Party of Four

Persephone Magnolia - Nica

Everything I had read in preparation of Poppy’s birth had me convinced that if my water broke naturally, I’d still have plenty of time before actual labor started. In fact, I had expected to have to be induced. I was a week away from another appointment and three days from Poppy’s due date. I was certain they’d schedule induction at the appointment. Poppy had other plans though, apparently.

I barely had time to change. I didn’t even make it all the way down the stairs before the first contraction started. Then they were coming faster than I expected too. Either everything I’d read was wrong, or this was happening faster than normal.

I had barely registered Cole getting me into the car, the contraction was so intense. It wasn’t until we were backing out of the driveway that the full realization of what was happening hit me.

He was doing it though. He was driving. We glided past the gates, and then we were on the main road. Eventually, Riley was on the phone, and we were telling him to meet us at the hospital. I could hear how proud he was of his brother even through the speaker, and I gave Cole‘s thigh another reassuring squeeze.

Getting me into the hospital and settled in the labor and delivery ward was a whirlwind. Cole never left my side. He helped me through the contractions and helped me change into one of the hospital gowns. I hated it. The fabric was stiff and itchy and I felt exposed in a way I couldn’t really explain. At least they said once Poppy was born, I could change into my own nightgown.

One of the nurses brought me a cup of ice chips and sat it on the bedside table while Cole helped me get settled in the bed again. “Do you have socks?” I asked, wiggling my toes beneath the thin, starchy blanket. “My feet get cold easy. Am I allowed to wear socks?”

She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

When the two sharp knocks sounded in the room, I assumed it was her, returning with the socks. Instead, Riley crossed the room in a blur, pulling Cole into a hug.

Then he settled beside me, and all we could do was wait.

When the nurse did return, Dr. Martinez accompanied her. While the socks were put on my feet, Dr. Martinez discussed laboring positions that might help ease the pain and whether or not I wanted an epidural. As if on cue, a contraction wreaked havoc on my senses.

I grit my teeth, trying to breathe through it. Riley rubbed my back while Cole held my hand, but I was nearly numb to the gentle comfort they attempted.

The contractions were coming faster than they had when I’d been admitted too. Dr. Martinez checked to see how dilated I was and I wasn’t sure I liked the look on her face. “I will find the anesthesiologist, but it might be too late,” she told me. She paused while another contraction ripped through me. “Bebita is making her debut very soon.”

I could feel it. The moment it happened. The moment my body was ready. There was some instinctual drive screaming “it’s time!” The anesthesiologist didn’t make it to my room in time. The contractions were coming faster, and I just knew this was the moment. I screamed from the pain of the contraction that gripped me. My knuckles were white, hands squeezing both Cole and Riley’s.

They must have heard me outside of the room, because seconds later Dr. Martinez returned to check me. I was guided into position, and instructed on when to push. Sweat and tears streamed down my face. There was noise around me, but my brain couldn’t focus on a single individual sound. A single voice. A single word.

Then I heard it. Not a cry. A small, furious squeak. Persephone Magnolia Shaw-Holland was placed on my chest. I was instantly overwhelmed with emotion. The pain relief was nearly instant, all I could feel was the warmth and the weight of my baby. Whatever else was happening in the room might as well have been happening to someone else. The only thing my mind registered was her tiny body, the thick, dark curls plastered to her head, and the fierce, angry sound she made.

I let go of Cole and Riley’s hands to cradle this soft, precious thing. I looked up. Cole was openly crying, completely undone by the sight of our daughter. Riley was equally emotional, stroking her tiny back.

The nurses cleaned everything up, managed the final medical checks, and left the three of us to bond with our newborn. She was six pounds and twenty inches. Mini, but mighty. Cole and Riley sat on either side of me, leaning in close. I was exhausted, still in pain, but I was floating in happiness.

Eventually someone from vitals came in to register Poppy’s name for her birth certificate, and I started laughing, my eyelids heavy. “Look at her initials,” I said, after I’d already signed the paper.

“No wonder she’s so angry,” Riley teased, kissing the side of my head. “Can’t believe you gave our daughter the initials PMS.”

I shrugged, “It’s already painted on the wall in the nursery. Too late now. Besides, I love her name. And most people will probably call her a Holland instead of Shaw.”

“As long as you’re okay with it,” Cole murmured. He tucked his arm around my shoulders.

Before the first hour ended, the nurse came in to check our vitals. She also brought a pack of ready-to-eat formula bottles and disposable n*****s. She discussed the importance of frequent feedings - or at least attempting to do so frequently - and told me that if I chose to try to breast feed and wanted a consultant, to let them know.

“So, mom, whatcha gonna do?” Riley asked, stroking Poppy’s foot through the receiving blanket she was wrapped in.

“I don’t know.” An eyebrow arched, and I asked jokingly, “Do you think Helena Bonham Carter breast fed her kids? ‘Cause hers appeared outta nowhere and never went back down after pregnancy.”

Riley and Cole both laughed, and I fixed the little hat the nurse had put on Poppy’s head. She was sleeping so peacefully in my arms, I almost hated to bother her.