Not liking her words, I let out a frustrated breath through my lips and throw my head back against the pillow harshly.
“Try again, baby,” Andrew says softly, never losing his cool, even though every time I notice him look at the doctor I sense a hidden level of worry in his face.
I raise my back from the pillow again and try to push, but like usual I can’t really tell if I’m actually pushing or I just think I am. Andrew adjusts one arm behind my back to help me to stay upright, and I bear down and push again, shutting my eyes so tight that I feel like they’re being shoved into the back of my skull. My teeth are gritted and bared. Sweat beads off my forehead.
I yell out something inaudible as I stop pushing and am able to breathe again.
And I feel something. Whoa… it’s not pain—the epidural cured me of that—but the pressure of the baby I definitely feel. If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone just stuck something unnaturally large into my vagina. My eyes get bigger and bigger.
“The baby’s head is out,” I hear the doctor say and then I hear a gross sucking sound as she cleans the baby’s throat out with a suction bulb.
Andrew wants to look; I see his neck stretch out like a turtle, trying to get a better view, but he doesn’t want to leave my side.
“Just couple more, Camryn,” the doctor says.
I push again, putting even more effort into it now that I know it’s actually working.
She pulls the baby’s shoulders out.
I push one more time and our baby is born.
“You did great,” the doctor says while clearing the baby’s throat some more.
Andrew kisses my cheek and my forehead, and he wipes my sweat-soaked hair away from my face and the sides of my neck. A few seconds later, the baby’s cries fill the room with smiles and excitement. I burst into tears, sobbing so hard that my entire body trembles uncontrollably with emotion.
And then the doctor announces, “It’s a girl.”
Andrew and I can hardly take our eyes off of her until he’s asked to cut the cord. He leaves my side, but smiles proudly as he makes his way over and does the honors. He can’t seem to decide who he wants to look at more, me or our daughter. I smile and lay my head back down against the pillow, utterly exhausted. I can finally make out the clock on the wall. It tells me I’ve been in labor for more than sixteen hours.
I feel more pressure and prodding and tugging between my legs as the doctor does stuff that, quite frankly, I don’t want to know about. I just stare up at the ceiling for a moment, lost in my glimpses of the past nine months, until I hear our baby shrieking on the other side of the room and I raise my head again so fast I almost get whiplash.
Andrew stands by as one of the nurses cleans her up and starts to wrap her in blankets. He looks over at me and says, “She definitely has your lungs, babe,” and plugs his ears with his fingers. I smile and watch the two of them, trying not to think about that tugging still going on downstairs. And then Andrew comes back around to the side of my bed.
He kisses me on the lips and whispers, “Sweaty. Look like you just ran a marathon. No makeup. Hospital gown. And you still manage to look beautiful.”
And despite all of that, just the same, he still manages to make me blush.
I reach up, an IV running along my hand, and I cup his face, pulling him back down towards me. “We did it,” I whisper onto his lips.
He kisses me softy again, and then the nurse steps up next to us with our daughter in her arms.
“Who would like to hold her first?” she asks.
Andrew and I look at each other, but he goes to move to the side so that the nurse can give her to me.
“No,” I say. “You go first.”
Only slightly conflicted about it, Andrew finally gives in and reaches out to take her. The nurse places her carefully into his arms and steps away once she sees that he’s got a good hold on her. At first, he appears awkward and boyish, afraid he’s going to drop her or that he’s not holding her right, but he quickly becomes more relaxed.
“Blonde hair,” he says next to me, beaming, his green eyes glistening with a thin layer of moisture. “And a lot of it, to boot!”
I’m still so worn out that the most response I can manage is a smile.
Andrew looks down at her, touches her little cheeks with the backs of his fingers, and kisses her forehead. After a few moments, he places her into my arms for the first time. And the second I come face-to-face with my baby girl, I lose it all over again. I can hardly see through the thickness of my tears. “She’s so perfect,” I say, not taking my eyes off of her. I’m almost afraid to, scared that if I look away for just a second that she’ll be gone, or that I’ll wake up from a dream. “Perfect,” I whisper and kiss her tiny nose.
Andrew
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