Page 46 of Dangerously Deceptive

Kellan: Shay’s giving birth like right now. She’s actually fucking pushing, bro. I’m going to be a dad in just a few pushes. I don’t even have time to freak out. This is fucking horrendous. I’m glad we aren’t women.

Just as Ipress Send and start putting my phone away, another contraction starts and evil Shayla rears her ugly head. “For fuck’s sake, Kellan, put your phone away. If I’m pushing a baby out of my vagina, the least you can do is give me your hand to squeeze, or would you rather I use your balls?” she screams, as I hold my hand out for her to clutch. I don’t need all the bones in my hand anyway. Besides, she will not be able to find my balls because after that comment they are in hiding and I don’t think they are ever coming out.

After just a few pushes, and what I would class as the most traumatic half an hour of my life, Shayla lets out this almighty scream and grunts at the same time, then she just seems to sag. Just a second ago all her muscles were tightened, she was hunched over, her face turning red with all the pressure from the pushing. Then just a second later she seems to deflate like a balloon and a very tiny little gasp, followed by a high-pitched cry fills the air, and as I look over at the midwife, in her gloved hands sits the tiniest little squawking baby.

“Daddy, do you wanna have a look and tell Mum what you’ve got?” the midwife asks, and it takes me a second to realise she’s talking to me.

Leaning over, I look at the little baby, and gently lift up the leg, like it’s the most fragile doll in the world. “Shay, it’s a girl,” I sob, and before I know it tears are streaming down my face. The midwife reaches up and lays the baby on Shayla’s chest, wrapping towels over the two of them. Shayla holds her arm to support the baby, but not in a cuddling way. I think maybe she is just super exhausted, and I don’t blame her.

“Do you want to cut the cord?” the midwife asks, and instantly I say yes. I have read all the books, but nothing prepared me for it. No books tell you how hard it is, that you have to hack at it if you have a shit pair of scissors, and blood could squirt out when you cut it. But none of it matters, because my daughter is here.

The midwife potters around a little, but I don’t really even concentrate on her, instead I look at my two girls. Kissing Shayla on the forehead, I can’t help but look at her differently. What she went through today was literally awe-inspiring and I’m so honoured she brought my little girl into this world safely. “Shay, babe, you did it. You were a fucking monster, and I’m so proud of you. Look at our little gummy bear. She’s real. And she is so unbelievably fucking beautiful even when she’s squawking like that,” I say, laughing slightly at the end. But Shayla looks anything but happy. She looks almost vacant, like she is zoned out. I guess she is more exhausted than we thought.

“Shayla, if you want to do skin to skin with her, you can. Or we can try to establish breastfeeding if that’s what you want to do? You do have a couple of small tears, which I’m going to suture, but I will make sure you aren’t in pain so you can still hold the baby,” the midwife explains as she gathers more equipment onto her work trolley, before moving over to the sink to clean up.

“No, I’m too tired and in pain. Kellan, can you do skin-to-skin with her, please? We are going to bottle feed anyway, so he can give her the first feed,” Shayla replies, her voice sounding almost robotic. I don’t argue because even though she sounds off to me, I would be feeling a bit off it after going through that.

“Shay, I thought you were going to try breastfeeding?” I say, revisiting the argument we have had for the last few months. She is always going on about wanting what is best for the baby, and breastfeeding is well-documented as being what is best. Yet she has always said from day one she just wants to bottle feed. I know I have to respect her wishes, but it has never made any sense to me, so when she said she would try, I was ecstatic. I figured she would try it, love it, and it would be smooth sailing from there.

“I only said that to keep you happy. I don’t want to breastfeed. So are you going to feed her or not?” she snaps, looking away from me, and I can’t help but shake my head in disbelief. What the hell is wrong with her? She’s acting super weird, like more than I was expecting post-birth.

“Okay, if you take your top off and get sat in that chair, I will bring you a bottle and pass the baby over. That sound okay?” the midwife asks, and I don’t even hesitate.

As I’m taking my top off, I’m shocked when I hear Shayla shouting at the midwife. “At least try and be a bit professional. Yes, he’s hot. That doesn’t mean you have a right to stare at my boyfriend.” Her voice is loud and cruel, and the midwife takes a step back from the bed, holding her hands up in a defensive position, the shock evident on her face.

“I’m sorry, I can assure you I wasn’t looking at your boyfriend, Shayla. I’m just trying to do my job. I’m sorry if you thought something else happened,” the midwife mutters, clearly embarrassed by the whole situation.

“Don’t apologise,” I say to the midwife before turning to face Shayla. “She was not looking at me. She is doing her job and the last thing she needs is to take abuse from you. Do not speak to people like that. You need to apologise to her, now.” I know I sound stern, but I meant what I said. NHS staff put up with a lot of shit, and they didn’t need extra added on top from ungrateful patients. She just helped bring our daughter into this world safely, she deserves our thanks and nothing more!

“I’m sorry, I just want to get the stitches over and done with, that’s all. Can someone take this please,” she says, as she tilts her head towards the baby. I look at the midwife, and we both have matching shocked expressions around the way she just addressed our daughter asthis.

Thankfully, the midwife reaches for her and I remember my earlier instruction. With my shirt off I sit on the big recliner chair, and put the back down slightly. Only until I’m at a slight angle, and the nurse places my daughter onto my chest, before wrapping us both in some towels and a blanket. I look down at the beautiful pink ball on my chest, and as I do she opens her big blue eyes—all babies have blue eyes when they are born, but it may change later according to the books. It looks like she is looking right at me and I know logically she probably didn’t, but I could have sworn she just smiled at me.

I have never felt anything quite like this, it’s so surreal. I didn’t think I knew what love was, and Liam used to tell me all the time that when I’m in love I will know, and he was right. Because one look at this little scrunched-up pink ball with the biggest bright blue eyes, and I am falling hook, line, and sinker. My heart feels like it’s just doubled in size just to make room for her. I have never looked at someone so tiny and felt so much love and adoration. I want to protect her, to love her, and to give her everything she ever needs for the rest of her life.

As weird as it sounds, feeling my heart beat especially for this baby, and knowing without even a shadow of doubt that I love her, it makes me question if I love Shayla. Don’t get me wrong, I care about her so fucking much, and after what she has just been through I have a whole new respect for her, but I never had that moment. That moment when you just realise you are in love, like it slaps you over the face and catches you off guard. That’s what just happened with my daughter, and apparently that’s what happens when you fall in love.

Even if I’m not in ‘smack you in the face love’ with Shayla, that doesn’t mean I don’t love her, like I do Liam. It’s a different kind of love. I never believed the other type actually existed, I thought it was what people talk about in romantic love stories. But, it’s definitely true. Because I will go to the ends of the earth to love and protect my gummy bear.

It doesn’t take her long before she learns how to suck on the bottle, and as I hold her curled up in my arms, feeding her, I feel like I’m on top of the world. The midwife has just finished suturing Shayla, and she says she will be back in shortly to check on us.

“Shay, do you want a cuddle?” I ask, feeling guilty that I have been hogging her since birth.

“No, she’s eating, leave her be,” she says, as she pulls the blanket up over herself.

“I could bring her over and we could sit on the bed with you?” I ask, trying to think of solutions that will help, but instead all she does is snap at me.

“NO! I said leave her alone, I just want to rest.”

“Okay. She’s so beautiful, Shay. What shall we name her? I’m not sure she looks like either of the names we had picked out,” I say, before I turn to face the baby and in the best baby voice I can muster I ask her, “What’s your name, beautiful. Are you a Lilly, or are you a Rubi? You don’t like either of those names either.”

“Kellan, seriously. I just need five minutes. What do you want to call her?” she snaps, and I apologise, telling her we can talk about it later. She goes on her phone, and I feel like taking it off her and telling her to sleep until she feels better enough to bond with her baby. All the books she had me read say this is the best time for bonding with the baby, yet she is letting the time just fly by.

The midwife comes in a couple of times to check on things. Baby No Name is asleep on my chest, and I don’t ever want her to move, and Shayla keeps jumping between naps and going on her phone. In the meantime, I seem to have developed an obsession with taking pictures of a sleeping baby. This time when the midwife comes in, she talks about moving us to the postnatal ward, but Shayla declines, saying she wants an early discharge. The midwife says she is medically fit enough to be discharged at six hours old, so she has about another ninety minutes to go. Which gives them enough time to do a proper check on the baby, and for Shayla to have some food and a shower, to make sure she is passing urine okay.

As the midwife is leaving, she asks if we can put the baby, naked still, into the cot and a doctor will be in to perform the new-born examination. As I’m doing that, Shayla starts to stand and I rush over to her as soon as I know the baby is safely in the little fishbowl they call a cot. I try to take hold of her arm but she shoos me off. “Kellan, do you know what you could do that would be a massive help? Could you go to that deli I like around the corner and get me a wrap? I would much prefer that than any of the shitty hospital food. The baby is going to be checked over, and I’m going to be in the shower, so you won’t be needed. You can also bring the car seat in at the same time. Would that be okay?” she asks, with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Erm…yeah, if you are sure you don’t need me here?” I ask, hesitant to leave them quite yet, but I also want to be useful.

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