter for answers, but his face looked pale and confused. He would obviously not be offering me any labor advice at the moment.
“Maybe . . .” he managed to speak. “Maybe you are really good at labor and skipped the easy part.”
I laughed, forgetting the pain I had been in just minutes before. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said through giggles.
Three hours later I was no longer laughing at Porter. It seemed as though he’d been partly correct is his assessment of my situation. I was really good at labor. Within an hour of my contractions starting they were four minutes apart and I was in some serious pain. Pants were pointless because with every contraction I leaked even more fluid and couldn’t stop chanting “Ew, that’s gross,” through each one. We did the stereotypical speeding car race to the hospital as I was sure the baby was going to fall right out of me. This was pain like I had never experienced.
You could imagine my surprise when, after arriving at the hospital and making quite a fuss about how I was going to give birth right there in the emergency room, I found out I was actually only dilated three centimeters. That’s right, seven to go.
“Are you sure?” I asked the nurse with her hand shoved uncomfortably up inside me. “Can you check again?”
“I am checking, Honey, and you’re only at a three, maybe three and a half.”
Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t rob a woman of that half a centimeter.
They hooked me up to monitors and that was, by far, the best part—getting to listen to the heart beat all the time. It was a soothing sound, however, it did nothing to make the pain go away.
Porter tried his hardest to make me feel as comfortable as possible, and in return I tried my hardest not to physically harm him. The contractions came and I turned into a woman I had never met before. I swore. I yelled. I was just plain rude. But when the contractions went away I apologized and promised to be better during the next one.
It was a vicious cycle of pain and lies. It hurt more every time and I never got any nicer. Eventually on a down swing, I told Porter that I wouldn’t hold it against him if he left me.
“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I don’t know why I’m being like this. I wouldn’t want to stay with someone like me. You can go, in fact, I insist. I don’t deserve you.” I blubbered. I had come unhinged.
“Baby,” he said sweetly as he brushed the sweat-soaked hair from my forehead, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re doing great. I love you and you’re not doing this without me. You swear at me and call me names all you want. I promise I won’t hold it against you when all of this is over.” His words just made me cry harder. He was a saint. “Now, Ella, don’t get upset, but what do you think about getting some pain meds?” He looked as if he was waiting for me to smack him upside the head.
“We said we were going to try to do it naturally . . .” I whined. We had a plan. I wanted a peaceful, calm, productive labor. Ha.
“Baby, you’re doing so well, but I think maybe it would be good if you got just a little help with the pain.” He ran the back of his fingers down my cheek and I leaned into him. Pain relief sounded wonderful, but admitting that was breaking my heart. I had wanted so badly to do this right.
“There is no right way to have a baby, Ella,” he said, reading my mind. “You’ve put in a lot of work, but maybe your body is trying to tell you that it needs a little help.” He kissed my brow.