Page 146 of Bae

I stayed by my wife the entire time, I focused on her face, her hands… the sound of her breathing. I don’t know how long she pushed—it felt like eternity—but then suddenly, the excited exclamations of the doctor and nurse and the sound of a crying baby cut into my concentration.

A squirming little baby appeared. The doctor placed it on Rimmel’s chest.

“It’s a boy!” she announced.

“A boy,” Rimmel cooed and instantly wrapped her arms around him. “Hi there, little guy,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.

He looked up at her like the sound of her voice was all he needed to hear. She started to cry and rubbed her fingers over his cheek.

I stared down at them, my wife and my son. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. My entire being went into looking at them, at the perfect picture they created.

“His eyes are blue, just like yours,” Rimmel said, glancing up at me.

I swallowed.

“Romeo?” she said, a question in her voice.

I blinked, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. “God, Rim. You did so good. He’s perfect.”

“I’ll need to see him for a bit,” the nurse said, reaching out her hands.

I moved, using my body as a shield. “Don’t touch my son,” I growled.

Alarmed, she backed up. “I need to clean him up, get a weight.”

“Dad?” the OB called. “Do you want to cut the umbilical cord?”

Behind me, the baby fussed. Rimmel made soft sounds to soothe him. I glanced at the doctor but kept my body taut.

“Romeo, let them do their job,” Rimmel implored.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned toward the nurse. “She went through a lot of shit to have that baby in her arms.” I warned. “Don’t you take him from her yet.”

“Another minute wouldn’t hurt.” She agreed.

I gave her a look I hoped scared her and stepped around to cut the cord. When it was done, I glanced back up at my wife. Her eyes were still on the baby.

“He’s so beautiful,” she told me. “Come see.”

“I really need to clean him up.” The nurse worried.

I glared at her.

“Oh, yes,” Rimmel said. “I’m sorry.”

Carefully, my son was transferred into the nurse's care, and she carried him to a small scale and began doing what she needed to do.

I watched but stayed near my wife. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I’m fine.” She promised. “Go see him,” she urged.

The doctor was talking to Rim, finishing with her, so I let them do their thing and went to see my son.

“He looks really healthy,” the nurse told me. “Seven pounds, two ounces.”

I peeked over her shoulder as she wrapped a generic blanket around him and added a pink and blue hat to his head. With care, the nurse picked him up and held him out to me. He was crying, and I knew it was her fault.

Without thought, I reached for him, pulling him into my chest, holding him as tight as I dared. “There now,” I told him. “I got you. Everything is all good. We Anderson men are made tough.”

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