Page 146 of Love What's Left
“Uh, she’s partially reclining. Has her feet on the seat next to her butt. Her face is red and sweaty. She looks annoyed as hell. Her belly keeps going hard as a rock and moving.”
“Between her legs, Gabriel, what do you see between her legs? Is the baby crowning?”
Sliding my hands under Sydney’s waistband, I tug the loose cotton pants down her belly and snag the giant underpants she’s got on with them. She raises her butt awkwardly at the same time, and I expose my wife’snether regionssmack dab in the middle of a busy New York City street. I can’t make myself think the words I usually use to describe her vagina when our kid is about to make her grand entrance through it. It feels disrespectful.
“Thank God for tinted windows,” Sydney grunts, her face turning even more red as she bears down again.
“That’s not a good idea. Could you . . . ? Listen, for the love of all that’s holy, would you please stop pushing?!” I ask in a perfectly reasonable and utterly calm voice.
“Stop yelling at me,” she growls.
“I’mnot yelling. I wouldn’t. I’m enthusiastically encouraging.”
She locks eyes with me, and that’s when I see the fear behind the snarling and snapping.
I cup her face. “You’re doing amazing. No matter what happens here, you and our baby are going to be okay. We’re on the way to the hospital, and our little one is healthy. She’s just really anxious to meet her mama.”
Sydney nods.
I sit back on my heels and look. Holy fuck, that’s terrifying. I offer her a reassuring smile and a thumbs-up. “Looking great.”
She snarls. “You can shove that thumb up your a—”
“Can you see the head?” Josh asks.
“No.”
“Good. This is good,” Josh says. “Just offer support. Keep her comfortable.”
Sydney chokes, then glares in the general direction of the speakers. “You know what would keep me comfortable? An epidural,Josh.”
“How are you holding up?” I wipe her brow with my shirtsleeve.
“Like sunshine and rainbows,” she says.
I kiss her forehead, and she clings to my neck, holding me against her.
“Gabriel, I’m going to talk you through it. You give me the play-by-play. Tell me what’s happening,” Josh says.
Sydney takes a deep breath in through her nose and blows it out.
“She’s between contractions now. ETA, Dave?” I ask.
“Twenty more minutes,” he says.
We’ve already been driving that long.
“Clean your hands, Gabe. Do you have wet wipes and hand sanitizer in that diaper bag?” Josh asks.
“Yes.” I find what I need, fold my shirtsleeves back, and scrub all the way up my arms. Sydney makes grabby hands, and I clean her too. Then, I eye her vulva with trepidation and lift the bottle of sanitizer. “Uh, Josh, should I sanitize the, uh, external vaginal—”
She smacks the bottle out my hand so hard it hits the back windshield.
“Never mind.”
More contractions. Fast and hard. Minute after minute after minute passes, but I clock them in contractions. This one and this one and this one.
Sydney grunts and pushes.