——
With chopsticks delicately perched between his fingertips, Harry distractedly picked at the steaming bowl of spicy chow mein noodles in his hand. The bright glow of the TV screen was the only illumination in the living room, and his tired eyes were glued to some documentary about snow monkeys. Beyond the curtains was a pitch-black sky. The ocean waves outside were calm. A steady noise came from the humidifier. The ambiance was ideal for a good night's sleep, but your hyperactive mind made it a futile endeavor.
In the dead of night, your cheek found a cozy home on Harry's shoulder—it was sturdy, warm, and the collector of your tears. In the last nine months, when exhaustion and discomfort pounded into your bones, he was the one you leaned on. To quell your frustration, he massaged your swollen feet with attentive precision, shaved your legs when you couldn't see anything below your baby bump, adjusted to your hormonal mood swings with empathy, and cooked your favorite meals when getting out of bed felt like a chore. Above all, he made you feel beautiful each time your body changed. Those changes had come quickly and ruthlessly, and he let it be known that his attraction to you wasn't fading. Not in the slightest.
In fact, it seemingly grew tenfold the moment you told Harry you were pregnant. You had noticed his gaze lingering on your body more often, with an obsessive hunger darkening his irises. Throughout your pregnancy, he paid special attention to the widening shape of your hips, the heaviness of your breasts, and the blooming swell of your stomach. He had documented the overall progression by taking weekly side-view pictures of your bump. He also wrote down milestones in his journal, like when the baby first kicked and where he had been when he found out the gender.
The obsession went both ways. With your zany hormones, you were more attracted to your husband than ever. It was borderline insane how often you wanted to jump Harry's bones. He gained some sympathy weight and let his hair grow out. He embraced his stubble, which was a weakness of yours since you first started dating him. Most tempting was how he prepared himself for fatherhood—building the crib with his bare hands, deep cleaning the house to show his appreciation, reading parenting books and asking you to quiz him, and simply doting on you when you weren't feeling like the best version of yourself. Needless to say, you were insatiable around him, and he gladly entertained your desires with an equal amount of fervency. The flame of romance was never snuffed out.
When the documentary ended, you rubbed your eyes and sighed. Anxiety about knowing the baby could come any minute had made you an insomniac, hence the midnight TV and leftovers session with your husband who was also itching for something to happen. You both were getting a head start on sleep deprivation at least. Not that it was something to brag about.
At almost forty-one weeks pregnant, your baby girl was taking her sweet time. The obstetrician said you would have to be induced if nothing progressed in two days. While holed up in the house, waiting for the first sign of labor, you and Harry had tried everything to try to kickstart the process—walking along the beach, eating spicy food like the chow mein Harry cooked tonight, and even desperate rounds of sex every morning since your due date passed. Nothing worked, causing frustration to build on both ends. The hospital bags were packed and waiting by the front door, and impatience gnawed away at your sanity every time you looked at them.
"Gotta pee," you said, sitting up with a groan. Your lower back ached, one of the reasons why sleeping was so unachievable.
Harry offered you his hand without a second thought, giving you leverage to get off the couch. The motion left you winded as you slowly waddled to the bathroom just down the hall, blindly touching the walls before reaching for the light switch. You flicked it on, your eyes squinting against the harsh ceiling light. In the mirror above the sink, you stared at your reflection. Harry's shirt he lent you when your clothes no longer fit was stretched awkwardly over your stomach. You forewent wearing pants around the house because you simply couldn't be bothered. You looked just as miserable as you felt. As much as you were terrified to give birth, you just wanted to get it over with so you didn't have to feel so on edge all the time.
After emptying your bladder, you washed your hands and then stretched your back by resting your forearms on the sink and bending forward. Through the achiness, you thought about Harry and how he had politely demanded the baby to come out yesterday, speaking to your bump in a hushed voice like it was a secret conversation between the two of them. Her response was several fluttery kicks to his palm, to which Harry then blew raspberries against the outline of her tiny foot—or maybe fist—to coax her out. It obviously didn't work, but it was fun to watch her move around so actively. It was like she was teasing you both, saying, Not yet, Mom and Dad. It's warm and cozy in here.
You smiled, feeling a rush of happiness at the memory. Harry was going to be such a wonderful first-time dad. He was devoted, patient, and playful in all the right moments. You had no doubt he would slip into the role perfectly. It was evident in the way he treated you, how he treated his mother, and even how he treated strangers on the street. He had so much love to give. Compassion coursed through his veins.
When you straightened your posture, a weird sensation occurred. You felt a peculiar pop, then a trickle of fluid down the insides of your thighs. You stood stock still, your fried brain working extra hard to process the situation, then looked at the floor, seeing a continuous drip of clear fluid pooling on the tiles. You knew what that meant, but you were paralyzed as relief and sheer panic wrestled within your heartstrings. Had you manifested it? Or had time lapped you until you got dizzy? It was impossible to comprehend how the months had gone by at warp speed and also excruciatingly slow.
"Harry?" you called out apprehensively, resting your head against the wall.
A few seconds passed before he replied, "Yeah?"
You blew out a shaky exhale. "Come here, please."
Silence hung in the air until you heard the creak of the wood floors and the soft padding of his socked feet. You met him halfway in the dark hallway, standing awkwardly while holding your bump. The bathroom light spilled out like a spotlight shining down on you. Surely, he could see "it's time" written all over your face.
"Hi," you whispered, slightly embarrassed about the unusual state you were in. "Um... I'm pretty sure my water just broke."
Harry reached out his hands like you were a timid animal, and he was trying not to spook you. His eyes were wide as they roved over your body, unsure of how to proceed. He eventually stepped closer, then crouched to observe the fluid coating your bare legs.
"Yeah, I think it did," he said hoarsely, his voice quiet with awe. "Must have been those noodles."
A hysteric, breathy laugh bubbled up your throat. "No, I think she's finally ready to meet us."
At those words, Harry's features transformed into barely restrained excitement, deep dimples appearing beside his gorgeous smile. He cradled your bump and spoke against it, saying, "About time, baby girl. We've been going stir crazy out here."
A tear trailed down your cheek, the emotional reality hitting you with full force. This was it. This was the moment your life began to tilt toward a new purpose.
The pleasant thought was short-lived as a twinge of pain sparked in your lower abdomen. You grunted and pressed against the spot with your palm, a grimace tugging at your lips. Your belly tightened, causing you to grip Harry's shoulders for support.
"Oh, it's really happening," he said, standing and rubbing his forehead in shock. "Okay. All right. Should we..."
"Hospital," you mumbled, pinching your eyes shut.
"Right. Good thinking." Harry broke out of his trance and carefully guided you down the hall. He situated you on the couch before stressfully spinning in a circle, figuring out a plan of action. He hurried over to the two big duffel bags by the door and hefted them over his shoulders with ease. He then reached for the bowl where the car keys were, and you watched him open the front door while unlocking the car and pressing the button to open the garage door. After starting the engine and shoving the bags in the trunk, he came back inside.
"It hurts," you said weakly, groaning while hunched over. It was only going to get worse until the nurses gave you an epidural injection, which was also going to hurt. Hours, maybe even days of physical pain lay ahead, and the prospect made you want to weep.
"I know, sweetheart," Harry said. "Let's put your coat and shoes on, then we can leave."
"Hold on. Just... wait until this contraction passes."
He nodded and sat beside you. "What can I do?" he asked softly, his leg bouncing as he scanned your face.
There was no suppressing your brutal honesty when in the thick of dealing with pain. "Brush your teeth. Your breath smells—ow—like chow mein."
He blinked, then smiled like your complaint completely unaffected him. "Yes, ma'am."
While he obeyed your command, you got up and slid your sandals on. The contraction gradually subsided, but you still felt a heavy pressure near your pelvis. She was wasting no time announcing her arrival.
Harry returned with a sweatshirt and a pair of sneakers on. His hair was tied up, and despite his confident walk toward you, you knew he was nervous based on his fidgety hands and rosy cheeks.
"Let's go," you said, standing by the door.
Harry stared at you with an affectionate gleam in his eyes. "You don't have any pants on, my love."
You glanced down, raising your brows in realization. "Whoops."
He was already on his way to the bedroom, laughing and calling out behind him, "Shorts, leggings, or sweatpants?"
You struggled for an answer since nothing would fit well enough, hence the going shamelessly pants-less at home during the past month. Eventually, you decided, "My beach skirt, please."
He brought your long sarong wrap skirt that was made out of soft, breathable fabric. He helped you into it, adjusting the waistband over your bump. It looked ridiculous paired with Harry's casual T-shirt on your upper half, but you were comfortable, and that was what mattered most.
"Can I take a picture of you like this?" Harry asked.
You frowned. "Why?"
"Because you look beautifully disheveled right now, and I want to keep this memory forever."
With a scowl, you reluctantly agreed with a grumbled "Fine."
He took out his phone and captured a couple of candid pictures of you leaning against the wall with your hands cupped under your bump. You had no desire to smile or pose.
After shoving his phone back in his pocket, he exhaled and cupped your cheeks. "Ready to have this baby?"
You stared into his eyes, getting lost in their gentleness. "My body is screaming yes, but my mind says absolutely not."
Harry kissed you, a cool blast of mint gracing your lips. "I'm in your corner, okay? I'll be at your beck and call in that hospital room."
"Can you give birth for me?"
He chuckled, smoothing his thumbs under your eyes—you hadn't realized they were damp. "I would in a heartbeat if that were possible."
"You'll regret saying that," you replied dryly. "It's not going to be a pretty sight."
"We'll see." Another contraction ensued, a little more persistent than the last. Harry noticed and cautiously led you through the threshold. "Time to meet our girl," he whispered, locking the door behind him.
Stepping into the November night, you inhaled the crisp air into your lungs, embracing the transcendent phase of life on the horizon.
——