The Birth

I lay in the dark curled around my swollen belly. My whole body shudders and shakes as I cry. My fetus, a boy, gently moves and kicks my arms as if to calm me. “It’s ok mommy, don’t cry. I love you.” Even though my nose is clogged up I can still smell the dankness of my room, a corner of my Aunt’s basement partitioned off by heavy blankets. How did I get here? I feel completely and utterly alone. My son violently kicks as if to disagree. I rub my tummy and smile through my tears. I am not alone, my sweet unborn child who has been with me for the last 38 weeks is here with me alone in the dark. I feel such love swell up inside of me, the bond I feel with my child is made of the strongest material in the whole galaxy. Utterly exhausted, I fall asleep.
PUNCH, whoosh! I awaken to a small pain in my lower abdomen much like a balloon popping, followed by a flood of water. I lay in my bed, Frozen. Eyes wide even though I can’t see anything. It is still dark. I reach down between my legs and feel wetness. Fumbling for my glasses I feel a second gush of liquid seep from between my legs. My water has broken. Very carefully I make my way up the stairs and gently knock on my Aunt Pat and Uncle Jim’s bedroom door.
“What!” My Uncle calls out, mostly asleep
“My water broke.” I respond
“Fuck, are you sure?”
“Yes”
My Aunt comes out and looks at me. My nightgown is clinging to me from the waist down.
“Her water broke, Jim get up!” My Uncle nearly falls out of bed. I go to the living room to call my Midwife and soon we are on our way to the hospital. It takes my Uncle ten minutes to get me there. The entire time he tells me not to push. My Aunt tells him not to be stupid; I’m nowhere near ready to push. I call my son’s father three times on my way there, but he doesn’t answer.
When we get to the Hospital, everything becomes a blur. I am in a fog, and can barely remember the basic of information
“Name?” an impatient nurse barks at me.
I respond, shakily
“Birthday?” she fires back. I feel like I am taking a test that I didn’t study for.
This time my response gets a disapproving look from the nurse.
“Are these your parents?” She asks eyeing my Aunt and Uncle, who stand behind my wheel chair
“No“ I squeak. Boom! My first real contraction hits me. Words cannot describe the pain.
The nurse gives me a satisfied look.
“Come with me” she looks at my Aunt and Uncle as she wheels me down a hallway.
The next thing I remember I am sitting in a hospital bed. My nightgown is gone, replaced by one provided by the hospital. The nurse tells me to lie back so she can check me. She is none too gentle as she inserts her fingers inside of me. The pain is excruciating, as I feel her prod my cervix.
“Seven” she proclaims.
“Can I push yet?”
The nurse laughs, looking from me to my Aunt. They seem to share some sort of inside joke that I am not privy to.
“Your just getting started” she answers.
I ask to use my Aunt’s phone again. I call my child’s father every few minutes until eventually it doesn’t even ring but just goes to voice mail. He has shut his phone off. I hand the phone back to my Aunt, who won’t make eye contact with me.
“He’s not coming” I try not to sob
“I can’t stay” She informs me. I suddenly feel the need to throw up. My Aunt hands me a bowl, and I perform an immediate evacuation of my stomach.
“Is she ok?” My Uncle asks, looking horrified
“She’s fine” My Aunt responds
“I don’t remember you getting sick when you had the boys”
“That’s because you weren’t paying attention”
A new nurse, who appeared much friendlier enters the room. She asks if I need anything.
“I want the epidural”
“OK!” She hurries out of the room. My Aunt looks disapprovingly at me.
“I didn’t need pain medicine for either of my births” She informs me, not for the first time
Good for you; I think. I am tired, heartbroken, and soon I will be giving birth alone. I wanted nothing more than to feel as little as possible. I receive the epidural, and then I sleep. At 8:00 in the morning I am awoken. My Midwife is here, and she tells me that it is time for me to start pushing. For thirty minutes, I do just that. Half way through, my father arrives. He comes into my room grinning. I have no desire to see him. I am still angry and hurt. My privates are exposed to him and I pull myself out of my drug induced fog long enough to shout
“Get him out of here!” A male nurse grabs him by the arm and pulls him out the door. My midwife asks me if I want to see my baby’s head. I eagerly nod. She wheels out a big mirror and places it at the foot of my bed. The first real view of my son is beautiful black hair, wetted down, with a hint of curl. I watch as I push him from my body, mesmerized. They suck mucus from his mouth and nose then lay him in my arms. I am asked if I want to cut his cord, it is like cutting rubber. I cry, I smile, I am so happy. He is wet, and bloody, and so beautiful and perfect. His cries join mine. The nurses take him from me and busily start to clean him up. My Aunt Colleen enters the room; she looks at me and starts to cry.
“They wouldn’t let me in!” She exclaims “I am so sorry” I smile at her and tell her it is ok. I love her, she hugs me. She oohs and awes at my son.
“What is his name?” a nurse asks
“Dominik”
“He is beautiful” everyone in the room agrees.
A nurse comes over and attaches a plastic band to my wrist. A match to the one on my son’s small ankle. She holds up a second band and looks around the room for the father.
“He isn’t coming.” I tell her. I look at my Aunt.
“Do you want it?”
“Oh honey I am honored, isn’t your mom coming?”
“Yes, but I want you to have it”
“You should give it to your mom”
My father returns carrying a small flower arrangement, a stuffed monkey, and a balloon.
“Where’s the father?” he asks
“He’s not coming.” I was beginning to feel like a broken record. My son is peacefully suckling at my breast. I am too happy to deal with my dad. I try to ignore him as he huffs and puffs around my room. Finally my mother arrives. She is smiling and happy as she comes to my bed side.
“Where is my Grandson?” She gushes. I remove him from my breast and dab at his mouth with his blanket. I hand him to my mother, who promptly scoops him up. The same nurse who gave me my wristband places the matching one on my mom’s wrist.
“Where is the father?” she looks from the wristband to me with concern
“He’s not here. The little prick, I’d kick his ass if he was” my father pipes in, glaring at my mother. He walks over to take in the first glimpse of his grandson.
“At least he’s white” he says with confidence
“What if he wasn’t?” My mom asks. My father ignores her
“He could get darker” I inform him. My father ignores me as well.
It is dark now. My friends and family have come and gone. I lay in my hospital bed, unable to sleep. My body is sore and deflated but my mind is alert with thought. It is so quiet I can hear my baby’s soft breathing. I look at him in his bed, belly full of milk, sleeping peacefully. Every few seconds he makes a sucking motion with his mouth as if he were still at the breast. My breast. My seventeen year old breast. I am suddenly dumbstruck with wonder. How did this beautiful little creature come from me? I look around the room with confusion. How did I get here?