HER SCREAMS HAUNT me. I will never get her pregnant again. Even if she does look adorable when she waddles.
"I'm sorry. So sorry," I keep telling her, smoothing her hair back, kissing her forehead, telling her she can do it.
She grips my hand like a vice, but I've lost feeling in it, so it's fine.
It's least I can do, considering I did this to her. And I did on purpose.
She's been on labor for hours, just in pain. Finally:
"She's crowning! We've got a head,"
I hear a little slap and a cry.
"Dad, you want cut the umbilical cord,"
I nod, sniffling. They hand me some scissors, and I cut where they tell me.
"She's beautiful Peaches,"
Even when she's covered in blood and other bodily fluids, my baby girl is beautiful.
They clean her, measure her, weigh her, diaper her, swaddle her.
