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Archer knows exactly what to say to pump me up. That my parents are waiting, that Gage and Marina are going to stop by in the hopes that they see the baby, spurs me on. “Yes.” I struggle to sit up and he helps me. I’m bent forward, my knees pointed toward the sky, my legs spread wide for God and everyone to see, and I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and push with all my might.
This is it. I gotta make this happen. I’m tired, and my baby needs to be in my arms.
Within seconds I feel the baby spill out of me. That’s what it feels like at least. A baby just slipped right out of my body and ended up in the doctor’s hands.
“It’s a boy,” he declares just as a piercing cry fills the room.
“I knew it,” I mumble as I watch Archer look at his son for the first time.
“Cut the cord,” the doctor encourages, and Archer does, looking like he’s in a daze as the doctor hands me my baby. I’m crying, cuddling the baby close to my bare skin. I bend over him and sniff his damp head, feel his little face root against my chest like he’s looking for a nipple already.
Greedy little thing. Just like his father.
“A boy.” Archer settles his hand over our son’s head, his palm covering it entirely. His tone, his expression is full of awe and disbelief. He lifts his head, his gaze meeting mine. I see tears glimmer there and that spurs my tears on, until the both of us are smiling and crying and cuddling our baby close.
“He’s beautiful,” I say.
“Like his mama,” Archer agrees, solemnly. “Thank you, Ivy.”
“For what?”
“For giving me a son.”
“You had a hand in it too.” I smile and stroke our son’s downy soft hair. The nurse will take him soon to clean him up, so I need to cherish this moment for as long as I can.
“What are we naming him?” Archer asks.
I tilt my head, contemplating him. “Didn’t we talk about this already?”
“Well, yeah.” Archer shrugs, his gaze dropping to our baby once more. “But a woman is allowed to change her mind.”
“You mean that? Okay, I want to name him Oscar then,” I suggest.
Archer grimaces. “Hell. No.”
“Pauly.”
“Gimme a break.”
“Jeffrey.”
“That name is just... no.” Archer shakes his head.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes, cradling my son close as I stare down at him with wonder. My fingers drift across his cheek, caressing his tiny little rosebud lips as I murmur, “Welcome to the world, Jackson.”
We’ve been discussing names for months, arguing back and forth. One of us would come up with a suggestion we loved just as the other would shoot it down with both barrels. It became a point of contention, made worse because we didn’t know what we were having, but I wouldn’t budge on finding out early.
It was kind of fun, keeping it a surprise, though deep down inside I knew Jackson was a he. We kept going round and round with girl names but looks like that didn’t matter. A few weeks ago, we agreed on Jackson as a name if he was a boy, and I loved the choice.
So did my husband.
Jackson Archer Bancroft has a nice ring to it.
Archer scoots closer to us, sitting on the edge of the bed as he reaches out and strokes the baby’s cheek just like I did only moments ago. “Welcome, little man. We’re glad to finally meet you.”
Turning, I lean in and kiss my husband’s cheek, overwhelmed with love for both of these men in my life. “I love you,” I whisper. “So much.”
“Love you too, babe. More than you’ll ever know,” he murmurs.
