After thirty minutes, when the contractions were only a minute apart, Dr. Buschardi came in.
“Hello there, Robin,” she said, much too smiley for four o’clock in the fucking morning.
Oh God, not another contraction. Oh, the pain…
This time Claire and Sophie had my hands, and Jackie was counting down the seconds to when the contraction would be over, intently focused on the beeps and lines of the monitor.
“Shit!” I screamed, squeezing their hands purple. The contraction receded, and I apologized for my language.
Dr. Buschardi laughed it off and said it sounded like and—as she glanced over the readouts printed out from underneath the contraction monitor—it looked like I was going to deliver before the sun rose.
“You’re nearly fully dilated,” Dr. Buschardi said. “Contractions are coming closer and closer together. I think your little girl is just about ready to make her big appearance.”
I smiled brightly at the girls. “Did you hear that? This morning! My baby is coming this morning.”
Another contraction, more painful, followed by another. I felt like I was going to die and be reborn at the same time. The pain was excruciating, but the joy that overfilled my heart was astonishing.
“I can do this. I can do this,” I said to myself, and Emily repeated the encouragements.
“Um, Dr. Buschardi,” a nurse said, stopping by my room a brief moment. “There’s a Mr. Holman here.”
I waved my hand as a sign for him to be let on through as I tightened my jaw and squeezed the girls’ hands for another oncoming contraction.
“Is he the father?” the doctor asked, snapping on bright blue gloves and taking a seat on a stool that a nurse urgently wheeled over for her. My bed started to move forward and down, setting me in more of an upright position.
“No,” I cried. Then the contraction receded, but I knew my thirty- or forty-second break wouldn’t be enough to calm down and get back on my proper breathing track.
“He’s her super hot boyfriend,” Jackie told the doctor, wiping my forehead with a damp cloth.
“Super hot,” Claire added.
“Well, Robin,” Dr. Buschardi said, “you’re still not fully dilated yet, but you’re doing well with your contractions. Nearly thirty seconds apart. You comfortable?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I tried to readjust myself in my now upright bed.
Dr. Buschardi smiled. “With the bed—you comfortable with the bed? I want gravity on your side when you start to push, which I think is right around the corner.” She smiled even more brightly. “But if you feel more comfortable laying down for a while, we can readjust.”
“I don’t care,” I groaned, my lower back throbbing, my head pounding with what felt like a migraine, and my womb pulsating ten, maybe twenty times more painfully than the worst period cramps I’d ever had. “Can I have some drugs?”
“Robin,” Lara said, shocked, “I thought you wanted to do this all natural?”
“Listen,” I braced myself for what felt like another contraction. “I may have said that before I was in this bed with my legs strapped up and my stomach feeling like it’s about to explode, but trust me—screw natural. This hurts!”
“Too late for those, honey,” the doctor said. “Natural it is. Your daughter is on her way.”
I thought another contraction was due, but I miscalculated. A nice little pause? Nope. Another one now, just as strong, just as painful.
“Okay, ladies,” Dr. Buschardi said. “Looks like Robin’s going to get ready to start pushing. We need some room in here.”
As the girls were about to leave, Bobby rushed in. “Robin!” he exclaimed, charging to my side.
“Bobby!” He cupped my sweaty, clammy face in his hands and gave me a kiss.
“Oh, Robin, I came as fast as I could. As soon as I got the call. Are you all right?”
“As right as I can be. Rose is coming—today.”
“Robin,” the doctor said, a serious look covering her face. “We’re getting very close.”
“Okay,” I said, knowing it was time for visitors to head out to the waiting room. Lara and I had a baby to welcome into the world, and soon enough everyone would be able to meet baby Rose. But first…
“Ow!” I screeched. Bobby grabbed my hand and I squeezed tightly throughout the duration of the quick contraction.
“Show time!” the doctor announced, as the contraction abated.
“I love you, Robin,” Bobby whispered, wiping away my newly formed tears from under my fogging glasses. “And I’ll be right out there with the girls when you and Rose are ready. You’ll do a wonderful job. I’m so proud of you.” He kissed me firmly, the taste of his mouth warm and sweet, familiar and enjoyable, even in such a remarkable moment.
“I love you, too, Bobby,” I whispered. Another contraction was forming, and Lara took the helm, holding my hand and softly encouraging me as the gang filtered out of the room.
“Okay,” Dr. Buschardi said. “Push, Robin.”
I pushed. And I pushed. And I pushed some more.
A brief break, then more pushing.
I cursed a few more times, calling for pain medication.
Lara held my hand and kept telling me, “You can do it. You can do it.”
She held my hand through the contractions. Through the pushing. Through what seemed like an eternity of pain and pushing and screaming. Through the moment Dr. Buschardi announced the baby’s head was out. Through more contractions. Lara was there throughout the entire process. And she was there when baby Rose came out, screaming at the top of her powerful infant lungs; when the doctor rested her on my stomach and let me see my daughter for the first time.
“Congratulations,” Dr. Buschardi said. “You successfully delivered your very healthy and beautiful baby girl.”
Just then, a nurse took Rose away.
“What’s going on?” I asked, utterly spent.
“Don’t worry,” Lara said. “I think they’re just going to cut the umbilical cord, take her measurements, clean her up. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“She certainly is,” the doctor said. “A few tests, clean her up, and then my nurses will help you with baby’s first feeding. Congratulations, Robin. You did a wonderful job.”
I looked to Lara, who was, like me, glowing. How exciting! It was all so very real; everything we’d prepared for and read about and talked about for months had finally happened. Rose was here.
***
“Where is that bundle of joy?” Sophie exclaimed, walking into the recovery room I was moved to once Rose and I were ready.
“There she is!” Claire said. She was carrying two large, foil balloons that wished Congrats! and It’s a Girl!
Emily and Jackie crowded around my bed, ooing and ahhing at the sweet little bundle in my arms. Rose was wrapped tightly in a pink receiving blanket, eyes closed and fast sleep.
“She’s adorable!” they cooed.
“Looks just like you.”
“Aw, she’s so precious.”
“The cutest baby I’ve ever seen.”
Bobby timidly walked in, a bouquet of pink and white roses in one hand, and a plush toy lamb in the other.
“Bobby,” I cried, tears coming up the instant I laid eyes on the man I loved.
“Oh, Robin,” he said, coming to my side. He placed the small lamb near Rose and gently touched her chubby cheek. “She’s beautiful. Like her mother.”
He looked into my eyes, his big blues still taking my breath away like the first time we shared a kiss. He pressed his lips to mine, kissing me gently. He whispered, “I love you so much, Robin,” over my lips, his glance, his kiss, his words sweeping me into euphoria. “And I’m so proud of you.” He kissed me once more, then, as if noticing he had a love-struck audience, sheepishly shied back and said, holding out the bouquet, “For you and Rose. The most appropriate bouquet, of course.”
Lara kindly took the flowers to be placed in a vase of water, while everyone as
ked dozens of questions about the labor, the delivery, and, “Why does Rose have all that gooey stuff around her eyes?” or, also a favorite question of the day from Claire, “What do they do with the umbilical cord? Would they give it to you if you asked?”
“Welcome to the family, little Rose,” I said, carefully rocking her. “Welcome to your crazy, fun, and very non-traditional family. We love you.”
Surreptitiously, Jackie uncorked a fresh bottle of champagne. “Shhh,” she said, looking mischievously over her shoulder. “Let’s not get caught this time.” She immediately started pouring rounds and we all, even a tiny sip for myself, toasted to the birth of Rose Sinclair. My daughter and, in all seriousness, the most beautiful little girl in the world.
“Robin?” Dr. Buschardi asked, startling us as we sipped on our celebratory bubbly.
“Yes?” I handed my cup to Lara, who tried her best to look inconspicuous.
“I’ve made sure your to-go bag is all ready for your discharge tomorrow. It’s got all sorts of information and helpful infant items, like some diapers, emergency infant formula in case breastfeeding doesn’t work, and such. Threw in some extra samples for you.” She smiled and, once she took notice of our forbidden drink, gave me a wink. “I won’t tell. Congratulations. And I’ll be by again later this afternoon to make sure all is still well.”
I stared at my gorgeous baby, still so in shock that I actually delivered this little creature—this bundle of perfection—and, while her family wasn’t by common standards the “all-American family,” it was one filled with members who loved and adored her unconditionally. And that’s what mattered. Rose may not have had a father, but she had a mother who’d lay down her life for her. And five aunts—no, six counting Aunt Kaitlyn—who would shower her with love and spoil her with everything under the moon. And she had Bobby, who had come into our lives at the most precarious of moments and offered his love, his support, and his heart to a woman and her baby who never thought such love could be found outside of fairytales.
The girls and Bobby continued their toasts, admiring Rose, stroking her cheek, and kissing her small, bald head.
“I love you, Rosie,” I whispered, kissing the tip of her button nose. “I love you with all my heart. And I’m going to be the best mom you could wish for.”
Bobby massaged my right shoulder, sipping on his champagne and looking fondly at the two of us. “My lovely leading ladies,” he said, giving me a soft peck on the forehead.
Two nurses returned to the room, one with a vase filled with brightly colored garden flowers, a balloon bearing the word, Congrats! attached, and the other nurse pushing a large cart carrying a machine that looked like a breast pump.
“What’s this?” Claire gasped. “More flowers?”
“Oh, these must be from Kaitlyn. Maybe she got your voicemail.” I reached out for the nurse to hand me the card.
“I’m sorry, dear,” the nurse said. “No card attached. They came directly from the hospital gift shop. By pre-order, I think.”
“That’s odd,” I said. “Couldn’t be Mom, could it? Or Dad?” I looked from Bobby, to the girls, then back to Bobby. “Could you find out for me, please?” I asked the nurse.
“While we find out the mystery delivery,” the other nurse said, “Robin and I need to get little Rose to breastfeed.”
Bobby gave me one more kiss before following the rest of the pack out of the room.
After what must have been a dozen failed attempts at getting Rose to latch on and breastfeed, she finally did it! When the nurse and I thought we’d give the breast pump a try so that way Rose wouldn’t have to have another feeding of formula, and so I could actually give a go at this whole breastfeeding thing, Rose figured it out.
“She’s a smart baby,” the nurse said.
“Robin?” the nurse who had come in with the mystery flowers asked, peeking her head into the door.
“Yes?”
“I called down to the gift shop and it seems that these flowers were on order since June. To be delivered to a Robin Sinclair whenever she gave birth.”
I scratched my head, perplexed, and careful not to disturb Rose, who was suckling as best she should.
“That’s so odd,” I said. “Surely they’re not from my mom…or my dad.”
“Gift shop says they’re from a…Mr. Brandon Crossley.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I didn’t tell anyone what the nurse that day had told me—about who had sent me the mystery flowers. There was no card attached, and probably for good reason. Brandon didn’t want me to know they were from him, or didn’t want to be too obvious that…what? He actually had a sensitive and caring bone in his body? I didn’t see the need to tell anyone about it and draw up some unnecessarily dramatic issue. They’d soon forgotten about the mystery flowers, and I figured if anyone asked I’d say they were from my dad or something.
And I didn’t want to bring up the topic of Brandon with Bobby. Besides, Brandon wasn’t a part of my life, or a part of Rose’s. Why would I even mention the gifting of anonymous flowers only to possibly set Bobby off? Or maybe even cause a rift in our relationship or open the door to pointless questioning about Brandon. About that night I’d spent with him. About how I was without Brandon’s help and support from the start. About how we agreed he’d be out of my and Rose’s lives forever. Why start something that wasn’t? I had a great thing going with Bobby, and nothing could spoil it, not even a meaningless vase of flowers from an anonymous man who never wanted Rose, or me, from the start.
I’m still curious as to why Brandon arranged for those flowers to be sent, though. Mad curiosity grips me whenever I’m up for a midnight feeding with Rose. I wondered where Brandon was. Already in New York? On the plane ride there? Already shacking up with some new girl? I thought about him not because I cared for him, or had some flighty hope of having him back in my life or in Rose’s, but because, I guess, the flowers he had sent me must have meant something. But what? Why would he send them if his only interaction with Rose, and with me upon hearing I was pregnant with his child, was to offer me enough cash to terminate my pregnancy? Why would he even bother with flowers? Guilty conscience? Change of heart? An offering gift in hopes of cleaning his slate?
As it turns out, I think the gift of flowers, however nonchalantly scheduled, was a preview of what was to come. Two weeks after Rose’s birth, a piece of mail arrived for me at the apartment, with a return address from New York, New York. It was a check from Brandon for a thousand dollars, and a handwritten note on a torn off piece of scratch paper, as if an afterthought, that read, Will send more when I can. Brandon
Still in shock, perhaps more in shock than I was over the mystery flowers, I opened up a bank account in my and Rose’s name the day after the check arrived. Rose, like every girl, needed a little mad money…or college cash. Whatever she wanted to do with it when she became old enough was up to Rose. I didn’t urgently need Brandon’s handouts, but I’d be a fool if I didn’t take them. If I didn’t give Rose the least of what her birth father could do for her.
Kaitlyn came to the apartment to meet baby Rose as soon as she was back from vacation. And Mom even planned for a weeklong trip to Seattle at the end of January. Of course, I told Kaitlyn she would have to host Mom. Mom could come over when she wanted to help me out, see her grandchild, and fulfill the grandmotherly duties she said she should do. But she’d have to stay at Kaitlyn’s place. A little of Mom can go a long way.
Dad finally emailed me back with congratulations, and that was that. Hey, oddly enough Brandon was actually turning out to be a better father than my own. But as soon as I saw Bobby (and we still made sure we managed a few date nights a week, even if that meant staying at home with baby Rose) I pushed any and all thoughts of Brandon from my mind. Bobby was the man in Rose’s life. He may not have been her father, but he was my boyfriend, and with me came little Rose. Bobby told me he’d have it no other way.
Time flew by—having an infant who cries f
or a feeding every couple hours through the night makes time seem nonexistent. All my days blended into one and I was constantly tired, even though Bobby and the girls helped out as much as they could. Rose needed me for feedings at all times, though, so if I wasn’t pumping breast milk in order to jet out for a quick dinner date with Bobby, I was feeding Rose. Or rocking her to sleep. Or singing to her, giving her sponge baths, reading to her, even going for short walks with her in the park.
Before I knew it, Christmas had come and gone (and my bedroom quickly seemed too small for the hoards of toys Rose received from Saint Nick and all her aunts), and New Years Eve was tonight! Bobby had put up a fight about the all-girls New Years Eve party we planned to have at the apartment. I promised him we’d share the next New Years Eve together, and he still gave the classic argument that the New Years holiday, once the clock struck midnight, was the night you had to receive your special kiss. It set the precedent for the year’s romance.
“You plan on going somewhere next year?” I asked him. “Rose and I too much to handle?”
He caught my chiding. “Fine, then. You have your girls-only time this year. But next year you’re mine. No arguments.”
“I promise.”
“Why are you doing an all-girls thing, anyway?”
I laid Rose gently down in the lace-covered bassinet I kept right next to my bed. She bunched her knees upward, then sprawled out and made the sweetest sigh as she drifted off to sleep.
“Because,” I whispered, shooing Bobby out of the room. “We promised one another last year that if any of us were single during New Years, we’d have a girls-only party. Sister support.”
He grumbled as I closed the door behind me and turned on the baby monitor—my second cell phone.
“And since Lara and Sophie and Emily are single, we’re having our party.”
“You’re not inviting strippers or anything like that?” Bobby raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
I gave him a soft slug in the shoulder and told him, “We save those kinds of things for bachelorette parties. Now come on. Go on home and I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re still coming over for a special New Years Day dinner?”
When Girlfriends Step Up Page 27
