Page 21 of Barbells, Broomsticks & A Baby

"Much." I snuggle closer, feeling more relaxed than I have in weeks. "I don't think it worked though. No contractions yet."

"Give it time." He strokes my hair soothingly. "If nothing else, we've reminded each other what we have together."

I'm about to respond when I feel a different kind of tightening, low in my belly. I place a hand there, waiting.

"Zelda?"

"Shh." I concentrate as the sensation builds, peaks, and slowly fades. "That felt...different."

We wait in silence. Five minutes later, another one comes. Then another after only four minutes. "Atlas." I meet his gaze, excitement and nervousness mingling in my chest. "I think it actually worked."

His face lights up with joy and wonder. "Really?"

As if in answer, another contraction grips me, stronger than the others, and making me squeeze his hand. "Really." I laugh, then wince as it peaks. "Our baby has interesting timing."

He kisses my forehead. "Should I get your mother?"

"Not yet." I want to savor this moment of just us before everything changes. "Let's time a few more to make sure they're consistent."

So we lie there together, timing contractions and sharing quiet moments between them. The sky gradually lightens, and by the time they're coming every three minutes, there's no denying it.

"I think it's time." Atlas helps me sit up and find a clean nightgown.

"Time to meet our child." The words fill me with equal parts terror and joy.

As Atlas goes to alert my mother, I pause at the doorway, looking back at our bed—the site of so many intimate moments, and now the place where our journey to parenthood truly began.

Another contraction reminds me there's no time for nostalgia. Our baby is coming, and nothing will ever be the same.

Chapter 7—Grizelda

“ITHINK WE’RE OFFICIALLYin labor,” Atlas says, his normally calm voice tinged with excitement and anxiety.

My mother looks up from her tea, her eyes narrowing as she observes me waddling into the kitchen with one hand pressed against my lower back. “Consistent contractions?” she asks clinically.

“Three minutes apart for the past hour,” I say, lowering myself carefully into a chair. “And they’re definitely stronger than the Braxton Hicks.”

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