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“Um-hmm.” I grimace as another wave of intense cramping rips through me.
The pain is so intense that I feel almost detached from my body. Despite all the Lamaze and birth pain tolerance classes we’ve attended, nothing could have truly prepared me for the torment I’m enduring now. This is the ultimate reality check. I was told that Randy and I would be a team during this time, that I would need to rely heavily on him to coach me to the point where I could receive treatment to alleviate my agony—at four centimeters dilated. Until then, I need to trust that Randy remembers our training. Otherwise, all our preparation will have been for nothing.
Thankfully, his head is in the game, and he gets us to the car. As each contraction hits with brute force, he is there, reminding me to breathe deeply and focus on thoughts far removed from the pain.
As I grip the car seat tightly, my thoughts drift to the happier times since Randy and I officially became a couple. We’ve gone on so many dates that some might consider it over the top, but Randy wanted to compensate for all the times he held back from asking me out. Each memory serves as a brief escape from the relentless agony, reminding me of the happiness and love that balance out these challenging moments.
“What’s on your mind besides what you’re feeling, babe?” Randy asks gently, careful not to mention the pain directly, as we agreed he wouldn’t use the “P word.”
“Our dates,” I manage to say, my voice shaky from the contractions.
“Tell me about them,” he encourages, trying to distract me.
I take a deep breath and begin recounting our memories. “Our favorite dates have to be our walks at noon through the park. We talk about everything—current events, favorite spices, what I loved about studying law, and even the parts I didn’t like. No topic is off-limits.” I smile faintly, feeling a brief respite as I immerse myself in the recollections. “I know everything there is to know about you, Randy Thorn, and you know me just as well.”
I pause, catching my breath, and then continue. “We even made our own bucket lists, remember? We decided to write them separately but promised that each of us would take on the other’s list. That way, we have double the adventures to experience together.”
As I moan through another contraction, Randy stays quiet, but I can feel his happiness radiating from the gentle way he holds my hand. Sharing those memories does help, if only a little, and right now, I’ll take any relief I can get as a win.
“We’re almost there,” he assures me gently.
“Are we?” I complain, my voice laced with pain and frustration. It feels like we’ve been driving for hours, even though it has only been a few minutes.
“Tell me more about what makes you happy?” he prompts, eager to keep my mind off the discomfort.
“You,” I say, the word carrying more weight and warmth than I expect. “You’re a whiz in both Calypso’s and our kitchens. I’ve never been so happy as I have been since the day I moved in with you—and every day after. I love the in-depth tours you’ve given me, where you share memories from your childhood. I love that you feel comfortable enough with me to cry when a memory hurts, and that my hug can make you feel better.”
“Ah, Gina.” Randy’s voice catches, thick with emotion. Then he takes my hand and gently kisses the back of my knuckles—a gesture he’s fond of and often repeats. It’s a sweet, loving act that never fails to remind me how deeply he cares.
Relief washes over me as the contraction eases, and just then, we arrive at the hospital. The moments that follow feel like a blur, each one more surreal than the last. Throughout the labor, I cling to every happy memory I can muster, revisiting them repeatedly to help me endure the intense process of giving birth. The pain is nearly overwhelming, but Randy’s unwavering presence is my anchor. He stays by my side constantly, helping me move around the room, distracting me from the pain, and coaching me through each phase of labor.
And finally, after what seems like an eternity, I reach a critical milestone—I’m at four centimeters dilated!
“We made it, babe,” Randy exclaims excitedly, cradling my sweat-drenched face in his hands. Despite the intense ache that makes it feel like my insides are tearing apart, my heart flutters with love when he plants a gentle kiss on my lips.
Now, finally, the medical staff administers the epidural.
* * *
2 Months Later
I must admit that I’m experiencing separation anxiety. I haven’t left Jeffrey’s side since he was born. He’s just so beautiful and precious. His eyes are large and alert, seeming to catch and understand everything we do and say.
Jeffrey hardly cries. Concerned, I even asked Dr. Haskell to give him a thorough check-up because I’ve heard that babies usually cry a lot, both at night and during the day. But Dr. Haskell, along with my mom and dad, assures me that our son is just fine.
“Babies cry to communicate, Gina,” my mom explained. “And you don’t miss a beat. Not yet. But one day, you might, and it’s okay if you do.” Then she patted me on the shoulder and added with a wry smile, “Just don’t drop him on his head like I did with you. Several times.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” I responded with a mock laugh. Faye Emerson loves her jokes, and even in moments of worry, she knows how to lighten the mood with her humor.
Perhaps this is that moment where I’m missing a beat, because Jeffrey is with my parents, and Randy and I are out on our first date since I delivered the baby.
Randy is nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, and honestly, I find his anxiety reassuring.
“You’re nervous about leaving Jeffrey too?” I ask.
Smiling, Randy lets out a soft chuckle. “He’ll be fine, babe. But yeah, it’s hard being away from him.” He glances at the time on the console. “He’d be falling asleep on me right here by now.” Grinning nostalgically, Randy pats his left chest.
I throw my hands up. “Let’s just make dinner at home, then! Or at my parents’ house since Jeff is already there.”
