Mimi Plus Two (The Mimi Chronicles Book 2)

by Whitney Dineen

  I feel the prick and then I start to feel hot, tingly and finally numb. Blessedly numb. I take a deep breath and command, “Just give me notice before you jab that needle into my spine. And I want to know how many you’ve done before mine. This is information I’ll need for the lawsuit.”

  “I’ve done two before you.”

  “What? Don’t touch me! Get the old doctor with tremors. Do you hear me? You are not to touch me!”

  Then he laughs out loud and replies, “This is my three hundredth and eighty-seventh epidural and it’s already in.”

  “Really, it’s in?” I burst into uncontrollable tears of relief. “Okay, I probably won’t be suing then, as long as you didn’t paralyze me.”

  At that point Elliot storms through the door looking wild-eyed and panicked. “Mimi, darling, are you okay?”

  I reach out to him. “I’m fine, Elliot. I’m just fine.” Then I point to Dr. Lou and announce, “This child just gave me my epidural and he did a pretty good job.”

  Dr. Lou shakes Elliot’s hand and announces, “I’m thirty-four but your wife has been flattering me for the last several minutes.” Then he says, “Good luck to you and congratulations. I’ll see you both in the O.R.”

  Elliot grabs my hand in his. “Thank God Richard was there to drive you to the hospital! Are you sure you’re okay? I was worried when I heard you shout.”

  I’m about to assure him again when a nurse comes in followed by Renée. “I’m just here to shave you for surgery.”

  “What do you mean, shave me? I’m having a C-section.”

  “That’s right,” she confirms, “but the doctor likes to have you shaved anyway.”

  Well, this is embarrassing. I look to Elliot and beg, “Can you please give us some privacy?”

  The nurse intervenes, “You don’t need to leave the room. I’ll just draw the curtain.” She proceeds to turn on the loudest, most archaic, sounding beard trimmer in the universe. Seriously, this is no pleasant little mild hum. It sounds like she’s firing up a chain saw. I’m mortified.

  I swear she’s shaving for at least ten minutes when Renée yells out, “My God, are you shearing a sheep in there? What’s taking so long?”

  The nurse laughs, “I think we could use a new shaver.”

  I promise to send her a case of them if she’ll just hurry up and get it over with already.

  I’m feeling so confident that nothing can go wrong after the epidural that I let a student nurse put in my IV. Note to self, they’re students because they don’t know what the hell they’re doing. I’m going to be black and blue for a week.

  Meanwhile, Elliot dons his disposable surgical outfit and we’re both given fashionable blue shower caps to keep our hair out of the sterile operating room. We manage a quick moment alone and my husband even pulls out his phone so we can do a pre-baby selfie. Of course, had this happened tomorrow, as planned, we would have had a slew of pictures to document the moment.

  Elliot kisses me gently on the lips and declares, “We’re about to become parents, you and I.” Then he rests his head on my forehead and adds, “I love you Mimi Fielding, with my whole heart.”

  My first impression of the O.R. is that it’s white and looks nothing like the operating rooms on soap operas or medical dramas. It looks more like a conference room. Just get rid of the gurney and tray full of surgical cutlery (look away!), and insert a large table with chairs and you’d be all set for a corporate takeover.

  Dr. Fermin rushes in, still tying the back of her blue scrubs. “Hello, Fieldings! Looks like your little girl wanted to pick her own birthday, huh?”

  I try to laugh, “Looks that way.”

  Then Dr. Lou puts a mask over my nose and explains, “We’re just going to give you a little oxygen.”

  Before I can put my thoughts together to ask another question, the whole surgical team becomes engrossed in birthing my child. The doctor explains, “You’re going to feel some pressure but you shouldn’t feel any pain.”

  And true to her word, that’s exactly what I feel, pushing and pulling sensations but no pain. Yay, the epidural is working!

  I close my eyes and let them do their bit until I hear the words, “And here she comes! Well hello, look at what a big beautiful baby you are!” Then Dr. Fermin holds her up for us to see. She’s covered in a white coating called vernix which I understand is to protect her skin from constant contact with the amniotic fluid. Isn’t the human body amazing?

  I can’t see her as well as Elliot because I’m lying flat on my back, so I demand, “How many fingers and toes does she have?”

  My husband doesn’t answer right away. I don’t know why it’s taking him so long to count to ten so I repeat, “Elliot, how many fingers and toes does she have?”

  He replies, “I don’t know, I’m still counting.”

  His answer floods me with panic. “Are there more than ten?” I’m picturing nineteen fingers on one hand and three on the other. A similar horror about her feet grips me. I demand, “Elliot, answer my question, now!”

  He looks at me with tears running down his eyes, which either means she’s hideously deformed, or he’s so full of emotion he’s having a hard time seeing to count. I know it’s the latter when he finally answers, “Five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot.” As an afterthought, he adds, “Two feet and two hands.”

  During all this, the doc cuts the umbilical cord and Sophie lets out her first scream of displeasure at being pulled out of her cozily warm environment. That’s another thing I didn’t know about operating rooms, they’re freezing cold.

  Then I hear Dr. Fermin laugh, “Good job, Miss Sophie.” Then to us she explains, “She just piddled all over me. Looks like things are working.”

  The nurse takes Sophie over to be weighed and I hear her exclaim, “You’re a big girl like your mommy; nine point two pounds!” First of all, what the hell does that mean, big girl like your mommy? And secondly, who cares, my baby is here and she’s healthy!

  The same nurse, casting aspersions about my size, brings Sophie over to me, all rolled up in a newborn hospital blanket, ala baby burrito, and plops her next to my head where I get my first real look at her.

  You know how some women will tell you the second they saw their newborn, they recognized him/her like they’ve know them all their lives? So that’s not what I’m feeling at all. I look at my little Sophie and think, huh, look at you. I thought you’d look different. I pictured her looking like a mini-me. I had brown hair as a small child and Sophie’s is quite strawberry blond like Elliot. My skin is a bit darker and she’s as pale as a porcelain tea cup. Then she pops her eyes open and they are cerulean blue, not baby blue, destined to change color in a few months. They’re a light clear icy blue that seem to hold the secrets of the universe in them. Holy, cow, I’m a mom.

  The nurse removes my daughter from the side of my head and instructs Elliot, “Okay, Dad, you come with me.” Then to me she announces, “Your husband is coming with me to the nursery to clean up your daughter and make sure we get all the right wrist bands on her. He’ll meet you in recovery.”

  Elliot stops to kiss me firmly on the mouth, dripping tears on me and whispers, “Thank you. Thank you for our daughter. I’ll see you soon.”

  Doctor Fermin starts a monologue about what she’s doing and how long it will take, but I find my thoughts drifting off. My life has just changed. I, Mimi Finnegan Fielding, am a mother. I know to the depths of my soul this is the biggest thing I will ever do. I’ve created life, I’ve birthed it and now I’m responsible for it. I am so overwhelmed I can barely breathe.

  Chapter 44

  True to plan, Elliot meets me in the recovery room, followed by a nurse carrying Sophie. The nurse hands the baby to Elliot and then approaches me. “The first order of business is to get that surgical gown off you.”

  She manhandles me until I’m totally naked to the waist. Then she takes Sophie from Elliot’s arms, unwraps her from her blanket and drops an equally
naked miss right on top of me. “Skin to skin contact is the most important part of bonding.” To Elliot, she adds, “This goes for you too, Dad. Babies don’t see very well for a while, so they have to get the smell of you to bond with you.”

  Sophie’s noodling her face right into my chest and the nurse announces, “She wants to nurse. It’s the first instinct to kick in.” Then she arranges her so that her tiny mouth is on my breast and Sophie begins to suckle. This is a positively unreal moment. As if it all weren’t miraculous enough, I’m creating food for my child. I totally want to high five our creator for coming up with this ingenious engineering.

  After a half-hour of bonding, Dr. Fermin walks in and greets, “Nice work, Mimi! Let’s take you up to your room and get you settled.” Once there, the parade of family members starts.

  The room is rather small, but it’s private, so I’m not complaining. My parents come in first. With superhuman roadrunner speed, my mom has Sophie in her arms and starts cooing at her. My dad comes right to my bedside and sits down. He praises, “Good job, honey. I knew you’d do great.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I couldn’t be any prouder of you, Meems. You’re going to be a wonderful mom!”

  I’m so overcome with respect for my parents at this moment. They did this four times. I can’t imagine being responsible for four lives. It’s a hugely overwhelming thought. Then I think of my sister who just gave birth to three. Holy crap! I had no real concept of how she must be feeling until now. The thought of three Sophie’s is positively awe inspiring and a bit nauseating.

  My dad takes his turn holding his newest granddaughter, before my mom announces it’s time they let the baby’s other grandparents meet her. They promise to come back as soon as the excitement winds down a bit.

  I’m not sure how I expect Elliot’s parents to act when they first see Sophie, but if push came to shove and I had to speculate, I’m sure I would expect them to be very dignified in their delight. You know, something like, “My goodness, look at you. Good job, Mimi.” and perhaps a mini tiara for Sophie, thrown in as a gesture of goodwill. What happens is nothing like that.

  Victoria comes first and she’s initially drawn to Sophie, much like my mom was, but she doesn’t pick her up. Instead, she gently kisses her finger and touches my daughter’s cheek. Then she just stares at her. By the time she looks at me, she’s full on bawling. Her shoulders heave with emotion and she doesn’t even try to wipe the tears from her eyes. Then she walks over to my bedside and throws herself in my arms. Still sobbing, she manages, “Thank you, Mimi. Thank you for all you’ve done for my son and thank you for my grandbaby! You are an amazing woman!”

  If I weren’t already lying down, you’d have to pick me up off the floor because I’d have fallen in a dead faint upon hearing those words. I’m not sure how to respond. I’m afraid Victoria is going to be embarrassed by her outpouring of emotion, once she realizes what she’s done, so I don’t want to get too mushy with her. Although, not to enjoy this moment would be a shame because there’s no guarantee she’ll ever like me this much again.

  I tentatively hug her back and respond, “This is quite the thing, huh?” Then I clarify, “Motherhood, I mean.”

  She’s doesn’t lessen her grip even one iota when she responds, “Yes, yes it is.”

  The earl finally breaks it up and announces, “Move over, Victoria. I need to give Mimi a hug of my own.” Then he proceeds to nearly squeeze the stuffing out of me before standing up and pulling a small box out of his jacket pocket. He hands it to me and says, “A token of our appreciation.”

  With a look to my husband, I hesitantly take the box and open it. Inside is a gorgeous round cut yellow diamond in a very old and intricate gold setting. The earl announces, “This ring has been worn by the lady who’s birthed the Fielding heir since 1720. It’s been Victoria’s since Elliot was born and now it’s yours to care for until your first grandchild is born.”

  I’m overcome with the importance of this moment to Elliot’s parents. They are fully welcoming me into the fold and have entrusted me with the care of a precious family heirloom. This is quite a momentous event.

  I thank them both sincerely and try to imagine a similar scenario in my family. I get an image of my mother handing Renée my great, great grandmother’s silver salad tongs explaining, “These have been in our family since 1920. They’ve tossed salads for generations and now they belong to you.” Seriously, I think those tongs are the closest thing my family has to something of heirloom quality.

  After Elliot’s parents leave, Renée and Laurent come in. Renée smacks kisses all over Sophie’s face and declares, “No biggie, right? I knew you could do it!”

  They only stay a couple of minutes before Ginger and Johnathan arrive. Ginger stares longingly at Sophie and sighs, “Look at that. There’s only one of her.” Then to me, she adds, “You’re going to love her so much.”

  Muffy and Kevin are stuck at The Buff Muff and can’t get away until later, so Richard and Pip come in next. Richard picks up Sophie and holds her close to his heart. With a kiss on the top of her head, he hands her to Pip and approaches Elliot. With his hand out, he offers, “Congratulations, Elliot, you have a beautiful family.”

  Elliot takes his hand and an unspoken declaration of peace passes between them. My sweet English husband replies, “I wish the same for you, Richard.” Then his eyes dart to his sister and back to Richard, in a silent endorsement of whatever may come.

  After everyone is gone, I nurse Sophie again and then hand her off to her daddy while I take a nap. It’s amazing how tired I am considering I’ve just been laying around all morning.

  Chapter 45

  Sleeping without having to get up to go to the bathroom is the most amazingly wonderful thing in the world. I was catheterized for the surgery and am happy to learn it will stay in place until sometime tomorrow. If I’d had the option, I would have had one put in around my sixth month of pregnancy.

  Sometime during my nap, I start to sweat like a marathon runner in the throes of her twenty-second mile. I’m positively drenched. I understand from Renée that I should embrace this with great joy as it means the pregnancy poundage is starting to release itself. The nurse comes in twice to change my bedding before nighttime.

  After a very full first day of motherhood, I’m ready to hit the hay when Muffy and Kevin finally arrive. My sister flops down into a chair and exclaims, “I’m so sorry we’re late. We have a tournament going on at The Buff Muff and neither one of us could get away.”

  Kevin asks, “How’re you feeling, Meems?”

  I reply to them both, “No worries, at least you’re here now, and I’m feeling completely and utterly exhausted. Throw in a dash of nerves, a pinch of accomplishment and a gallon of sheer excitement.” Then I wink, “That’s my recipe for the most intoxicating cocktail on the planet.”

  Muffy demands, “Where’s my niece?”

  “She’s in the nursery. I was just getting ready to go to sleep. Let me ring the nurse for her.”

  A moment after I push the button, Trista, the night nurse peeks her head in. I ask for Sophie and she goes to retrieve her.

  Kevin asks, “Where’s Elliot?”

  “I told him to go ahead and sleep at home. I just want to pass out and the nursery is taking care of the baby. I figure he’s going to need as much rest as he can get before we take her home.”

  Before the nurse can bring Sophie back in the room, I fall sound asleep. I don’t wake up again until they give her to me to feed at 4 a.m. They have to change my sheets again and then I fall back into the arms of sweet slumber until Elliot arrives at 8.

  My husband greets me with an achingly tender kiss and a takeout order from The Cracked Egg. “Belgium waffles, a farmer’s omelet and pigs in the blanket,” he announces. I dig in before he can even take his coat off.

  In between mouthfuls of heavenly nourishment, I answer his many questions. I slept wonderfully, I’m still tired but I’m more excited than anything else and
yes, I think our baby is the prettiest and most perfect in the whole world.

  Our families spread out their visits during the day so there’s constant company, though it’s a much more relaxed pace than yesterday. Abbie is with us much of the day doing her own bonding with Sophie. Our nanny appears to love our daughter on sight and I’m delighted by what a natural she is with her.

  Flowers are delivered every hour until the hospital room looks like a green house. My work sends a bouquet, Elliot’s publisher sends one, there are more from various family and friends and at 4 p.m. we receive a very royal bunch from the Queen of England. Elliot offers to take some of them home so there’s still enough room for my bed.

  While he’s gone, the doctor checks my vitals and removes the catheter. She informs me that I’ll be in for two more nights before she okays me to go home. Then she helps me out of the bed and into the bathroom for the first time since yesterday morning.

  My body doesn’t quite feel like my own. My legs are rubbery from the epidural and inactivity, I feel about a million times lighter and my stomach has no sensation at all. When I touch it, I don’t feel a thing. Doctor Fermin informs me that’s because she cut a bunch of nerves when she made the incision. She assures me as they grow together I will return to normal.

  I manage to use the bathroom and get back into bed before Sophie is brought in to nurse. I love to hold her and smell her and snuggle with her. It’s amazing I lived all these years without her. How did I do that? Time seems to have restarted itself with her birth and already it’s hard to imagine I was ever happy before her.

  Abbie goes home at five to put dinner on for Elliot’s family, and for the first time all day, I’m alone with my baby. I stare at her fingers, kiss her toes and rub her back. What a perfect little being she is. I wonder what life has in store for her as the lyrics of that old Doris Day song, Que Sera Sera, run through my head. It’s then I realize I have no control over what Sophie’s future holds and I feel a shot of fear run through run me.