Page 101 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“What's going on?” Stephen asks through the phone.

“Nothing,” Logan says, sounding totally unconvincing. “Nothing's wrong.” His eyes meet mine, and I can see him fighting his way back, pushing through the fear.

“Okay, put Emily on the exam table. It's not ideal, but it'll work.” Stephen's all business now.

“What? No way!” I protest. I've spent enough time on that cold metal table, thank you very much.

“Emily,” Logan says in that soft voice. “Please.” His eyes beg me, and I can see how hard he's trying to stay calm for me.

There are these little lines around his eyes that weren't there before. His jaw clenches so tightly I can practically hear his teeth grinding. I know how much he's been dreading this moment. Throughout my pregnancy, he's been torn between being super happy about the baby and terrified that history might repeat itself. He's been to every doctor's appointment, asked a million questions, and made backup plans for his backup plans. I really don't want to give birth in a vet exam room, but I nod anyway. I just hope the ambulance gets here fast.

Logan picks up his phone and sticks it in his pocket, careful not to hang up. Then he puts one arm under my knees and the other behind my back and lifts me as if I don't weigh anything,even though I'm basically a baby hippo at this point. He carries me into the exam room and sits me on that cold metal table.

Why do I always end up here? Normal people don't have these problems. Normal women give birth in hospitals, with doctors and nurses and epidurals!

Logan takes out his phone and puts it next to my leg. “Okay, we're here. What do?—”

He's cut off by another scream from me as a contraction rips through my body. It feels like being torn in half from the inside.

“What do I do, Stephen? Tell me what to do!” There’s panic in Logan's voice as he looks from me to the phone and back. He runs his hand through his hair, making it stand up all over. Despite the pain, I feel this rush of love for him. He's trying so hard.

“Both of you need to calm down! Take a deep breath!” Stephen orders. I don't know which of us he's talking to, but we both follow his instructions, eyes locked on each other. It doesn't help with the pain, but it's something to focus on.

“Logan, check how dilated she is,” Stephen says.

“Wait, what does that mean?” I ask. We took the childbirth classes, but they didn't cover this part in detail. Logan ignores my question, hooks his fingers in the waistband of my sweatpants, the only pants that still fit me, and pulls them down.

“What are you doing?” I squeak, suddenly feeling all shy even though this guy has seen every inch of me a million times.

“It's gonna be okay, Em,” he says in that voice he uses with scared animals. “Just try to relax.”

Right. Like I can relax while my fiancé's undressing me on a metal table in a vet clinic with his best friend on speakerphone! He gets my sweatpants and underwear off, then puts his hands on my knees and spreads my legs. The position is way too familiar from all of our sexy times, but this context could not be more different.

“Oh my god, Stephen, I can see the head! I can see the baby's head!” Logan's voice is full of wonder and total terror.

“Good, good. Just stay right there. Now it's up to Mama to push,” Stephen says, all calm and encouraging.

But I'm not listening to Stephen. I'm staring at Logan between my legs and processing what he just said. “What do you mean, you can see the head?” Then it hits me. “Oh my god! There's a baby coming out of my vagina! Logan, get out of there! I don't want you to see this!”

Stephen laughs on the other end of the line, and Logan looks up at me, tired and desperate. “Emily, our baby is literally being born right now. Please just focus on that, okay?”

I try to nod, but another contraction hits, and I start screaming my head off. The pressure is insane, unlike anything I've ever felt.

“Push, Emily,” Logan and Stephen say together. “You got this!”

I start pushing, thinking that as soon as I see this kid, I'm going to give them hell for what they're putting me through. Nine months of feeling like crap, and now this pain. This baby better be cute.

For what feels like forever, the only sound in the room is my screaming. Then suddenly, there's another sound, this tiny, angry cry that's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

I open my eyes—I didn't even realize I closed them—and see Logan holding this tiny, bluish creature in his arms.

“It's a girl,” he whispers. “We have a daughter.” Tears fill his eyes as he brings her to show me. A daughter! We decided not to find out the sex, wanting to be surprised. Now, looking at her scrunched-up little face, I can't imagine her being anyone else.

She's perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes, and lungs that work just fine based on how loudly she's screaming. She's got a little tuft ofdark hair on her head, and her nose is a tiny version of Logan's. Just perfect.

The door bursts open, and two paramedics rush in with a stretcher, but it's like they're not even there. It's just Logan, me, and our little girl. After all the chaos of the last hour, this moment feels strangely peaceful.

“See?” I say to him softly. “She's not even a minute old, and she already adores you. She knows you're the best dad in the world.” It's true. Our daughter has stopped crying and is looking up at Logan with this serious expression as if she's studying his face.

---