by Dex Bass
Once Oscar was in the delivery room, Adam let the orderlies sit him up on the bed. Adam supported his husband and generally patted his arm as he prepared to inject local anesthetic before the epidural. “Alright, Oscar, you’re just gonna feel cotton with alcohol.”
Adam applied the alcohol antiseptic. It felt like ice wrecking Oscar’s already sensitive skin on his back. “Shit! Cold!” Oscar howled.
A chubby, curly-haired man in scrubs came into the room. Oscar vaguely remembered him from the wedding audience, one of the members of the hospital contingent sitting in the corner Adam greeted him with a nod.
“Sorry, Oscar. Just one more little thing here, just the local,” Adam said. A needle went into Oscar’s back, at the same time as a new contraction was coming on. Oscar did his best not to scream in pain at the top of his voice — maybe he did. He also did his best not to jump off the bed and run away and hide like a cat avoiding a very, very unpleasant bath.
“Not too bad, was it?” Adam asked.
“Speak for yourself, motherfucker,” Oscar growled. He was being funny but it was also his real opinion of the matter. The needle stab wasn’t too bad, but the contractions and cramps that were taking over his whole body weren’t exactly “not too bad.” They were, in fact, too bad, much too bad.
“Good that you’re honest, Oscar. I like a patient who’s honest.” Adam was doing something around Oscar’s back. “Ollie, put on some gloves and come help me out here.”
The chubby curly-haired guy, apparently Ollie, smiled and approached whatever was happening behind Oscar’s back. He was repeatedly looking at Oscar and smiling, like an overdone attempt to be friendly or welcoming — but with the pain Oscar was enduring, he didn’t care much about who was looking at him how. He just wanted for the baby to be born and for the pain to be over.
“Alright, Oscar.” Adam spoke from somewhere behind Oscar’s back while fiddling with some kind of tubes. “You’re gonna go numb in your lower body real soon now. Which is probably exactly where you want to go numb right now.”
“You’re psychic!” Oscar mumbled.
“Or around the hospital, I’m psycho, right Ollie?” Adam asked.
“Doctor Albright always thinks we all hate him. Actually we all love him here,” Ollie said. Then he gasped slightly and stuttered a bit. “I mean, his professional acumen.”
“It’s fine, Ollie. Oscar knows I’ve had my admirers here over the years. Anyway, Oscar is my husband — till zombies do us part and all that stuff — you saw the wedding, Ollie.”
“Sure did. You guys are an amazing couple.”
Oscar felt sort of drunk. He’d never been high, but this was what being high must’ve felt like. Cheech and Chong. And his lower body was definitely numb. That was good. The epidural was definitely taking effect.
“Alright, Oscar. Now you’re gonna lie down and relax.” Adam was talking in his best reassuring voice. “Just lie down. Check out the ceiling. Listen to some smooth jazz. Enjoy a martini. Ok, maybe you can’t quite do those, but—”
“Oh shit! Ow! Oh!”
“Yeah, the epidural isn’t a hundred percent pain relief, but it does numb the pain. It probably hasn’t fully taken effect yet either, so it won’t be so bad soon.” Adam supportively put his arm around Oscar. It wouldn’t have been inappropriate for a doctor to put his arm around a patient like that. But in this case, it was so much more meaningful. Oscar felt not only supported by his doctor, but deeply loved by his husband.
Ollie read off from a monitor over Oscar’s head. “Pulse 95, BP 120 over 80, everything looks fine, Doctor Albright.”
“Is that what they’ve reduced you physician assistants to doing nowadays, Ollie? Reading off the ticker tape?” Adam chuckled to himself. Ollie grinned at him.
“Contractions three minutes apart, Doctor Albright,” Ollie said.
“Alright, we’re gonna need some participation from the guest star here, otherwise known as my husband. Can you hear me there, Oscar?”
“Fuck. Pain. Yeah. In pain. But. I can hear you.” Oscar shook his head. The pain was worse than he’d feared, even through the epidural.
“Alright. I need you to push just a little bit, to get things started. After that, we’ll let the baby come out by herself. Spoiler alert. Herself.” Adam laughed.
“It’s a girl?” Oscar gasped.
“I wanted to wake you up a bit with that surprise.” Adam smiled at Oscar. “Yeah, our child is a girl. We’re having a daughter. My blabbermouth colleagues couldn’t help but tell me, as much as I tried to avoid knowing.”
“That’s wonderful.” It was.
“Alright, just push now, push push push.” Adam sounded like a luge coach. Maybe that’s what he was, kind of. “After a few minutes of this, you can relax.”
Oscar did his best to push. He sometimes felt the contractions, sometimes didn’t. He fell asleep, or passed out from the pain, or was drugged out of his mind — it was all hazy. Adam offered him a bottle of water. Oscar grabbed it and gulped it down; it suddenly tasted as if he hadn’t had any water in years. Then he shut his eyes again.
Adam and Ollie stood at Oscar’s birth flap. Adam crouched down and looked in with an instrument. “I see her head already,” Adam called out to Oscar.
“I’m pushing. I’m pushing again,” Oscar said.
“Not mandatory, but it’s fine if you want to,” Adam said.
“Oh shit, getting pregnant wasn’t mandatory either.” Oscar growled deeply as he pushed again. “But I decided to get pregnant, didn’t I? And, I’m deciding to push, push again.” Oscar growled.
“We’re getting there,” Ollie said. He softly massaged the birth flap to help Oscar’s discomfort. It did feel good.
“So I just hang out and wait?” Oscar said, then started laughing uproariously. The whole thing seemed ridiculous. He was there in pain, about to deliver his daughter, and everybody was just standing there watching.
“Uh oh, that’s the narcotic talking.” Adam winked. “Well, you can push if you want. Just be gentle.”
“Gentle is about the last word that would ever come up in this ordeal,” Oscar said.
“You sound like a News Nine reporter,” Adam said. Oscar answered only with growls and moans as he kept pushing, then lying back to rest and breathe, then pushing again.
Adam crouched at Oscar’s birth flap, with an array of lamps, cameras, and tools at his disposal. “Here we go. Here we go!” Adam called out, sounding like an athletic coach again.
“Is this a birth or a Space Shuttle launch?” Oscar asked, then laughed, then growled, then cried in pain.
“Here we go!” Adam called out again. Adam changed tools and reached inside the baby flap.
A baby cried somewhere. Then the cry was louder.
It was Oscar’s baby crying. Oscar and Adam’s baby. Their daughter was born.
“Got the umbilical, Ollie?” Adam muttered.
“Got it,” Ollie said, then smiled up at Oscar. Adam was holding a baby. That was Oscar’s baby. It was too real. Oscar had seen so many babies, had practiced for this moment in his mind so many times — but here it was.
Adam smiled and cradled the baby for a few seconds before bringing her to Oscar’s outheld arms. She was wet. She was gray. She was nearly hairless. She looked exactly like Adam.
Oscar cried again. It was joy and pain and hormones and everything else. Adam knew to hug him. He crouched down next to Oscar, while Oscar held the baby, and hugged him closely and kissed his cheek and told him, “I love you, Oscar. I love you and I love our daughter.”
Oscar felt like he’d just gone through the most difficult few hours of his life. Maybe he had. “Adam. Can we name her Emma? Our daughter? Can we call her Emma?” Oscar was almost incoherent, but he was overwhelmed by love and joy — and he definitely wanted to name their daughter Emma.
“Emma. That’s wonderful. That’s perfect.” Adam smiled and kissed Oscar’s forehead, then held and cuddled him closer, while staring into E
mma’s eyes. Adam slid his head into the crook of Oscar’s neck and lay there and rested. Oscar drifted in and out of sleep while his precious baby cried in his arms.
“Mind if we wash her up and do a basic exam?” Adam whispered in Oscar’s ear.
“As much as I hate to let her out of my arms, sure, go ahead.” Oscar smiled. “You’re the father too.”
Adam held up Emily in his arms, then cradled her close to his chest. “Hello Emily. Hello beautiful daughter.” He was half-talking, half-singing.
“I love you, Adam.” Oscar said. “And I love you, Emily.” Exhaustion poured over him. His heart rate monitor beeped. Adam was washing Emily. Oscar fell asleep, what felt like the deepest and most well-deserved sleep of his life.
Eleven
“And that concludes tonight’s segment of News Nine’s Fathering For Dummies, focusing on male breastfeeding. Oscar Oliphant here, signing off.” Adam held the Handycam to focus on Emily sucking at Oscar’s nipple. Oscar had done a great job of explaining omega lactation to the TV audience. Adam had studied it in medical school, but couldn’t have explained it as well as Oscar had.
Yes, an omega who’d just delivered would lactate. Yes, there was milk. No, their chest wouldn’t look any different. No, there wasn’t enough milk to sustain the baby without formula — but feeding the baby his father’s milk was still important both for the baby’s health and for father-baby bonding.
“Alright, that’s a wrap. Isn’t that what TV people say, that’s a wrap?” Adam asked.
“Or that’s a brap, when the kid farts as much as Emily,” Zoe helpfully added.
“Don’t mind Aunt Zoe,” Adam said to Emily. “She’s just anxious to start her turn breast-feeding.”
Emily slurped at Oscar’s right nipple as milk dribbled out into her mouth. Oscar smiled. After a few minutes, Oscar switched Emily to his left nipple. More milk dribbled out. Adam frantically took pictures from every angle.
“Emily’s not going away anywhere, you know.” Zoe laughed at her brother. “You don’t have to take all your pictures at once.”
“It would be too weird looking while you’re breastfeeding her,” Adam said.
“Adam. You’re a doctor.” Zoe shook her head.
“I’m a doctor. But you’re still my sister. Way too weird.” Adam shook his head right back at Zoe, then made a video clip of Emily slurping milk from Oscar’s chest.
“Adam’s scared of boobies,” Zoe said to Oscar and laughed.
“Only of my sister’s boobies,” Adam said, play-punching Zoe’s shoulder.
“Kevin was never scared of my boobies,” Zoe said.
“Fortunately for Emily, Kevin doesn’t need breast milk anymore,” Adam said. Kevin was almost exactly one year older than Emily. Zoe was still lactating, and both Oscar and Adam felt better about Aunt Zoe breastfeeding Emily rather than hiring a stranger as a wet nurse.
“Alright, Oscar. I think you’ve been milked dry. Can I have Emily now?” Zoe did a good job of sounding impatient. She’d used the same voice with Adam when they were kids and she wanted to negotiate a return of the video game controller from him.
“Adam, can we make one more video clip of her sucking at my nipple? Just for our parents.” Oscar turned and opened his chest farther to show off Emily hungrily sucking at my nipple. “Old people still don’t really believe that men can breastfeed.”
“They’ll find out when they come over next week.” Adam laughed. “They paid for me to learn about male pregnancy in med school but they still don’t quite believe the science of it themselves.” Adam stood next to Oscar and made video. “You can air this on News Nine too.” Oscar nodded.
“Alright, Aunt Zoe’s turn.” Zoe sounded downright impatient. And she was. Oscar handed Emily to Zoe. Zoe opened her blouse and slid away her bra. As her brother, Adam didn’t particularly want to see more, but he heard Emily happily slurping, gurgling, and cooing.
“Doctor Albright can’t handle the sight of female anatomy?” Ollie was laughing as he watched Emily drink milk from Zoe’s breast.
“I can handle the sight of female anatomy just fine. Just can’t handle the sight of my sister’s female anatomy.” Adam chuckled and shook his head.
“Yeah, I know how it is when something feels uncomfortable to see. But then you just kind of get used to it.” Ollie smiled at Adam knowingly. Adam smiled back and nodded. Ollie would find his alpha one day, Adam was sure.
“Look at her drink!” Zoe said. “Heck of a meal she’s having.”
“I guess she loves her aunt.” Adam smiled. Zoe was amazing, from having planned and executed Adam and Oscar’s wedding, to offering to breastfeed their daughter. Adam couldn’t have asked for a better sister. But Adam always knew that Zoe was great.
Emily slurped one more time, then pulled her head away from Zoe’s breast. “I think she’s done,” Zoe whispered. “And I think she’s sleepy.”
Zoe tiptoed to Emily’s room and lowered Emily into her crib. Adam and Oscar followed behind her, Ollie behind them. With her eyes closed, Emily moved her mouth a few times, then fell asleep.
“She needs a good rest,” Zoe whispered.
“I think we all do,” Adam whispered back.
Zoe and Ollie took it as their hints to proceed to their guest bedrooms.
Adam held Oscar’s arm and led Oscar to their master bedroom. He helped Oscar lie face-up in bed. His pregnancy belly had mostly deflated. The stretch marks it had left were beautiful. Adam had succeeded in convincing Oscar to be proud, not embarrassed, about his stretch marks. They were beauty marks, and they were the mark of a successful father.
Oscar pulled the comforter half over his face as he always did.
“How does it feel being Emily’s father?” Adam asked Oscar.
Oscar smiled and pulled down the comforter just enough to reveal his eyes, his nose, and his mouth. “Feels great. Just as great as being your husband.”
Author’s Afterword
Dex Bass writes sweet, feel-good contemporary male pregnancy romance.
Watch for new books in Dex Bass’s series MPreg Hospital and MPreg College: join Dex’s Baby Bump Bulletin.
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Email Dex Bass at [email protected]
