by Imari Jade
“This is not very comfortable after a while, so I highly recommend that you walk around every ten minutes or so.” Sherry looked Tabitha in the eyes. “You don’t want a sore tailbone on top of everything else.”
“Hello? Am I on time? Did I miss anything?” Aidie was at the door.
Tabitha let a fresh tide of pain carry her for an indeterminate time, squatting on the stool, while Alex rubbed her back and the midwives conferred quietly behind her.
When she opened her eyes again, Sherry was kneeling beside her and holding a glass with a straw.
“This is water mixed with corn syrup,” she explained, offering the straw to Tabitha. “It’s basically glucose, the same thing they’d give you in the hospital. I know you don’t like needles, but you need to stay hydrated. As long as you keep sipping this, you won’t need an intravenous.”
Obediently, Tabitha sucked down a mouthful of glucose. “Ow! Ow, why are you doing that? Sherry, can you...tell her...not to do that?”
By her feet, Aidie had pressed the business end of her stethoscope to Tabitha’s naked belly.
“Aidie has to listen to the baby’s heartbeat.” Sherry squeezed Tabitha’s hand. “She has to do that between each contraction. We’re with you, Tabitha. Let us know if you need us to break the membrane.”
“How...how...” Tabitha felt mildly frustrated that her brain couldn’t make her mouth move normally. “What...does...that...take?”
Sherry held up a long, slim stick, rather resembling a crochet hook. “All I do is put this in the right spot, and poke a little hole. It’s like popping a balloon. I’d have to do it between contractions, but it shouldn’t hurt, and it won’t hurt the baby.”
Tabitha nodded. “I’ll let you know.”
Time passed.
Tabitha concentrated on breathing. Her candles weren’t lit, and her music wasn’t playing, but those plans faded into the background as her body took charge. She was no longer in any kind of control. The labour was happening, and she was simply along for the ride.
After a while, she recalled her visualization techniques. As Alex, Sherry, and Aidie offered encouraging words and discussed her progress with quiet confidence, Tabitha tried to recall an image of peace and relaxation.
Finally, she had one.
The pains didn’t seem to end. They simply overlapped. Words like ‘“crushing’” and ‘“crunching’” arose in her thoughts, though her body didn’t feel ripped apart or torn in agony.
She focused on a beach she had once visited. With her eyes closed, she remembered standing in the cool water just at the edge of shore. How the grains of sand had felt between her toes and under the arch of her foot. The way the lapping waves had tickled the skin on her calves.
“Ow!” Aidie was back with her stethoscope. “Sherry, can you tell her to stop, please?”
“It’s okay, honey,” Alex whispered, kissing her cheek. “You’re doing so well.”
The unseen grip on her body tightened. Grunting, Tabitha leaned forward, her body drawing in on itself.
Her sweaty hand slipped on the wooden stool.
Alex was there to catch her.
“Lean on me, honey,” he told her breathlessly. “You’re great, you’re doing great.”
The moment ended, and Tabitha tried to sit up. Alex cradled her with his body. Her head rested against his shoulder.
She imagined the beach again. There was a small white shell by her right pinky toe. The sun was warm on her naked shoulders. A slight breeze moved the hair off her neck.
“Oooommph.” The crushing, crunching pain was back. Obedient to its will, Tabitha bent forward again.
“Yes, that’s it. Noise is good.” Sherry patted her wrist. “Do you need me to break the water?”
“Noooo...” Tabitha shook her head. Sweat dripped down her temples, nose, and chin, pattering on the plastic sheet. “I’m...o...k...” She gritted her teeth.
“I really think you should get up and walk around.”
Fixing Sherry with a steely gaze, Tabitha ground out her response. “Leave me alone.”
Tabitha lost track of time.
She heard the rabbit thump in her cage, forgotten by all.
She heard the phone ring, and felt the floor shake as Aidie rose to bring the handset to Alex.
The quiet words were unimportant.
Tabitha invoked the image of the beach. The warm water tickling her skin. The tiny white spiral seashell drifting closer to her toes, carried on the tide.
Crush. Crunch.
“Okay,” she whispered, whimpering. “Break the water.”
Sherry moved swiftly to place a bowl under the stool. When Tabitha breathed again, she slid the thin instrument inside Tabitha’s body and gave a little tug.
A gush of fluid poured neatly into the bowl. For a fleeting second, Tabitha felt some relief.
“Wow,” Aidie remarked, “That was really tidy. Sometimes it splashes all over.”
Crush. Crunch.
“Oooomph.” Tabitha bent forward.
This time, the baby moved, too.
She felt the three individuals close in around her.
The pulsing, white-hot ache in her belly escalated, and then, impossibly, was nearly eclipsed by a fresh burning pain between her legs.
“The baby’s crowning,” Sherry told her calmly. “Push!”
Keening wildly, Tabitha bore down until she was out of breath.
Alex was by her shoulder. “You can do it, honey!”
Crush. Crunch.
Burning ring of fire.
Tabitha’s head shook uncontrollably as she sat back from the second big push. She could hear herself sobbing.
Crush. Crunch.
Burning.
“There’s the head!”
Tabitha cried out, her body arching backward. “Get it out! Get it out! Get it out!”
“Hold on, we have to clear the breathing passages.” Beyond the burning pain, Tabitha sensed movement, but she had to fight to follow the next instruction. “Don’t push yet.”
“GET IT OUT!”
“Okay, now!”
With a mighty heave, Tabitha delivered her baby.
As her body came back down, and the infant emerged completely and neatly into Sherry’s waiting, gloved hands, Tabitha was aware of only three things in her world: The incredible heat of her son’s body as it passed between her thighs, the cessation of the pain, and the fact that she did, indeed, have a son. His manhood was clearly displayed under the umbilical cord, the testes round and swollen like pink mushrooms.
“It’s a boy!” Tabitha cried triumphantly. She rested against Alex’s shoulder while Sherry carefully turned the baby and placed him on Tabitha’s now relaxed belly.
Just behind her, she heard Alex laughing with delight.
Tabitha wanted to hold him, but waited while Aidie wiped his back and arms, and Sherry clamped the cord.
“Do you want to...?” She offered the sanitized surgical scissors to Alex.
Tabitha felt him shake his head. “No, she needs me.”
Love for her husband and their child filled her heart to bursting.
She barely noticed while Sherry carefully severed the connection between Tabitha and her baby. Lying on the cradle of her body, the infant did not cry. He simply looked up at her with the clearest blue eyes Tabitha had ever seen.
“Hello, little one,” she said.
A straw appeared by her mouth. Tabitha took a sip.
“Now, you need to push one more time.” Sherry caught Tabitha’s attention. “Or try coughing. This shouldn’t hurt.”
Tabitha coughed. The placenta slid out as neatly as the rest. Sherry held it up for inspection.
“Isn’t that remarkable?” Aidie’s voice filled with awe. “This was your baby’s home for nine months. It’s a life support system. Nothing in science can match it.”
“Tabitha, Alex, do you want to keep it?” Sherry asked. “We can put it in a bag and store it in your freezer. Some mothe
rs like to bury them under trees.”
“Yes, please.” Tabitha only had eyes for her son. He had the same dimpled chin as his father. She traced one of his delicate ears with a trembling finger. It reminded her of a rose in full bloom. “One day, we’ll have a yard, with a tree. I can keep it until then.”
The baby blinked and yawned.
Tabitha turned her head toward her husband, who was still supporting her with his body. Alex met her lips with a firm, simple kiss.
“You did it, honey.” He smiled at her.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
The End
About the Author
Tori L. Ridgewood is a collector and teller of stories; a dedicated wife, mother, and high-school teacher; and is a practicing Wiccan. She enjoys reading, needlecraft, and over-thinking movies.
Other works by the author at Melange
Mist and Midnight in Midnight Thirsts
A Living Specimen in Midnight Thirsts II
Telltale Signs in Spellbound 2011
[email protected]
Learner Mum
by Joanne Rawson
I love my life, my routine. There is absolutely nothing I would change, but then one weekend, I had a phone call that was about to change not only my sacred weekend but a part of me, too. For you to fully understand where I am coming from, let me tell you a little about myself, I promise it won’t take long.
I come from a very religious background. Regardless of my parents’ preaching hell fire and brimstone, I have spent my entire life rebelling, unlike my younger sister, Wendy, the role model of morality, who has done it all by the big black book: courted, engaged, married and now raising a family. Although I am a successful freelance journalist slash writer, when I introduced Steve to my parents, straight away they knew he was the ideal husband for their then-twenty five year old daughter. Finally, I had found a man who could add stability to my life of debauchery. Steve is a morning presenter on one of Nottingham’s local radio stations, and the only son of Clive Rutherford, MD and Susan Rutherford, a respected pediatrician.
However, Steve and I have been living in what my parents call ‘sin,’ for the past eight years. We are so happy with our life, but to their disappointment, there are no signs of wedding bells or the patter of tiny feet on the horizon. Why?
Because, I hate babies. Well, perhaps hate is a little strong, and honestly speaking, how can I hate something I don’t know a bloody thing about? Don’t misunderstand me, of course I’m fully aware of the biological know how, of how one gets a baby. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of the practical, but NEVER, NEVER, have I been tempted in the least to follow the experiment through. I personally think all men’s willies should be tattooed with a baby warning, like the stickers you see about dogs and Christmas in the back of a car window. It should read: A kid is for life, not for one night of sex.
And another thing, what is all this crap about my biological clock is ticking, or we just know when we are ready to start a family? So what do these people do? One night they are sitting watching their nightly soaps and the wife says instead of, “Shall I defrost a chicken for dinner tomorrow?” she says, “I think we should start a family.” Then the husband considers for a moment, during an advert, and replies, “O.K. love, but after I’ve watched the news.”
So now, you know that I, Polly Wilkins, am not in the least bit maternal.
* * * *
I stretched out in bed, rolled over onto my side and smiled at the bundle under the duvet.
Sheer bliss: it was Saturday, my favourite day of the week. Starting with passionate thoughts of a morning in bed with Steve, it would be followed by a lazy lunch at the chic French bistro down the road, dunking string fries into our hot garlicky buttered mussels, while reading the tabloids. On the way home we would walk along the river, stopping into the Greek supermarket to buy wine, cheese and bread, then spend a leisurely evening, chopping, marinating and sautéing our dinner while drinking wine, listening to music and talking about our week ahead.
Slithering up to Steve, I eased my body into the contours of his, running my hands around his thick fuzz of tummy hair. “Morning, lover.It’s Saturday,” I purred as I slid my hand around the elastic of his boxer shorts. Swiftly, he rolled over on top of me. I rested my hands on his shoulders, feeling the firmness of his muscles, reveling in how vibrant Steve could be first thing in the morning.
“God, I love Saturday sex, and playing golf. I think I might have died and gone to heaven.”
As he began to burrow his head into my neck, I pushed Steve away from me. “Sorry, golf?”
Steve let out a sign of exasperation. “I told you sweetie, Sam has the morning off. Promise I’ll make it up to you.”
Dropping his head, he swirled his tongue around my breasts. Sliding under the duvet, he began doing his thing that made my whole body sing. I gave a moan of pleasure. Crawling back up, his head poked out of the duvet. ‘So, it’s ok then?”
“Oh, yes.” I pushed him back under, and forgot about everything.
* * * *
I rolled over gasping for breath. Reaching out my arm, I grabbed my mobile, seeing WENDY on the screen of my phone. “This better be bloody important, to interrupt my Saturday morning sex.”
I knew that this would make my prissy sister cringe on the other end of the phone. Well, why wouldn’t it? This was a woman who referred to sex as, “relations.”
“I’ll come straight to the point then,” said Wendy.
“Funny, that’s just what Steve was about to say!” I gave a smutty laugh down the phone, knowing that her face would now be pulsating with embarrassment, and her heart rate elevated at the mere thought of people copulating at this hour of the day.
“Yes, well, that’s hardly something one should share. Polly, I need you to listen. Brian has this two day conference in Dublin. Normally, I stay at home, but this time partners have to attend. There is this gala dinner where Brian will get at least one award, and the Dublin CEO wants to meet us both. There is a big promotion coming up over there.....”
I was becoming agitated at how long my sister was taking. “Stop,” I interrupted. “Is this going to be a long conversation? If it is then I need to know, because my carnal desires are going off the boil here, Wendy.”
“You can be so crass, Polly. Mum is laid up with her back. Dad can’t get coverage at work. Polly, I need you to watch Josh.”
For a moment, I was speechless, and then I broke out into hysterical laughter. “Sorry, Wendy, for one minute I thought you asked me to watch Josh.”
“I did.”
Steve was being annoying, trying to grab the phone from me. I pushed him away, guessing the look on my face said I was now in no mood. I said with anxiety, “Either this is a joke or Wendy is drunk, but she has just asked me to look after Josh for two days.”
Steve rolled back onto his side of the bed, cracking up with laughter. Through the laughing I could just make out, “She must be drunk.”
“Wendy, are you ok? Is this some kind of after birth depression?”
Wendy gave a heavy sigh. “I think you mean post natal depression, and no, I went through that after Josh was born. He’s nearly a year old.”
“Really, he’s one? Is this why you are depressed? Because, I always thought he was a little slow.”
“Polly,” Wendy screamed at me over the phone line. “Josh is average for his age. Now will you blinking well help me out or not?”
I sat bolt upright in bed. I could feel my heart beating faster, the tightness in my chest constricting my every breath. I was the last person my sister would ask to look after her first born. Hell, Wendy knew that I couldn’t even look after their goldfish for a week without killing them. How the hell could I keep a baby alive?
Now that I was hyperventilating, Steve took control, as Steve always did when it came to my family.
Reassuring Wendy, Steve told her everything would be fine. Steve had learned the art
of pacifying the Wilkins family down to a tee. It was amazing how just the calmness of his voice, and the serenity on his face, could get them to agree to anything when it came to me.
As he put the phone down, a wave of hysteria took over me, and I screamed, “What the hell were you thinking? Neither of us have any idea about bloody babies?’ Feeling a churning in my tummy, I ran to the bathroom to puke.
* * * *
Later that morning, I stood like a limpet in our lounge, Steve holding Josh while he listened to Wendy read through the list of do’s and don’ts. I watched in horror as my brother-in-law carried in bags, buggies, boxes of toys, books and more food than I could possibly imagine a small person could consume in two days. Were my eyes deceiving me, or was the last load a bundle of nappies? Finally, Wendy gave us the list of contact numbers, the hotel, doctor, and health visitor. The list seemed endless! Bloody hell, this child had more of an entourage than a ruddy rock star.
Finally, after a lot a kissing and hugging, my sister left in floods of tears. Well, I was not surprised. I wouldn’t leave my only child with me and Steve. Literally.
Naturally, I assumed Steve would forgo his weekly worship of Golf. How very naïve of me to think that; after all, he was a faithful disciple of the game. Like Mecca calling them to the hallowed clubhouse, even a baby could not outplay golf.
Steve had played it very sly, keeping Josh amused, leading me into a false sense of security. Though my sister had asked me to babysit my nephew, Steve would be the actual one making all the baby decisions, or so I thought.
I had spent the first hour of Josh’s arrival trying to look busy, so I did not have to actually look after him. Whereas Steve was a natural, which seemed strange seeing as he was an only child with no other siblings in his family near his age, I on the other hand had been five when Wendy had been born. While my friends played mummies and daddies, I played A-Team and Knight Rider with the boys from our neighbourhood.
Sneaking up behind me, Steve slipped his hands under my t-shirt, cupping my small breasts in his hands, while he nuzzled my neck. “So, here is a little taster, for when I get home, and that little chappie is in bed.”
