by Zoe Norman
I sit in the rocking chair for a few more minutes and decide that I should jump in the shower. I’ve let a half hour pass and Owen will be home soon.
Shedding my robe I go to the shower to turn it on. Super-hot showers soothe my aching back, and the bathroom steams up quickly. I grab my brush and raise my hand to start brushing my hair when I’m hit with a tight squeezing around my abdomen. And by tight squeeze, I mean it feels like an enormous vise has been applied around my belly and tightened to the max. It takes my breath away. The brush falls from my hand and clatters to the floor.
Leaning forward, my hands on the edge of the sink, trying to catch my breath, I try to calm myself down. I remember my breathing techniques from Lamaze, another interesting experience with my dear Owen, and use my skills to breathe through the pain. I’ve had Braxton Hicks contractions all through the pregnancy, but holy hell, these are way more painful.
When the pain starts to ease, I take a few more deep breaths before feeling safe enough to get in the shower. Dr. Evans told me, as did the Lamaze coach, that hot showers can help with contractions, so I’m hopeful that this will relax me. I step into the shower and wash my hair, getting so far as to rinse out the conditioner.
As I reach over for my face wash, another contraction hits me and I lean forward involuntarily, moaning loudly, bracing myself against the wall. I use my breathing techniques again, but this one feels stronger and the breathing is doing nothing to help the pain. I make it through the pain, and when it subsides, I take the opportunity to quickly wash my body and climb out of the shower. I wrap a towel around myself and another around my hair and make it as far as the bed before another contraction hits me. I brace myself, grabbing the bed and groaning louder than the last time, the pain becoming unbearable. I think I need to call the doctor. Where is Owen?
I start to sidestep around the bed through the pain, trying to get to the phone. I’m almost halfway there when I hear the door open and the most glorious sounds of Owen’s keys dropping on to the side table, his boots hitting the floor, and the TV turning on. Part of me wants to whoop with glee that he’s home, but I’m still mid contraction and unable to make a sound. I know he won’t come looking for me because he thinks I’m asleep, so it’s up to me to go seek out my savior. When the pain finally starts to abate, I grab as much courage as I can and slowly make my way to the living room, steeling myself in case another hits en route.
When I make it out to the living room, Owen looks over at me, his face covered in a glowing smile.
“Hey, it’s my beautiful girl.” He pats his hand on the couch next to him, beckoning me to come sit with him. I try to smile despite the fact that I feel another contraction coming. They are just minutes apart. “Can’t sleep, baby?”
Panting, I say, “I’m glad you’re sitting down. I’m having contractions. A lot of them. Oh holy shit... God... Urgh... Fuck…” Another one starts.
Owen’s expression shifts from joy to panic. He bolts off the couch, running to me, rubbing my back and my belly simultaneously.
“Oh shit! Oh fuck! This is it! Oh fuck! Are you okay, baby? Shit. You look like you’re dying!”
There it is. The panic I knew was coming.
“Owen...baby... I need you—hee hee—to call—whoo whoo—Dr. Evans.” As I say this, I feel a rush of warm fluid between my legs. When I look down, I see a small puddle on the floor. “Aaaand that would be my water breaking...so calling him now would be a good idea.” I pant through the remainder of the contraction.
“Oh shit... We’re having a baby, Liv. A baby! Drew is coming!” He kisses me soundly on the mouth as the contraction finally wanes
I can see tears forming in his eyes. It makes me smile. Not that I’m happy that he’s crying, but...well, because I’m happy that he’s crying.
I drop my towel and clean up my mess, moving to the bedroom to pull on panties and a panty liner—as if that will help if I lose more fluid. Sweats and a T-shirt are next and Owen comes flying into the room as I slip on flip-flops.
“We’re all set. He thinks this is it. He said I have time to take a shower, and then he’ll meet us at the hospital. He said to breathe. I’m gonna try.”
I can’t help laughing. “I think he meant me, Owen.”
He looks confused then thoughtful, ending with a low chuckle. “Huh. Oh yeah. Probably. Look, I need a shower because I’m gross. Then we’re leaving. Sit down on the bed.”
I look at the bed, our beautiful duvet covering the lush mattress. “Urg...I’ll stand. I don’t want to destroy the bed with amniotic fluid.”
He doesn’t hear me. He’s already in the shower, and within minutes, he’s out again, towel-drying his sexy hair and running into our room, sadly covering himself with his boxer briefs, sweats, and a fitted T-shirt that makes me swoon a little. The baseball cap he puts on completes the ‘sexy boyfriend’ fantasy look and I grin. But my inappropriate thoughts are gone when a contraction hits me hard.
“Ahhhhh shit fuck shit!” I yell.
Owen looks tortured. He comes to me, rubbing my lower back, but I push him away.
“Jesus, Liv. You sound like a sailor,” he says quietly.
Wrong thing to say, pumpkin.
Through clenched teeth, I say, “Owen, just go get my fucking bag. It’s fine. Just go.” I need to be left alone through this before I attack him.
After the contraction passes, I go out to meet him. The new, white Range Rover is at the curb, where it’s been the last month in preparation for the baby’s birth. We make our way downstairs and into the SUV, ready to meet our son.
“Push! Push! You’ve got this, Olivia. Just one more! I can see the head!”
I’m exhausted. I was in full-blown labor by the time we got to the hospital, which was only an hour ago. By the time IVs were put in and a bed was established, his head had dropped and I was dying to push. No time for an epidural, and the pain is excruciating.
Owen is at my head, his hand in mine, letting me grip the shit out of it. If he comes out of this without a broken finger, it will be a miracle. He doesn’t flinch. He just occasionally whispers something encouraging and loving in my ear, but that’s it. He’s just there...
“Baby, you’re doing great. I love you so much. Drew is going to be such a lucky baby to have such an amazing, strong, smart mommy. I love you. I love you,” he continues to whisper in my ear.
“Olivia, I need one more big push so we can get our little man out. He’s not going to love being stuck in there. Let’s get him moving!” Dr. Evans directs me.
I suck in a deep breath and push with everything I have. The quiet is pierced by a scream and I realize that it’s coming from me.
Suddenly, there is a sound I recognize. The most amazing sound in the world. It’s a cry. It’s my son’s cry.
“There he is, guys! He’s gorgeous—a beautiful baby boy!”
I start to sob. Owen leans over me, kissing my face, my eyes, my hands. He looks at me and he is openly crying too.
“Dad, do you want to cut the cord?” Dr. Evans asks Owen.
Owen stands straight and moves over to where Dr. Evans is holding our son. Drew is squirmy and covered in yucky stuff, but he’s healthy and ours. Owen cuts the cord ceremoniously, a proud smile on his face as he watches the doctor hand the baby to the nurse, who whisks him off, placing him under the warmer. We watch enraptured as they weight him, clean him off, and bring him over to me bundled in a soft, blue blanket. My little Drew is wearing a tiny blue hat on his little head and is the most precious thing I have ever seen in my life.
“Six pounds six ounces. Twenty-one inches long. He’s perfect.”
She hands him to me and I cradle my son in my arms for the first time. I spend a moment looking at him and can tell right away that he looks just like his dad. As I gaze down at Drew, Owen leans over and kisses the top of our son’s head, tears sliding down his cheeks, before moving up to give me a full kiss.
“Here he is. Andrew William Maxwell,” I say with a s
mile, wiping tears from my cheeks so they don’t fall in his face.
“Drew... Drew Maxwell.” Owen is absolutely dumbfounded.
Drew reaches up, and his little fist finds his mouth, suckling greedily.
“Sweetheart, hungry as he looks, this would be a great time to get him to latch onto you,” the nurse announces as she moves toward my bed. I nod and sit up tenderly with her assistance as she starts to position Drew and my breast so he can connect easily. Dr. Evans is apparently still working on the small tear I got which I didn’t even notice because I was so focused on the baby. As the nurse continues to get my increasingly irritated son latched on, I look up at Owen who is still crying, his eyes filled with wonder and awe as he watches his son struggle for his supper. Eventually Drew latches on and falls into a contended sucking pattern, his mewls quieted now that he is finally getting some milk. I turn back to Owen whose eyes move from where they were on the baby, back up to my gaze. I smile at him with pride when his face becomes serious. I wrinkle my brow.
“Owen? You okay?” I ask. I’ve heard of men passing out during childbirth, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have that happen.
“Marry me.”
My breath hitches. Actually, I stop breathing altogether. What did he say? It was barely audible, I must be hearing things.
“What did you say?”
“Marry me. Olivia. Please, God, marry me.”
He leans down and pushes his head between me and the baby, into the crook of my neck. I feel my neck become moist from his tears, and suddenly, I’m crying too.
This is surreal. My son is greedily sucking on me on one side, my gynecologist is stitching my vagina, and my boyfriend is sobbing into my neck.
He finally lifts his head to look me in the eyes. “Why did I wait? What am I waiting for? There is nothing, can never be anything, as perfect as this. As you. As this child. I don’t know what I was waiting for. Thank you for waiting for me. But I don’t want to wait anymore. Marry me. I know this is a shitty proposal. I’ll do it again. I promise. I just can’t leave here not knowing you’ll be my wife, that you’ll have the same last name as our son.” His crying borders on sobbing, and mine isn’t far behind.
“This has to be the best moment of my entire career and the best proposal I have ever heard” says the nurse, grinning from ear to ear. I notice now the entire room is quiet and staring at us. “Say yes, dear!” she yelps.
I look back at Owen, down at my beautiful son, who has fallen asleep, and back up to my man. My amazing, sexy man.
“Yes. Yes, Owen. Yes.”
TWO YEARS LATER
I SLOWLY COME DOWN the stairs, Reese behind me, holding my train to keep me from face-planting down the stairs. High heels, carpeted stairs, long dresses, and emotions aren’t a good combination for making it down in one piece. We finally get close to the bottom, and a hand materializes in my line of sight. I look up to find my father reaching out for me.
“Easy does it, Livvy,” he says with a smile.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
I grasp his hand and take the last two steps, moving to the side so Reese can follow and place my dress down. Every woman dreams of this day. Plans for it. Fantasizes about it. Creates extensive Pinterest boards in preparation for it. I am no different. And so far, it’s been everything I could have hoped for. Traditional? Not so much. But what’s the fun in that?
I hear music coming from the backyard and my heart starts to race. It’s almost time. I run my hands down the front of my dress, smoothing the lace. My dress is amazing. I didn’t want a big froufrou dress. To be honest, I never have. So I opted for a body-hugging, blush, lace dress with a very low-cut front but elegant cap sleeves. The train isn’t too long, but it’s just enough. My veil is of matching lace, my heels strappy and Louboutin. I have my hair up in an elegant twist that has been made to look undone, tendrils of hair loose at the front.
As I make my way toward the back of the house, ready to greet the crowd and my soon to be husband, I hear a squeal and see Emily come around the corner with a very squirmy, very loud little boy. I am unable to control the smile that comes across my face or the visceral reaction I get when I hear that little voice.
I stand still, waiting for him to see me. He hasn’t seen me dressed up, and I’m curious what his reaction will be. Emily is prepared to keep him corralled so he doesn’t destroy my dress before I go out, although, I wouldn’t mind.
Suddenly, two big, blue eyes find mine.
“Mommy!” His little arms reach out to me as Emily brings him closer.
“Hey, little man. You ready to walk down the aisle?”
“Mamma’s a printhess!”
My eyes tear up just a bit. Doesn’t every mother love knowing that their son thinks they look like a princess?
Drew is just about two years old, and he is a carbon copy of his father. Blazing, blue eyes, dirty-blond hair that has a perfect wave to it, and a smile that has the angels singing in heaven. Granted, I’m a little biased, but he’s the cutest kid alive.
“Come here and give Mommy a hug and kiss before we go get Daddy out there.” I hold my arms out to him as Emily puts him down.
He runs to me and throws his arms around my legs in a hug that nearly topples me over.
“Whoa, buddy! Come here.” I lift him up and snuggle him close to me. Nuzzling his ear, I whisper to him, “Listen, you handsome boy. You have a super-important job, okay? You and Auntie Emily are going to walk out there with the fancy pillow we showed you and you’re going to go stand with Daddy until I come out. You think you can do it like we practiced?”
He pulls away and holds my cheek with one hand, giving me a nod and a big smile.
“All right, baby. I love you. See you in a bit.”
Drew leans forward and plants a big, wet kiss on my lips, holding my face with both hands now. My heart is full to bursting.
“Love you, Mommy.”
“Okay, big guy. It’s time for us to start walking down that aisle! Let’s get to it!” Emily takes Drew from me, gives me a kiss on the cheek and a, “Good luck,” before they disappear through the sheer drapes that have been hung at my parents’ Dutch doors to shield the crowd from seeing me before I come down the aisle.
My father comes up beside me and puts his arm through mine. “You ready, Livvy?”
I take a deep breath. “I have been for a long time, Daddy. Let’s do this!”
He gives me a kiss on the cheek, and we move until we are just behind the drapes, waiting for our cue so I can go join my son and the man I will love for the rest of my life.
It’s a perfect evening. The sun is low, and colors of burnt orange, red, yellow, and fuchsia paint the marbled sky. If all goes as planned—and with Olivia, it always does—she and I will exchange our vows just as the sun dips beyond the horizon and she will officially be mine. Mine.
Who would have thought it?
Nearly two years after asking Olivia to marry me, here we are. I’m still having a hard time believing I get to marry this woman.
Olivia’s parents’ yard is beautifully manicured, decorated in pale pinks, creams, and muted browns. White chairs and a floral-covered arbor welcome fifty of our closest family and friends who have been invited to share in this special evening—our wedding. I think at least twenty-five percent of the guests are taking bets if Owen “I’m Never Getting Married” Maxwell will go through with it. I hope they all lose big, because I’m doing this. I am all in.
As I stand at the front of the yard with the Justice of the Peace and await my bride, I think back on the feelings I had at Travis and Lucy’s wedding three years ago and later Simon and Reese’s wedding—about how it would feel to be waiting for my future wife. It’s much worse than I imagined. I can barely contain myself—I’m so excited. Nervous? Yes. Feelings of regret? Absolutely not.
After I blurted out my proposal to Olivia at the hospital following Drew’s birth, the blinders I had on vanished. Any doubts were extinguished. I knew that propo
sing right then and there might have not been the most romantic moment time to ask for Olivia’s hand, but it was the exact moment I knew that there was not a single day of my life where I didn’t want Olivia in it. I’ve never looked back. Never had a second thought—and when that happens, you know you’ve made the right decision.
Just so you know, I had a do-over with the proposal. After Drew’s first birthday party and all our guests had left our apartment, all the presents were put away, and the last of the chocolate cake was scraped off the walls, Olivia finally put Drew down for the night and we had a moment alone. With the twinkling fairy lights on the patio and the sun very much how it is tonight, I got down on one knee and bared my soul to Olivia. With tears in my eyes and Olivia already in a full-on ugly cry, I asked her sincerely, reverently, and lovingly if she would marry me. Again. Only this time, I had jewelry to sweeten the deal—a champagne, cushion-cut diamond ring. Luckily for me, she said yes. Again.
Flash forward ten months later and here we are.
Standing at the end of the aisle with the eyes of our guests on me, I shift nervously on my feet, anxious to see Olivia. I look toward the house and catch Travis’s eye. He and the rest of my groomsmen are waiting to escort the bridesmaids down the aisle by the house. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. He knows exactly how I’m feeling and he’s getting a big laugh out of it.
Next in the row of groomsmen is Marcus, who slowly draws a line across his neck, indicating that my life will soon be over. I let out an audible laugh, unable to contain myself. I waggle my finger at him and continue to smile. My friends know that keeping my head light is what I need to ease my nerves.
The music changes and the harpist, cellist, and violinists begin to play the prelude for the wedding party to enter. My heart rate jumps tenfold.
This is it. This. Is. Fucking. It.
With little time to think more about it, the sheer drapes covering the doors to the house swoop open and out steps Emily with my little man. My heart swells at seeing my son dressed in a tux that mirrors mine. Drew walks out from behind the drapes with confidence, holding Emily’s hand. That confidence quickly evaporates when he sees the crowd of people looking at him. Drew is all about being the center of attention, but this is a little much—even for him. I know just how you’re feeling, buddy.