23. Errol

Chapter 23

Errol

I had planned to take my paternity leave starting on my due date if our baby hadn't arrived before then. I was practical like that. My boss told me I could start two weeks earlier, but I kept saying, "No, it'll be fine."

Of course, I had been fooling myself. It wasn't fine. The last two weeks of work had been dreadful. Just getting up and down from my seat was a struggle. And pee breaks? I had about fifty-two million of those every shift. Finally, as my due date was upon us, Davien insisted that I take my leave.

I'd argued with him about it. I didn't want to lose too much time before the baby arrived—I wanted that time with them after they were born. Eight weeks wasn't a lot of time. That led to me breaking down in tears. Not little tears either. I was full-on sobbing. I'd have blamed it on the hormones, and I was sure they didn't help, but the truth was I didn't want our child to have what I had growing up. I wanted to be there and present when they needed me.

It didn't take long for us to realize there was only one solution that would work for all involved: quitting my job. We didn't have a mortgage, and his job was going great, so we could manage financially with no worries. We had already been putting a lot away in savings, so even if we had a sudden expense, we'd be set.

I'd never been so relieved in my life. I was ready—ready for this baby and to start a new life.

Shockingly, my boss was really understanding. He told me to use up my sick days first, then officially file my resignation. He even suggested that I come back for just one day to close things out when I was ready, to guarantee I got all my vesting. One day—I could handle that.

The first week of being home was rough. Not the part about not going to work—that was fine. My job had been about doing something I didn't mind and getting paid for it. It had hardly been a passion career.

All I really did at first was hang out with Grams. That I liked. But physically, I was struggling. My back was killing me. My belly seemed to enter a room three weeks before I did, and I was exhausted. I couldn't see my feet or even my dick. I was wearing house slippers everywhere because I could get my feet in them without any help. I was miserable.

The doctor had offered to induce me, but I didn't want that—I wanted to wait until the baby was ready to come. But after a week of waiting, I was ready. More than. At my next appointment, I pretty much begged the doctor.

"Get this baby out of me," were my exact words.

He laughed, which was not the correct response. I glared at him, and he quickly apologized, but there was still amusement in his eyes. Was I being hormonal? Probably. Was it objectively funny? Yes. But still… I was not amused.

He made an appointment for me to check in at triage the next day for an induction. The hospital didn't have any slots open until 7 PM, so I went home with Davien to get ready and wait.

But, of course, our baby had other plans. As I was walking around the block with Grams later that evening, my water broke. It felt like my baby and I were playing a game of chicken, and I lost. It was uncomfortable walking back with wet jeans. They were maternity jeans, but even with the extra room, they still felt awful under the circumstances.

The contractions weren't strong yet. I hadn't even pieced together that they had existed at first. I'd thought the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach was nerves. I was able to take a shower before we left, much to Davien's frustration. He wanted me at the hospital right away, but I assured him that the baby wasn't coming anytime soon—it would be a long process.

Turned out, I was wrong.

When we got to the hospital, the nurse took my vitals, checked me, and said, "Hmm," before walking out.

"Hmm?" I looked at Davien. "That doesn't sound good."

"No, it doesn't, but she didn't sound nervous, though." She'd actually sounded quite chipper.

"It was still weird." Especially the leaving without telling us why.

Grams had wanted to come with us to the hospital, and part of me thought it was a good idea. But then I realized that anyone in the room with me was going to get an earful, and she'd give it right back. That wouldn't be good for either of us. Instead, I promised her we'd call as soon as the baby came and she could be our first visitor.

The nurse came back in with another person who she didn't introduce and said, "We're just making sure your IV and epidural are all set, and the doctor will be in shortly."

Her tone was different than before. It held that overly cheerful customer service voice quality, which only made me more nervous. It was the kind they gave when you called to see if your new brakes were put in and they needed to tell you they found something expensive wrong with your car when they did it—that sickeningly sweet one meant to keep you from getting too upset when the bad news came.

Thankfully, the doctor came in soon after, because I'd been imagining all sorts of scenarios and that wasn't good for anyone.

"It looks like we're having a C-section." No saying hello or making small talk.

I didn't fully understand his explanation, and he spent most of his time directing the people who were coming in. From that point on, nothing out of anyone's mouth made any sense. I was too busy panicking. Davien held my hand and asked all the right questions—or I assumed they were because everything sounded like a Charlie Brown cartoon when he spoke to his teachers.

Next thing I knew, they were wheeling me into the OR.

Luckily, I was too confused to be scared. A minute after being transferred to the operating table, they started strapping my arms down and doing all the things that came with surgery, half of which I didn't fully grasp. Thank gods they had Davien come in right then, head to toe in surgery scrubs. I needed him.

My mate stood on my right, the anesthesiologist on my left. There was a big curtain up so I couldn't see what anyone was doing. It was weird, I could feel some tugs and pulls, but nothing close to pain. Our daughter's cries filled the room, and for the first time since the nurse walked out, I knew everything would be okay.

They placed her on my chest, and Davien put his hand on her back, since I still didn't have my arms to hold her while the doctors finished. They still had to do a lot of things before I could be moved into the recovery room, and then eventually, the room where we'd stay until it was time to go home.

The doctor came into my room to check on me shortly after we got there. That was when I learned the reality of what had happened—how the umbilical cord had started to come out first, and how we were on very borrowed time. He'd explained it all before, but this was the first time I actually heard it.

It was probably for the best that I didn't know earlier, because I didn't think I could have handled that kind of fear.

"You did so good, my love," Davien whispered, kissing my forehead. His eyes kept drifting back to our daughter. "How about next time we skip all the scary stuff?"

"Yeah, I'm on board for that," I said. Not that I was thinking about a next time anytime soon.

"We should probably call Grams." Our daughter was asleep in my arms. "She's going to be mad if she finds out we had all this adventure without her."

"No, I'm not," Grams said, walking through the door. I looked at Davien.

"I called her when they were wheeling you into recovery," he admitted. My mate was the best.

"Look at her," Grams gazed at our baby. "She looks just like me. Grams Jr.!"

"I think we're going to find a better name than that, Grams."

"What better name is there than Grams?"

Davien picked up our daughter and put her in Grams's arms.

"I was thinking Evelyn," I said. It had been Davien's idea, and I loved it.

"I was kidding. You don't need to name her after me."

"No, Grams." Davien put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "We've already decided. It's the perfect name for her. If it weren't for you, she wouldn't be here."

"So, you're saying my mooning an officer was a good thing?"

"That's exactly what we're saying." I laughed. "But maybe let's not do it again."