I was warm. Cozy even. From the inside out.
There was a quiet shushing noise that seemed to be all around me, and it was so lovely a sound, so comforting, I almost fell back to sleep. But something was prodding me to wake up—something I couldn't quite remember begging me to try harder, to open my eyes.
It was in those moments right before consciousness was fully in my grasp that I registered the pain.
I felt like I'd been hit by a truck.
My legs shifted against stiff bedsheets—sheets that most certainly were not mine—and the movement set the lower half of my body throbbing painfully. Which was when I was able to pinpoint the source of the incredible pain.
Coming from directly in between my legs.
I opened my eyes, remembering, my gaze landing on the far wall first, where a whiteboard was hanging with my name scribbled on it, among other information, including my nurse's name. Tia. She'd just been in here before I fell asleep, helping me feed the baby. I could still feel the ghost of that little mouth on my breast, sucking away, filling me with a shade of love I'd never known. But then my attention shot to my left, where my husband was sitting, bare-chested, a small bundle in his arms.
His green eyes flicked up to mine. A soft smile touched his lips.
"Hi," he whispered.
Happiness and love fluttered up to my chest from the direction of my stomach, and my lips curled up in a smile I couldn't have helped if I'd wanted to.
"Hi." My voice was hoarse, my throat dry, but I didn't care. I only wanted to look at him.
At them. My family. The loves of my life. My entire world.
My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. I felt like I was too big for my skin.
"How long was I out?" I asked, feeling like I'd only just dozed off.
Harry's smile became a smirk. "About ten minutes."
A small groan worked its way past my lips in answer as I realized I'd been right. It was almost like all the happiness coursing through me had been poking at my mind, refusing to let me fall asleep for fear that I might miss a moment. And letting my focus land on Harry again, I was more than grateful to be awake.
He was sitting back in his chair, his head against the cushion behind him, his eyes heavy and puffy as he stared at the bundle in his arms. His hair was all tousled, understandably considering the last thirty-six hours. I could only imagine what mine looked like. He needed a haircut, but I kind of loved it at this awkward length. His curls were just beginning to show themselves again.
I sat up a bit against my pillows, wincing as dulled pain grew sharp.
"You alright?" Harry's whispered voice was deep and scratchy.
"Yeah. What time is it?"
I hadn't thought to ask before, when Tia had come in to help me nurse the baby. Feeling groggy and disoriented, I glanced at the wide windows to my right. There were thick curtains pulled across them, and dozens of flowers and stuffed animals lining the radiator beneath it, so I couldn't see if it was light out.
Harry still looked concerned. "It's early. Not even five."
I sighed. "You should get some rest."
He laughed. "Me? I wasn't the one who pushed this beautiful human out of my body less than twelve hours ago."
Was that all it was?
I smiled again, my heart picking up its pace, and patted the bed beside me. "Bring her here."
Harry glanced down at her, the deep stain of his tattoos standing out in stark contrast against her white blanket. Something swooped in my stomach at the sight—the way he stared at her, the way his free hand came up as he carefully stood, going to rest against the top of her little body. The way his eyes only drifted from her as he made his way over to me. The easy way he carried her in the crook of his arm, the light in his eyes as he smiled at me, eased himself down beside me on the bed, holding her so that I could see.
She was fast asleep, sated now that she'd eaten. She'd picked up breastfeeding pretty quickly, according to Tia, which gave me a weird sense of pride in her. And even though I'd just fed her, I was already looking forward to doing it again. To feeling that indescribable bond with her again.
She was perfect. The most perfect thing to ever exist. And she was here. Mine. Ours.
Tears formed in my eyes for the millionth time since she'd been born.
At this time yesterday morning, we were just getting to the hospital, and the person I was then already felt like a distant memory. She'd been excited, unsure, just as I was now, but she didn't know—couldn't have known—all the ways she could feel. All the ways she could love. All the ways bringing this baby into the world would show her parts of it and herself that she'd never known before. The love alone was something she'd always heard about, read about, but never fully understood. She couldn't have. It wasn't something you could even begin to comprehend until you felt it.
Because this love—there was nothing else like it. It was strong, unending, and completely unconditional. I already knew that there was nothing this little girl could do to change it. It was a permanent part of me now, and it felt like it was part of me that had always been there somehow. My heart felt like it had swelled ten sizes to accommodate it, filling with feeling until I could barely breathe. And staring at her, that little, perfect face, her tiny nose, full cheeks, her pink lips—
Twenty-four hours ago, she was still in my body. One hand drifted to my stomach now, already noting the emptiness, the soft rise of it, not the firm swell I'd grown so used to. For a second, I couldn't quite reconcile the feel of my stomach with the baby in Harry's arms. It was too strange, too overwhelming to really focus on the fact that she was here. Really here in the world with us.
But then I remembered what it took to get her here, and it was true what they say—your body does sort of forget the pain, but there was no chance in hell I was forgetting that it was unlike anything else I'd ever felt.
I'd been able to keep myself pretty calm right up until it was time to push. Harry had been the one kind of freaking out before that. When my water broke, he started running around the house in a way I'd never seen him move before, going back and forth in our room without any real aim, then leaving and coming back with random things in hand, like the television remote or a flashlight.
I'd chalked it up to the fact that I'd woken him from a sound sleep when it happened. My contractions had started a couple of days earlier at that point, and they'd grown a good bit stronger by the time my water finally broke. Still, I'd been hoping to get some sleep before I had to wake Harry. But when I felt that slow leak of wetness between my legs, I knew there was nothing more to do but wake him up and get ourselves moving.
I never could have expected the way he'd react. He practically flew out of bed, running back and forth in our room, still half-asleep, spouting off the plans that we'd made for this very moment.
"I'll get the bags, you get in the car, and have you timed your contractions? The doctor said we should time them so that when we get there, we can—"
"I kind of want to rinse off first," I said, heaving my aching legs over the side of the bed and pressing myself up with my fists on the mattress.
"What—now?"
"Yeah, I'll just get in the shower—"
"You're going to shower now?" It was pure panic in his voice.
I tried to speak as calmly as possible, feeling the beginnings of what felt like another contraction. "I don't want to get dressed with amniotic fluid running down my legs."
He huffed then, his head swinging from side to side like there was something in this room he was forgetting. "Okay. Okay, I'll get the bags, you get in the shower."
Harry made for the door then, and I waddled towards the bathroom, the contraction becoming a bit more forceful as I reached the door.
"Wait, do you need help?" he asked.
"I—"
He was already at my side, his arms around me, guiding me forward.
"I'm okay, I can—"
"Arms up," he ordered gently, his breath coming heavy, his gaze focused but almost unseeing at the same time.
I listened, trying to stifle a smile.
He lifted my extra large t-shirt over my head, leaving me only in my soaked-through underwear, fluid still trickling down my legs. The contraction picked up in intensity then and I grimaced as I grabbed onto his forearms, a quick breath sliding through my teeth like a hiss.
"What? What is it? A contraction?"
I nodded furiously, trying to focus on my breathing.
He grabbed onto me as forcefully as I was squeezing him. "Shit. Okay, uh... just breathe, okay? It'll be over soon. Just... breathe." He took a deep breath through his nose then, his eyes focused only on me now, and let it out through his mouth before taking another quick breath.
It was hard not to smile, especially as the contraction ebbed.
"Better?" he asked, apparently not noticing that I was trying not to laugh at how intensely he was breathing with me.
I nodded again, this time, afraid I would burst out laughing if I tried to speak. Harry was all business again, hurrying to strip me out of my underwear, then reaching around me to turn on the water. He grabbed my hand when it was on, sticking his hand beneath the spray to check the temperature, then helped me in, not letting go of my hand until I was situated and washing myself off.
When he tried to take the washcloth from me, I stopped him. "Why don't you go change?"
"I can change after."
"I've got this," I said gently, smiling a little. "You go change so that you're ready when I'm done."
Harry nodded slowly, backing away without turning around. "If you have another contraction, call me."
He was back before there was time for another contraction to start, still shirtless, but wearing a pair of sweatpants and socks. I'd had just enough time to rinse off. "Our bags are in the car, the only thing left is to get you in as well."
I grinned at him, unable to help it as I toweled myself off.
"Did you have another one?" he asked
I shook my head.
"What?" He'd finally noted my smile.
Stepping up to him, I lifted a hand and brushed back a curl that had fallen into his eyes. "You're freaking out."
He took a shaky breath. "I don't know how you're not."
Bringing my other hand up, I cupped his cheeks and stared into his eyes, my smile wide for another reason now. "She's coming."
It took a few moments, but a small laugh broke past his lips, and his smile grew as his eyes fell between us, as his hands came to either side of my belly, where she'd been sitting low and getting lower for weeks.
I put my hands on top of his. "She's coming," I said again, looking up at him as his smile turned into laughter.
His forehead came to mine then, and we laughed together, giggling like kids on Christmas morning. And when another contraction came, probably about five minutes after the last one, he helped me breathe through it in that same intense way he had before, and neither of us were laughing when it was over.
He had helped me get dressed at that point, then paced while I tied my wet hair up in a bun. I was barely able to grab my phone from my nightstand before he was ushering me out the door of our bedroom.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" I'd asked as he hurried me out into the hallway.
"What?" He'd stopped dead, looking serious as ever.
I'd turned to stare at him pointedly then, enjoying his one-track mind too much to offer it up without a little fun first.
But it hadn't taken him long to realize that he still wasn't wearing a shirt, and he hurried back into the room to grab one and was still tugging it on when he met me back out in the hallway.
"She's here," I whispered now, curled up beside him on my hospital bed, feeling the painful evidence of her arrival between my legs, dulled by painkillers that could do nothing for the physical exhaustion everywhere else.
Together, we stared at the little girl who had joined us in the world mere hours ago.
Our little girl.
My head fell to Harry's shoulder as I looked at her, as he ran the tip of his finger over the side of her cheek. Up and down, up and down.
He turned his head to look at me, his lips landing on my temple. "I'm so proud of you," he murmured against my skin.
I clung more tightly to him, feeling the warmth of his breath in my hair, and closed my eyes.
"How did you do that?" he asked quietly, and not for the first time since she was born.
I sighed, thinking back to it, those moments when I felt her sliding out, when the pain was gone. Just like that.
All those hours of pain, all those months of anticipating—over, just like that.
"I still don't know," I admitted, opening my eyes to stare at her again.
"You're amazing," he murmured, kissing me again. "Both of you. I can't believe you're mine."
I pressed my nose against the warm skin of his arm, breathing him in, trying not to cry and failing miserably.
He must've felt the tears against his arm because he looked at me again. "I love you."
I lifted my mouth to his, kissing him firmly as our baby slept in his arms. "I love you. I couldn't have done it without you."
He grinned, his forehead against mine so that I could feel his breath on my cheek. "You knew exactly what to do. You didn't need me."
He was wrong. So wrong. But he went back to staring at her, and I went back to staring at both of them, trying to take it all in. Our daughter, fast asleep in her father's strong arms, his fingers, soft on her cheek, his eyes moving over every part of her, taking note of it all, committing every little detail about her to memory the exact way I was doing with both of them.
He was wrong. There was no way I could've done that without him. His freakout as we left the house and arrived at the hospital had been nothing but amusing to me, endearing even. And he mellowed when we finally got here. Probably because it was out of his hands and he knew that we'd be well taken care of.
Not to mention, he'd been the biggest comfort to have through each contraction as we waited hour after hour for the epidural. He was my strength, holding onto my hands to steady me as much as possible, to talk me through the nerves of having a needle inserted into my spine as they administered the epidural. He was there feeding me ice chips, laughing with me as I shivered uncontrollably—a side effect of the drugs—while we waited for my cervix to be fully dilated. He was there to greet Mom and Anne as they arrived just before eight in the morning—the only two members of the family who were able to stay long enough to be here with us. And he was the one to shoo them out to the waiting room when the time came, just as we'd planned.
I was nervous enough to be doing this—heading into this unknown territory of giving birth. Terrified, really. Of what it would feel like, how much it would hurt, if I would be able to do it at all. It didn't help to know that the focus of the entire room would be on my vagina as I gracelessly pushed a baby out of it. Even though they were our parents, the last thing I wanted was any extra eyes on me. If I thought Harry might actually listen, I would've asked him to at least look away. I was going to do all I could not to look.
I hadn't really panicked until I felt the strong need to push, until the nurses and doctor came into the room, calmly, but looking like they were ready to do battle all the same. It was like all at once, it was finally real. She was coming.
And I had to push her out of too small a hole—no matter how much they said it had dilated.
"Harry," I'd said, my voice shaking with fear as they hiked my feet up into stirrups.
"I'm here," he'd said, grabbing my hand, his voice strong and sure. "I'm right here."
I looked at him, right into his green eyes, and if he was scared at all, he didn't show it. He smiled. Nodded.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. "I'm right here with you. You've got this."
"Alright, Madelyn," the doctor said. I didn't even remember his name. "We're gonna have you push now, okay? Your gonna take a deep breath, and then bear down like you would when you have a bowel movement, alright?"
"I don't want to poop." The words came out of me before I could stop them.
The nurses smiled, Harry lifted a hand to his mouth beside me, more than likely covering a smirk of his own, but the doctor only shook his head, still totally calm. "It's totally normal if you do."
"Don't tell me if I do."
"Deal," he said, grinning now, staring between my legs. It looked like his hand was doing something down there, too, but I still couldn't feel much because of the epidural. Only a growing pressure and that need to push. "Alright, time take a deep breath, and then push, okay? Ready?"
No, I wanted to say. I'd thought I was, but maybe I wasn't. What if I was a terrible parent? What if the baby didn't love me? What if I couldn't take care of her? What if she ended up hating me? But they didn't give me the time or the chance.
"Deep breath," the doctor ordered, so I gulped at the air like my life depended on it. "Big push now."
I pushed.
And I pushed. Feeling that pressure growing, changing, burning as everything stretched to accommodate the head working its way out of my body. I was only somewhat aware of the counting. One of the nurses was counting down from ten as I held my breath and pushed. I was more aware of Harry at my side, squeezing my hand, speaking words of encouragement that weren't really registering in my brain. I only knew that he was here, he was beside me, and that was all I really needed to know.
They had me push on and off for far longer than I had hoped it would take—what ended up being about forty minutes total, which I only found out afterwards. It felt more like days to me while I was in the midst of it.
But then, all at once, she was out.
The baby was out. And I was a mother.
I'd done exactly what I'd promised myself I wouldn't do. I looked. Watched as she was born. As I pushed her out. And now, thinking back, I was so grateful I had. I watched my baby girl come into the world and felt every bit of it. Not just physically, though even with the effects of the epidural I could feel the stretching and burning, the intense amount of pressure from each bit of her as she passed through the birth canal. I felt every bit of it emotionally as well.
The doctor was the one who had told me to look, and I'd obeyed without a second thought. Once the worst was over and her head and shoulders were through, she slid out almost easily and all at once. I couldn't see clearly through the tears in my eyes, but she was already squirming, red all over, and covered in fluid.
But all my mind really registered was her beauty. The miracle of it. The miracle that was her, squirming and crying and alive and in my arms. On my chest. Out of my body. She was warm. She was moving just like she had inside me. She was crying and she was in my arms, her mouth round and pink, her eyes squeezed shut. Her hair was dark and silky on her small head, her fingers long and perfect, but before I had time to count them, before I had time to take her in any longer, the nurses were taking her away, and I felt Harry at my side, brushing back my hair.
I'd completely missed the part where they'd asked him to cut the umbilical cord. I was too distracted by her. He'd told me that later on, when everything had settled down.
In the moment, tears were streaming down his cheeks as he leaned down, smiling, breathing hard, to kiss me. I could barely catch my breath myself. My heart was thundering in my chest, and despite seeing and feeling her leave me, I still felt like none of it was real.
"I love you. I'm so proud of you," Harry murmured, emotion choking his voice. His arms were around me, his lips touching every bit of my face they could find. "How did you do that? How?"
"I don't know, I don't know," I repeated, the rush of love and feeling stopping up my own words, my own thought process.
"Would you like to come see her, Dad?" one of the nurses asked.
Harry sniffled, his hands going up to rub his eyes clear of tears, before he nodded and walked over to where they had her situated on a cart. I watched him walk over, feeling weirdly fine apart from the emotional chaos that was only made up of different shades of love, and barely heard the doctor as he explained to me what he was doing—that the afterbirth was already out and he was stitching me up.
I didn't care. I could only watch as Harry approached the cart holding her, as his hands covered his mouth in complete disbelief while watching the nurse clean her up. He glanced at me then, tears still filling his eyes, and removed his hands so that he could breathe a laugh.
I couldn't speak. Could only watch as the nurse handed her to him, a bundle swaddled in a hospital blanket, wearing a small cap on her perfect head. My heart hammered as he took her in his large hands, pulled her close to his body, and stared.
Those green eyes moved over every inch of her—no longer holding back tears, but letting them flow freely—before meeting mine. He situated her in the crook of his arm before moving closer to me, his eyes on her once more.
"She's here," he murmured when he reached the bed, and I was so excited, so emotional, I was practically whimpering as he handed her to me, as her warm weight settled against my chest, her eyes now open and staring up at me.
"She's perfect," he said then, settling down on the bed next to me to stare at her as well.
It was incredible. Pure magic. To look into her eyes and know that she was mine. That she'd spent the last nine months growing in my body. That she'd come from me. That she was little bits of me and Harry, and an entirely new person that we'd have the privilege of getting to know. An entirely new person we'd have the privilege of getting to love. And I'd never loved anything so much as I loved her.
Then I felt his lips against my head again, the press of his forehead to my temple soon after. "Thank you."
It had been nothing more than a whisper. Two words, really. But they were two words that had never meant more.
"Thank you," I'd said, turning away from her so that I could kiss him again, lingering a little longer before pulling away so that we could return to staring at her.
They had been the best, most beautiful moments of my life, without question. But so was this. Lying here together in the early hours of the morning, all three of us now. A little family.
Mom and Anne had both cried when they'd come in to see us, trailing Harry who had gone out to get them. They'd spent a couple hours with us, all of us taking turns holding her and marveling over how gorgeous she was. They'd even helped us decide on her name.
We'd thought for sure we would know exactly what it should be as soon as we laid eyes on her. But we were wrong. Even holding her in our arms, we were still stuck between Lila Jane and Olivia Anne, both of us deciding without really saying anything that Alexandra wasn't the one. Mom, Anne, and even our nurse, Tia, thought she looked more like a Lila, so while we still really loved Olivia, ultimately, we agreed that Lila felt right.
So Lila Jane—born at 7:49pm on January 8th—she became.
Now, I felt myself jolt awake again as Harry shifted beside me.
"Sorry," he said, his voice deep and raspy in the dim room. "I'll take her over here. You should sleep."
It took me a moment to comprehend what he was saying, and when I looked down, there she was in his arms. Lila Jane. My daughter. Our daughter. The one I'd given birth to not twelve hours ago.
"Oh," I said, watching as he stood up with her and trying to sit up a little taller. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. You need your rest."
"But I'd rather have you both here next to me."
He smiled down at me, looking from me to Lila and back again. "I'm afraid I'll fall asleep with her in my arms if I get too comfortable."
We wouldn't be bothered for a while. Tia had only just left us a little while ago, and now that I'd breastfed her, Lila was sure to be asleep for a while, too. It was the perfect time for both of us to get some rest, even if we only got a couple hours in before Mom and Anne showed up again. And if I had to sleep, which apparently my body was demanding even though I would've rather stayed awake to stare at the loves of my life a little longer, I wanted nothing more than to feel Harry next to me.
"Pull the cart over. Right next to the bed. So we can keep her as close to us as possible."
Harry must've been just as exhausted as I was, because even though I knew he would've liked to keep holding her, he did as I said and pulled the cart over, as close to me as possible, before setting her down in it. Lila didn't stir, and Harry let his hand rest on her body for a second, feeling her breathing I presumed, before rounding the bed and climbing in beside me.
I shifted onto my side, ignoring the pain of the movement, and felt Harry settling in, then let out a contented sigh when the front of his body warmed the back of mine.
"Um..." His hand was hovering over my side. "Should I—"
I took it and wrapped it high around my waist, just underneath my breasts. He didn't squeeze me as tightly as he normally might have, but when his lips touched the back of my neck, his breath of what sounded like relief sending shivers down my spine, I didn't care. I was just happy to be in his embrace.
Head on the pillow, body panging with too many aches to count, I stared at my baby. The little human my body had made and nurtured and given life to over nine months that had felt much longer. And with her father's body pressed up against mine, holding me, loving me as he always had, the wonder of her was beginning to make sense.
"I never want to forget this," he said, the words sluggish. He was half-asleep already. "The way we feel right now."
Of course she was beautiful. Of course she was perfect. She had come from the most beautiful, perfect love I'd ever known.
Tears dropped from my eyes to the pillow under my head as I laced my fingers through Harry's and felt him squeeze. Another breath slid out of his nose and gusted across my neck, and I leaned into him until I felt his nose against the back of my head. His arm curled a little more tightly around me, our joined fingers landing between my breasts as he pulled me closer.
My eyes went back to my daughter—Lila Jane Styles. I would never get over looking at her or saying her name to myself. And it was while I was staring at her, the most perfect culmination and representation of our love, of our future, of all that we had to look forward to, that I drifted off to sleep in her father's arms.
___
Author's Note:
MAYDAY. THIS IS NO LONGER A DRILL. THIS IS THE LAST TIME WE'LL ALL BE IN MADELYN'S HEAD.
It was all I could think about while I was writing this chapter. I can't believe it. She's been such a huge part of my life for so long, I'm not sure I know how to let her go. But it also hasn't hit me yet that I have to. Which is probably a good thing.
And somehow, this chapter doesn't feel good enough. I'm not sure it ever will be, even if I had all the time in the world to edit it. Because I'm not sure I'll ever be satisfied bringing the story of my girl Mads to an end, even if I don't have any other ideas to continue it.
ALL OF THIS SUCKS.
But I hope you liked this chapter. I hope it made you feel all the things and then some. I hope that you feel it was a worthy end to Madelyn's part of the story.
Which is, like, half-true, because we're going to be seeing her again in the next and final chapter, but we'll be seeing her from Harry's POV. WHICH ISN'T THE SAME AND I'M SAD. But yeah, one chapter left, you GUUUUUYS. AHHHH. Okay, ending this here. I love you. I'm emotional. I hate everything. Bye. xx
(And thank you!!!!)