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
37
The whole family, mine and Camryn’s both, are out in the waiting room—minus Camryn’s dad and brother. They still don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. Camryn and I didn’t know through her whole pregnancy. We decided to let her surprise us. And she did.
Before I let the family in to see them, I sit with Camryn in the private room we were moved to shortly after the delivery. We’ve been in here for a short while, waiting on the nurses to bring her back after doing whatever it is they do. I take her into my arms after the nurse checks Camryn’s hospital bracelet and matches it up with the one “Baby Parrish” is wearing around her tiny ankle. I check it myself too before letting the nurse leave. And I look her over real good. One can never be too careful these days, and I’m gonna make damn sure they bring the same baby back they left with. But there’s no mistaking that thick blonde hair and that small yet blood-curdling scream that makes me completely submissive to her. If she could talk, I’d do anything she said without thinking twice about it. Give me a bottle! Yes ma’am! Change my diaper! You got it! Step on that nurse’s foot for wrapping me up like a frickin’ burrito! All right, babygirl!
Camryn holds her close to her chest, letting her suckle on her breast.
When Camryn first found out that she was pregnant again was the day before we moved into our new house. But she didn’t tell me about it until after my doctor’s appointment that following Monday. She said she was afraid to, I guess in the same way I was afraid to tell her right away that I was having headaches again. But after that, we talked a lot about how we were going to do things differently this time. One of those things was her decision to breast-feed. With the first pregnancy, Camryn wasn’t too thrilled about a baby sucking on her tit, especially when she might need to feed her in public. Back then, I was just agreeing with her wishes and never tried to change her mind. I had no reason to, really.
But this time, when Camryn brought the issue up again, she said, “Y’know what, baby? I’ve been reading a lot more about pregnancy and the benefits of breast-feeding, and I really don’t care what people think. I feel like I want to and I should.”
And I said, “Then I think you should, too.”
I sit down next to her. I was glad she made that decision on her own, without me adding my input. Hey, as long as I don’t start that man-lactating stuff and she expects me to try it, I’m good with whatever decision she makes.
“I read that most babies are born with blue eyes,” Camryn says, looking down at her, “but I think later she’ll have your green eyes.”
I brush our daughter’s head lightly with my fingertips. “Maybe so.” I can’t stop looking at the two of them, my beautiful wife and my precious little girl. I feel like I’ve stepped into another world, one brighter than I ever imagined. I really didn’t think I could be any happier the way I have been with Camryn. I didn’t think that was possible.
I think Camryn is still somewhat in shock.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, never losing my warm smile.