Page 84 of Married into the Mob
I might have snapped, telling him to stop repeating what I said, but my belly cramped again. Resting my head on his chest, I counted as the contraction clawed at me and finally released its grip.
“I’m in labor.”
I tensed, waiting for Hunter to repeat, “Labor?”
“We have to get you to the hospital.”
Aunt Louisa had pestered me, insisting I have the baby in a hospital, and I’d given in because I was also wary about having the birth at home. Hunter had said the decision was up to me.
“First baby in our family to be born in a hospital,” was what he’d said.
But the contractions were coming fast. I couldn’t climb up the stairs. My mate would have to carry me.
My groans were echoing around the panic room, and I sensed the anxiety rising in me. But I had to get this baby out—not here, but at the hospital, so I had to stay focused. Calm was out of the question. I was eight and a half month’s pregnant having contractions in a panic room.
There’d be no panic in the panic room today.
“Dellie, your breathing… look at me.”
I focused on Hunter’s face, and we breathed together, using the same four and six techniques as that first day.
“I won’t make it to the hospital.” I already had the urge to push.
“Is it okay if I phone Treyton?”
Having been uncertain about having a home birth, I was now determined our little one would be born here. And a friendly voice on the phone would help allay my fears.
I nodded, telling Hunter I needed to squat while the contraction wrapped about my bump. He held me under the arms and crouched behind me, the phone on the floor nearby, as I labored, my loud moans somehow helping to get me through the pain.
Hunter spoke rapidly into the phone, and I caught a few words. “Lunch” and “across town.” He pressed the device to his chest and words tumbled out of his mouth. “He’s on his lunch break at a hospital across town. But he can talk you through it for the next thirty minutes.”
“Thirty minutes!” I gritted my teeth. “What does he think I am? A godsdamn city bus?”
A chuckle was relayed through the phone. “Sorry, Odell. Babies wait for no one.”
“I want to push.” Hunter removed my pants and underwear, and I leaned over the sofa, panting while he dragged a bunk bed mattress into the space.
Treyton asked questions about how close my contractions were, and I yelled, “Too close,” while Hunter gave him a more exact time.
“Stop talking,” I snapped and didn’t regret it. I had a baby in me who wanted out. “I need to squat again.” My body and the baby were telling me that was how it should happen.
Once again, my mate put the phone beside us and scattered cushions below me and around us. He lowered me into a squatting position as contraction after contraction took hold of me. Every part of me hurt. Fingers, toes, even my hair.
Hunter and I performed the hee-hee-hoo breathing we’d learned in birthing classes while Treyton told me how well I was doing. I hoped he wasn’t fibbing ‘cause I was pushing out what felt like a watermelon.
“It hurts so bad.” I grunted and pushed. Nothing was happening. No baby, no crying little one, just a lot of hurt. “How long is this gonna take?”
“Not long,” Treyton assured me. He was definitely lying. “Feel for the baby’s head.” Hunter did as Treyton instructed.
“Hair. I feel hair.”
“Hair!”the three of us yelled. I’d never been excited to hear that word, but I must’ve been doing something right.
With a renewed burst of energy, I grunted and pushed. There were many moans and howls, and with Hunter having one hand underneath, he told me the baby’s head was out.
“Our baby has a head.” Words were pouring out of me with little thought.
More pushing, and Hunter said the shoulders were out and then the relentless pain was gone and my mate said he had the baby.
