Page 97 of That Feeling

“Yeah,” Nilsa echoes Jackie’s praise, “you are incredible. You’re a woman! There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Brooklyn says as she hypes herself up. “I am a badass woman, and I’m going to go in there and give birth to our beautiful, healthy baby girl!”

“There’s my girl,” I smile. “Now let’s go to the house and get your hospital bags then make our way over there.”

“But I don’t have contractions yet,” she rubs her lower left belly, “just this annoying gas cramp.”

I crook an eyebrow. “How long have you had that cramp?”

“On and off for the last hour or so. Shit, feels like it’s getting a little worse. The weird thing, though, is my lower back is killing me today, more than normal.” She winces. “Guess I shouldn’t have had that spicy breakfast burrito.”

“Okay, baby, I think you’re in labor. Those are probably your early contractions.”

“You think I wouldn’t know a contraction?” She glares. “This is gas pain; it’s different. I just fee—ah, see, it’s passing.” She doubles over a little.

“Baby.”

She sniffs and starts to cry again.

“How did I not know? I feel so stupid.” She grips my hand as we walk down the hall toward the elevator. “I read all the same books as you.”

“Honey, you’ve been so focused on work and nesting that you just got distracted, so don’t be upset. You’ve had so much going on with your body these last nine months, it’s hard to know what’s what.”

“I’m such an idiot, though.” She’s fully crying now. “I didn’t know I was pregnant, and I just now didn’t realize I was in labor.”

I can’t help but laugh, which certainly doesn’t help the situation, but it is comical. Her emotions are so tapped right now—she’s barely been sleeping and she’s constantly having weird pains and new bodily experiences.

“I know this isn’t going to help right now, but in just a short while, it’ll all be over and you’ll be holding our little girl.”

By the time we get to the house to grab her bags and get to the hospital, the contractions are closer and stronger.

“You say they’re about eight minutes apart now?” Her doctor makes a note. “Brooklyn, you’re going to be fine. Let’s get you set up in a room so we can start monitoring the vitals for the two of you, okay?”

It pains me to see her hurting like this. She scrunches her face and grips the bed railing so tightly, her knuckles turn white. I’d give anything to bear the burden of this pain for her right now.

“That one was the worst yet,” she says, gently lying back on the bed.

The nurses get her hooked up to all the machines and both she and baby’s vitals are measuring strong.

“Okay, you’re at almost seven centimeters, Brooklyn, over halfway there. If you want to get an epidural, now is the time.”

I glance over at her and squeeze her hand. “What do you think, sweetheart?” We’ve discussed it several times over the last few months, and while she was always leaning toward getting one, the cons do scare her.

“Do I have to decide right now?” She looks nervously at the doctor.

“No, but we can’t give it once you’re fully dilated. I’ll give you a few minutes and see how you handle these next few contractions.”

She makes it through two more contractions, but when the third hits, she screams for the epidural. Twenty minutes later, she’s smiling from ear to ear.

“I literally feel nothing; it’s insane.”

“How are you doing? Still nervous?”

She nods. “A little. I just want to meet her already.”

“Me too, mama. Have we fully decided on the name then? No going back?”

“No going back.”

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