by Gail Haris
“Trent…I think my water just broke.”
I press the call button on the bed repeatedly. Two nurses and Doctor Carter hurry in. They lift my blanket and gown. Trent peeks around them, and his eyes about pop out of his head. I watch, in slow motion, as he begins to lose all the color from his face. The nurse, closest to him, turns around and grabs him by the arm. “Why don’t you sit down?”
Trent slowly shakes his head and makes his way to my side. I hold his hand and tell him it’s going to be okay. He gives me a weak smile and croaks, “I’m supposed to be the strong one here. You need me supporting you, not the other way around.”
Doctor Carter smiles and speaks to me in a calm, but firm voice. “Now, don’t push, until I tell you to. Let’s go with the pace your body sets for us.” She spreads my legs farther apart. She watches the monitor and then turns her eyes on me. “Rachel, I’m going to need you to push now. Give me one good push.” I push, and I feel a slight stretching sensation. “Okay. Good. Now wait. Hold on. Take a deep breath and gather your strength. Ready? I want you to give me another really good push. Now. Harder. Really bear down and puuuush.” I push as hard as I can. I push until I can’t, and then collapse, exhausted. “You’re doing fine. Rest. Take a deep breath. The head is almost through. This time, we’re going to push until we get the head out. Let’s wait for the next contraction and…push. Come on, Rachel. Don’t stop. Give it all you’ve got. Push. Push. Keep pushing and…” I feel as though my tailbone is about to break, and my body can’t take anymore. I can’t imagine what this would be like without any pain medication. I push until I feel instant relief. This sliding sensation. “There we go! Come here Dad and cut the cord.” She looks up to Trent. “Dad?”
Trent is as white as a sheet, and his eyes are as wide as saucers. The nurse nudges him, and he seems to snap out of it. He releases my hand and cuts the chord.
It’s not until I hear my baby crying that I feel immediate relief. I see my precious baby covered in goop, being held out, and cradled in the doctor’s hands. The doctor grins. “She’s beautiful.”
She? “Excuse me?”
Doctor Carter beams. “It’s a girl! Your baby girl is beautiful and appears perfectly healthy. Good job, Mama.” We watch as the nurses gather her height and weight and rate her a perfect ten. They hand her to me, and I wrap her in my arms. Trent and I both cry with tears of joy. He kisses my forehead, and we smile at each other.
I stare at my baby and speak to her. “We don’t have a name.”
“We could go with Gabriella?”
I beam. “What’s going to be her full name?”
“You’ve been calling her a dragonfly this whole time. What about that?”
“Trent, we can’t call her a dragonfly.” What should we call you, little Dragonfly? I gently trace her face with my finger. I smile and whisper, “Gabriella Lane Randall.” Turning my eyes to Trent, he nods and confirms it.
After Trent and I have some time alone with our baby, we allow the rest of Gabriella’s family to meet her. Everyone came. My parents and the Randalls. Alice has her phone on FaceTime, so Noah can be a part of the Randall baby welcoming committee. Denise is thrilled. “As soon as I heard girl, I ordered her some baby chic clothes.”
“Hey, Beautiful. You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen. You’re prettier than your mama and that’s sayin’ something.” My heart lodges in my throat as I watch and listen to my dad sitting in the corner, holding his granddaughter and rocking her to sleep. I hear his deep baritone begin to sing, “My Girl,” in a slow tempo.
There’s no way to prepare for what happens after giving birth. The fear and the joy of the little life that you’re now responsible for above everyone else. It’s very confusing and emotional. Sleep? I vaguely remember what that is. I remember I used to be able to survive on cat naps and still feel like conquering the world. Now, I’m doing good if I can conquer making a pot of coffee because I’m so tired. I close my weary eyes and feel the heavy weight of my lids from the lack of sleep. I’ve only taken two deep breaths before I hear Gabriella’s cry.
No, no, no.
Unwillingly, I open my eyes and look at the time on my phone. It’s two in the morning. I feel like I just laid her down. She’s right, though, it’s time to eat again, but where did my sleep time go? I close my eyes, again, just to gain a few more seconds of rest. My mind races to remember where the time went.
I had to wash all her receiving blankets and onesies. I had to wash her bottles. I needed to pump breast milk. I desperately needed to take that shower since it’d been a couple of days since I had one.
There’s no time to sleep. I hear her cry again and jump out of bed. Even after we’ve been home for a little over a week, I don’t feel like I’ve established any routine or have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing. I rush to the nursery and gently pick her up and cradle her to my chest.
“My sweet Ella. Hey baby. Hey. Is someone hungry?” Instantly, I forget how tired I am. I never realized how much someone could love another person. While cooing and whispering in her little pink ears, I place her on the changing table. She cries, during the entire process, but when I pick her back up, she quiets to gentle whimpers. I walk over to the rocking chair and gently sway while she nurses. As I rock and feed her, I don’t think about what I need to be doing or what needs to be done tomorrow. I allow my instincts to take over and be in the moment with my daughter. She immediately falls asleep once she’s finished. I raise her up and place her sweet little head on my shoulder. My eyes close as I inhale her baby scent and gently run my fingers over the fine, soft black hairs on top of her head. I laugh when a little burp erupts, even while she’s asleep. As much as I don’t want to lay her back in her crib, I know I’ll really regret losing any more sleep in the morning.
When I enter my bedroom, all the good feelings are gone. There’s Trent. Still passed out and sleeping. Peacefully. He never even heard her cries. I don’t know why I expected tonight to be any different from any other night. I calmly walk over to my side of the bed and pick up my pillow. Then I proceed to beat him with it.
He growls between the hits. “What’re you doin’? Stop.” I don’t stop until he rolls on top of me, pinning me to the bed with his large body. “What. Is. Your. Problem?” I watch as his chest heaves.
I grit my teeth. “You’re my problem.”
His eyes search mine, but then turn hard. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” He pushes himself off the bed and snatches his pillow. I watch him leave the room and, instantly, regret my words. It’s like he took all the warmth from the room, with him, when he walked out. Now, it feels cold and empty. Grabbing my pillow and blanket from the bed, I carry them across the hall into the nursery. I lay them on the floor and cry myself to sleep next to Ella’s crib. I’m just so exhausted, physically and mentally. I don’t know why I lash out at him, instead of calmly telling him I need rest and need him to get up. Then again, doesn’t he know I need sleep, too?
The next day, Trent and I don’t talk about what happened because we don’t speak to each other. I don’t know why I snapped instead of telling him I wished he would take a few of the night feedings. Why I don’t accept the help our family offers. When it comes to my daughter, I have this overwhelming need to do everything myself, or I feel like a failure as a mother. I feel inadequate.
When Trent doesn’t help, I feel like he doesn’t want this baby as much as I do. If he loves our baby, then why isn’t he helping out in the middle of the night when he hears her cries? Why doesn’t he seem to even hear her cries?
Worse, I know I’m being irrational, but, in the moment, my hormones take over, and I can’t control the anger, fear, and self-doubt. My insecurities refuse to allow me to simply communicate my feelings to him, so we spend the days standoffish, only speaking when necessary.
I carry Gabriella over to the Randall’s house for Melissa to watch her, so I can take a shower. I walk through the living room and see Landon’s stocking still
hung up. Christmas is in two days. Landon’s death is definitely hitting me emotionally. I keep wondering how different everything might be had he lived. The biggest question I have is, would I have my Gabriella?
In my Exploring the Universe class, we discussed that when a star dies, it explodes, blasting their chemical creations into space and seeding the universe for a new generation of stars to grow. Life has shown me that one life might have ended, but a new one has just begun. In more ways than one. Landon is gone, and that’s still so hard to accept. But Gabriella is here. I love her and wouldn’t trade her for the world, but, at the same time, this new life is a lot to take in. I thought I would be, like all my friends, living the traditional college life, but that door has closed. This domino effect has brought me to where I am today, and it’s time to accept it. I need to quit having one foot in and one foot out. I need to walk through the door that has opened for me. I need to accept I’m not going to be in the same place as my friends, and that’s okay. My life may not be the ‘norm’ but that makes it more unique. I have the most special and precious baby in the world and the man of my dreams. Now, if I can only communicate with Trent, I might be able do this. I can do this…I hope.
I take my shower and thank Melissa. She offers to watch her longer and give me some rest. My mom has offered as well. That’s probably what’s wrong with me, more than anything. I’m mentally and physically exhausted, and it’s making me crazy. I decline and tell her maybe another time.
As I put away laundry, I hear a light knock from behind me on the bedroom door. I turn around to find Trent standing in the doorway. His large body almost fills the frame completely. I should talk to him and apologize. I’ve been unfair in my silent treatment, hard looks and cold, short responses. For some reason, maybe pride, I can’t find the words. I’ve known him forever. We’ve been intimate. We have a child together for goodness sakes; yet, I can’t tell him what’s really going on with me. I’m embarrassed and ashamed that I’ve been so emotional and confused. I’m happy to be a mother, but I’m so scared. I’m so very, very scared. I feel so alone, even though people are in and out, all the time. I’m overjoyed that I’ve had this baby with him, but I’m terrified that he might not truly love me or want this. My insecurities will, no doubt, be my self-destruction.
We don’t say anything but stare at each other. Finally, he steps into the room and reaches into his back pocket. He lays a small silver wrapped box on the bed and walks out. Slowly, I walk over and unwrap the box. Under the silver wrapping paper is a pink and silver perfume box. It’s a bottle of Romance by Ralph Lauren. I haven’t worn this perfume since the fall. It used to be my favorite in high school. After my bottle ran out, I didn’t want to spend the money, so I just started borrowing Alice’s perfume. I was planning to ask my parents to buy me a new bottle for Christmas.
I storm out of the bedroom, carrying the bottle in my hand. I find Trent in the living room, sitting on the couch. “What’s this? Don’t give me some smartass remark either. Why did you buy me perfume?”
He doesn’t turn his head from the television when he responds, “Can I not buy you a gift for Christmas? Perfume is a typical gift guys give their girlfriends.”
Too embarrassed to admit I am out of line, I snarl the only defense I can come up with. “Girlfriend. I’m the mother of your child. Did you just buy me some gift because we’ve not been speaking? This is supposed to make up for your lack of help?” I’m wrong. Why am I doing this?
Slowly, he turns his head to face me. His eyes are burning, and his lips are formed in a straight, hard line. “Nothing is going to make you happy. I’ve accepted that. I bought it because I wanted to. If it pissed you off so much, you can just throw it away. Maybe that will make you happy.”
I’m silent as I process what he said. Why am I doing this again? This would be a perfect opportunity to thank him for the gift and apologize; instead, I’m standing here, staring at him with a sour look on my face. Gabriella will probably wake up from her nap soon. A little part of me hopes she does, so I’ll have an excuse to leave this conversation, without further damaging our fragile relationship. I release a huff and walk away like the coward I am. The sound of his pounding feet, as he follows me, echoes through the hallway.
“Do you know why I bought that perfume? That particular one?” His chest collides with my back as we enter the bedroom. He holds my shoulders, and I feel his breath on my neck. I try to get out of his hold, but he refuses to release me or allow any space between us. “Do you?” he repeats. I shake my head. “That’s the perfume you used to wear.” I don’t answer, so he asks again. “Isn’t it?” He gives my shoulders a little shake and then spins me around to face him.
“Yes,” I snap at him.
He begins walking forward, forcing me to walk backwards. “I spent an hour smelling samples of every bottle in the store, until I found it. I always loved the way you smelled. I knew you always wore the same perfume, until October, when you changed it.”
Even though my heart is melting, I roll my eyes and mumble, “That’s a little creepy.”
He gives a slight shoulder shrug. “Maybe it is. But it also shows that I’ve always noticed you. I’ve always wanted you. You have this crazy idea stuck in your mind that I’ve never loved you. And I get it. I understand why, but it’s time for you to accept that I do. I’ve been crazy about you for years, but it wasn’t the right time. I didn’t go about anything the right way. I’m an idiot, okay?” I fight back a smirk. He gently begins to caress my shoulders and arms. “Let’s stop whatever this,” he waves his hand, “that’s been going on. I don’t want us like this. I want to be able to talk to you, hold you, and love you.” He presses his forehead against mine and lowers his voice. “Right now, I want you wearing nothing but that perfume.” He leans in and kisses me. I pull back and slap him.
“Wait. We’re not going straight to sex. That’s our system, I know. Do you even know the full reason why I’ve been so upset?”
He takes his hand and touches the side of his face that has my palm print. “Do you know why I don’t? Because you won’t talk to me! I haven’t done anything.”
“You’ve got that right,” I retort.
His eyes widen. “What more do you want, Rachel? Please tell me what you want me to do around here. Either I’m overstepping or I’m not doing enough. You can’t run ahead and want to do it all, but then get mad that you’re tired and doing it all. You can’t say I don’t want you, but you won’t have me. Make up your mind right now. Tell me exactly what it is you want from me. Tell me what you want for us.”
I swallow. Please, Gabriella, wake up. Please wake up. Silence. Complete silence through the entire house. Maybe Melissa will come over. We’re right in her backyard. Denise? Now would be a fantastic time for my parents to swing by for a visit. Silence.
“I. Love. You. You’re the one who’s putting up a wall. You’re the one who seems to have regrets about having this baby.”
My hand flies up again to hit him, but he grabs my wrist. I jerk out of his grasp and push him back with all my strength. He stumbles but doesn’t fall. I point my finger at him as I seethe, “Don’t you ever say I regret our baby. I love her.”
He comes to stand nose to nose with me. “I never said you didn’t love her, but do you regret becoming a mother so young? You’ve been moody and miserable since she’s been born.”
“I’ve been stressed, tired, felt alone, felt like a failure for—for—everything. I don’t know! I don’t know how I feel or what I want. All I know is…” I feel a building in my chest. I try to speak again. “One thing I’m absolutely certain of is I love her and would never regret anything that concerns her.”
“Not even me being her father?” he asks, in a hushed tone.
I stare into his eyes. I expect to see anger, but his eyes are filled with pain. I slowly shake my head as tears swell up in my eyes. My bottom lip trembles, and I whisper, “No.” I take a shaky breath and feel a few tears escape my eyes.
“I don’t regret you being her father. I’m—” I have to pause to try and regain some composure, “I’m glad you’re her father.”
“You are?”
I nod as I wipe tears from my eyes. “I am.”
His lips crash against mine. Our kiss is passionate and hungry. His tongue dives into my mouth, as he begins pushing me against our bed post. His fingers tangle into my hair as his other hand is firm against my lower back, keeping me held tightly against him. I let go of all my insecurities, and I can feel him doing the same. He leads me around the bed post and onto the mattress. He wastes no time undressing both of us, while I remain focused on his kisses.
He pulls back. “It’s still too soon.” He bites my bottom lip and then licks it. “But know, as soon as the doctor gives us the all clear, we’re getting a babysitter.” He devours my mouth before I can argue. Not that I was going to.
We lay tangled in each other, catching our breaths. It was the most heated and intense make-out session I think I’ve ever experienced. I release a sigh of complete satisfaction. I look up at him through my eyelashes. “I think I needed that.”
“I think I needed it more.”
We both laugh and then grow quiet. I raise up on my side and stare into his beautiful, kind eyes. “Trent, I’m sorry. I’ve been so unfair to you. You didn’t know what to expect with a baby, any more than I did; yet, I expected you to have this all figured out. Instead of asking you to help me, I just assumed you knew I needed it. I mean, yeah, you should know that I need sleep and that maybe we take turns on night feedings.”
He interrupts me. “You jump out of bed so fast! I assume you want to get up.”
I scoff and say, sarcastically, “Of course I enjoy getting up in the middle of the night, every night. I don’t like to sleep.”