by M. E. Carter
I look up at someone covered from head to toe in surgical gear. I know it’s not Dr. Hermann, but beyond that, I have no idea. It could be our nurse or someone else. There’s no real way to tell.
“Mr. Flanigan, we’re ready for you.”
Pushing off the wall, I follow her through a set of automatic sliding doors, following her instructions to put my mask over my nose and mouth. As soon as we step foot into the room, I spot Tiffany lying on the table, arms strapped down with a sheet held up, so she can’t see past her chest.
I’m directed to sit in the rolling chair next to her head and immediately begin stroking her hair. She turns when she feels me, her eyes droopy.
“Hey, Rookie.” I assume by the groggy look on her face she’s been given a few more drugs than she had before.
“How ye feeling, mo ghrá?”
She smiles weakly. “I really like these drugs.”
Chuckling, I can only respond with, “I bet. Much better than labor pains, aiy?”
She nods and closes her eyes, enjoying my touch. “You’re nervous. I can tell by your accent.”
“I am. Are ye as scared as I am?”
“I’m terrified,” she breathes.
“We’re almost done, A ghrá.”
All around us, people in full surgical gear are moving with a sense of purpose, setting things up, moving equipment here and there. It probably only takes moments, but to me it feels like a lifetime.
Finally, the one person I do recognize looks over the sheet, a headband with a light attached to his head. Even behind the mask, there’s no hiding Dr. Hermann’s smile.
“You two ready to have a baby?”
“Yes, please,” Tiffany answers, slowly looking back up at him.
“Well let’s do it.” Looking up at the clock, Dr. Hermann announces, “It’s August nineteenth, Four thirteen p. m. Let’s get started.”
My breathing picks up as I wait and watch. I can’t see what’s going on behind that sheet, and I’m not sure I want to. I’d love to see my son being born but seeing Tiffany’s insides all over the table doesn’t sound nearly as appealing to me. Instead, I focus on the look on Dr. Hermann’s face. He’s focused but not frazzled. People move around him methodically, but no one seems frantic.
All good signs that calm my nerves just a bit.
Tiffany seems to be watching as well. Suddenly her eyes go wide. “Oh! That feels weird.”
“Yeah, you’re gonna feel some pressure while we do this,” Dr. Hermann responds cheerfully. “But we’re almost there. A little bit of suction here, please,” he says to the person standing next to him.
I watch as his arms twist this way and that way as he works. Then suddenly, he makes an announcement. “Here he is!” Sure enough, he pulls my boy right out of my wife and holds him up to show us. “I think it’s safe to say, this is definitely your son.”
Tiffany starts laughing at his joke because he’s right. Even with all the goo on him, my son has a shock of red hair you can’t miss. He doesn’t seem to like it any more than I do as indicated by the wail that comes out of his pink, puffy lips. He’s pale skin is splotched with red, just like happens to me when I’ve been exerting myself too much.
He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Ye did it.” I lean over and kiss Tiffany on the forehead through my mask as Dr. Hermann hands our son over to the nurse who takes him to another part of the room. “Yer a mam, Tiffany. I’m a dadaí.”
A lone tear escapes down her cheek, and I find myself holding back my own tears and I rest my forehead on hers.
“I’m a dadaí.”
The thoughts are overwhelming. I’ve never been this happy in my life, and I’ve only seen him for a split second. Lifting my head, I look around trying to catch another glimpse. Apparently, I’m not as subtle as I think I am.
“Would you like to see your son? You can go over there.”
Nodding, I stand up and follow the person over to a small table where my son is lying down, clearly unhappy by being poked and prodded. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t like if all my glory was on display in front of these strangers either.
“Can I… can I touch him?” I ask tentatively, not sure what I’m allowed to do right now.
“Absolutely,” the person says. “And talk to him. Babies like familiar voices.”
Slowly, I get closer, still in awe that I’m looking at my son. My son. It feels like I’m walking through a dream. Reaching down, I touch his tiny hand which immediately stretches and grabs my finger. The contact makes me suck in a breath. He’s real. This is real. It’s not a dream at all.
“Hello there, mo mhac. I’m yer da. Yer mam and I have been waiting for ye.”
His tiny face loses the grimace, and it looks like he’s turning his head, trying to find me. But surely that can’t be the case, right?
“Lookie there,” the nurse says, putting a cap on his head and rubbing with him a towel. “He knows your voice. See how calm he is now?”
“I’m right here, mhac. I’m not leaving ye.”
A few short seconds later, he’s bundled in a white blanket with pink and blue stripes and the nurse is picking him up, holding him out to me. “Would you like to hold your son?”
My eyes widen for just a moment, knowing my entire world is about to shift again. “Please.”
Gently, she places my son in my arms, and I know I’ll never be the same. He’s the smallest thing I’ve ever held and the most precious. Part of me is afraid I’ll drop him, but the other part knows I’ll never let him fall. Nothing in the world matters more than him and his mam. Nothing.
“Can I go sit next to me wife?” I know my accent is strong right now, but I don’t care. I’m absolutely overwhelmed with my love for this child. Nothing else is important.
“Of course. In fact, let’s introduce him to his mommy, shall we?”
I nod, and we walk slowly over to Tiffany who I realize has been watching us this whole time. Meeting her gaze, my eyes fill up with tears again. This is my family. It’s not just the two of us anymore. And it’s perfect.
Sitting down gently, the nurse helps me situate the babe next to Tiffany, so she can nuzzle him. It’s awkward, being that her arms are still strapped down. But she wastes no time kissing his sweet cheeks and whispering words of love to him. I wish my camera was out because this moment should be frozen in time, although I know it’s forever frozen in my memory.
When the baby begins to fuss a little, he’s situated back in my arms for me to gently rock. “It’s okay, mhac. You can sleep now, ceann beag.”
“You’ve got a lot of Gaelic going on there, Rookie,” Tiffany chides playfully, speaking slowly through the drugs.
I chuckle because she’s right. “I can’t seem t’help it. I’m a lil overwhelmed right now.”
“Good overwhelmed, right?”
I glance up, making eye contact and holding it. “The best overwhelmed I’ve ever been. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” Looking back down at our son, she adds, “I was thinking. What do you think about the name Cace?”
Cocking my head, I smirk. “How’s it spelled?”
She smiles as she humors me. “C-A-C-E.”
“Someone’s been looking up traditional Irish names, I see.”
“Maybe a little,” she jokes, then turns serious again as she looks at our son. “It means observant and vigorous. Kind of like you with all your people-watching and doing the right thing. Things I want him to be.”
Gazing down at my son, I consider her idea. “Cace Flanigan. A good, strong Irish name for a good, strong Irish boy.”
“Cace Rowen Flanigan,” she corrects me.
If it’s possible for a heart to swell even more, mine just did. My son. Named after me.
Today is officially the best day of my life.
“I know you’ll be here when you can, Mom,” I say through FaceTime on my phone. “Really, all we’re going to do for the next few weeks is
sleep and eat anyway. Maybe bathe.”
Stroking the top of my son’s head, I watch as he suckles on my breast. Yes, the dull pain of breastfeeding is there, but that doesn’t take away the surreal feeling of being a new mom. It’s amazing.
“I know.” My mom sighs. “I’m just mad at myself. Of all the times to fall down some steps and break an ankle, this is the worst.”
I giggle lightly. “I still can’t believe you did it at the gym.”
“And right after my kickboxing class too! I had just shown everyone what a badass I am, and three steps took me out.”
“Any muggers with ill intentions better beware of running into you in a back alley. Unless there are stairs involved.”
“Well, hopefully in the next few weeks, the doctor will clear me for travel. Then I’ll be on the first plane there.”
“Sounds good to me.” Baby Cace squeaks and pulls away from my breast, nuzzling his nose into my skin. I guess he’s done eating. “I need to go now, Mom. The baby is done, and my delivery boy just got here.”
I look up just as Rowen licks some green sauce off the pad of his thumb. He just got back from Chuy’s where he got my favorite taquitos and chips with green sauce. It’s the first craving I’ve had in the last several months, so he’s indulging me by spreading it all out on my hospital table. He’s also laughing at my mom’s clumsiness.
She sighs, knowing I’m about to shut off the camera. “All right. Give that baby some kisses from his grandma.”
“I will. And Mom”—I give her a pointed stare—“do not pass any pictures along to anyone.”
She has the gall to look offended. “Tiffany, I would never do that.”
“No, Mom. Don’t forward the text along to your best friend. Don’t give it to the newspaper to post an announcement. It stays in your hands only.”
“I still don’t understand why the newspaper gave your wedding announcement to the internet. I didn’t tell them to do that.”
Rowen doesn’t bother to hide his jeer this time. My mother will never get it. She’s only in her early fifties, but she has no use for technology. She’s like the last remaining hippie. It’s annoying sometimes. Like right now.
“That’s not how it works, Mom.” Cace squeaks again, and I know he’s getting uncomfortable. “But I’ll have to explain it later. I need to go.”
“All right, I love you, honey.”
“Love you too. Bye, Mom.”
Rowen snatches my phone from the bed where it’s propped and quickly ends the call. “We’re gonna see an unauthorized picture of the baby online by tomorrow, aren’t we?”
“My luck, it’ll be one of me breastfeeding and everyone will get to see my boob again,” I grumble, as I try to maneuver the baby and the clasp of my nursing bra at the same time. Rowen saves me by taking Cace out of my hands, cooing to him quietly. Within seconds, the baby is back asleep and in the bassinet.
Pulling the rolling table to me, my mouth waters at the smell of all my favorite foods. There’s so much to choose from, I can’t decide where to begin. “Man, it’s good to be able to eat again.”
Sitting in the chair next to me, Rowen grabs one of the Styrofoam plates and digs in. “For me too.”
Gotta love my husband. Because of my aversion to smells, he stopped cooking anything that would make me sick. It meant surviving on protein shakes at home and eating fast food in the car—not ideal for any athlete. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make, and I love him all the more for it.
A quick knock on the door has us both looking up to see my in-laws walking in.
“Where’s mo garmhac? A grandpa is here!” Ryan announces, heading straight for the bassinet, rubbing his hands together, excitement across his face.
Rowen jumps out of his chair and cuts Ryan off. “No dadaí. You know the rule. You have to wash your hands first.”
Ryan is clearly appalled at being deflected. “A little germs aren’t going to hurt him, mhac. Ye’ve got to toughin’ him up.”
Denise passes by them as they continue to squabble over whose theory on germs is more accurate. Regardless of who is right, my money is on Rowen winning this argument. His protective instincts are in high gear. That includes every nurse, doctor, or visitor who has walked into this room.
As I attempt to push my food aside, Denise pushes it back in front of me. “Don’t stop eating because of us. You need your calories.” She places a gift bag with an attached balloon on the table next to our food and sits down on the bed next to me, quickly watching how the fight is resolving. Like I predicted, Ryan throws his hands in the air and turns to the sink for a hand washing. “How are you feeling?”
“Let’s see,” I tick off my ailments on my fingers. “I can’t laugh, or it hurts my incision. Nursing makes me feel like my uterus is going to explode. And mesh panties have to be the most uncomfortable form of undergarments I’ve ever worn.”
She chuckles lightly. “So you’re powering through your first few days of motherhood.”
“Yep.”
“When does Rowen go back to work?”
I sigh. This is the hardest part of his job. While I have eight weeks of maternity leave, Rowen doesn’t get any. Times are changing, but athletes are held accountable for their professional responsibilities during the season, whether they’re a first-time dad or not. Which means I’m already about to be on my own, and I’m scared shitless. Of course, I won’t admit that to anyone.
“Tomorrow,” is all I say. “Their next game sequence is in town, thank God. But I think they leave again next week.”
Denise gives me a sympathetic look. If anyone knows how it feels to be left alone postpartum, it’s her. “Is he going to be able to come home in the middle of the day, do you think?”
“I don’t think he could stay away if he tried.” Looking over at my husband who is hovering over his father as he holds our son, I have no doubt Rowen will be figuring out a way to stop by throughout the day.
Denise’s face lights up when she realizes what I’m looking at. Grabbing her phone, she takes a quick stealth picture then leans over to show me.
“Look at that. Three generations of Flanigan men.”
I stare at the moment in time she just captured. The way the sunlight streams in lights up their bright red hair, making all of them look practically angelic. The look of love on their faces as they gaze at our son, who is cooing back at them, melts my heart.
I’m the luckiest woman in the world.
“Keep doing that,” I moan, grabbing Rowen’s hair and pulling him closer to my core. His tongue still does magical things to my lady parts and today, he’s going to town. Licking, nipping, and sucking as he inserts two fingers inside me, hitting just the right spot. “Oh, that’s it. Right there… ohgod…”
My orgasm hits me fast and hard, just the way I like it these days.
He continues to suck on my clit as the waves overtake me, riding me to that sated feeling I love. But he’s not done yet.
As soon as I’ve come back down to earth, he kisses up my body, paying special attention to the scar that now mars my abdomen. When I look at my stomach, I see flabby skin that hasn’t tightened up yet and a knife wound. But Rowen tells me it’s beautiful. That it’s a reminder of the sacrifice I made to give him the best gift he’s ever received—our son. Coming from anyone else, I’d say they were full of shit. But coming from Rowen, I know he means every word. Because of it, I still feel beautiful.
It also helps that my boobs grew three sizes and he can’t stop looking at them.
Continuing his trek up my body, Rowen pauses to pull the cup of my nursing bra down a bit and kiss the tops of my breasts. He knows not to go any further. Sex, post baby is great. Getting the nursing boobs involved, though, it’s not a good idea.
He pushes my thighs apart to settle in as he gently bites all the way up to the spot behind my ear. It’s practically primal and gets my motor running again. Holding him to me, he thrusts inside, making me moan with pleasure once
again. His hips move at a frantic pace, but it’s too much.
Gently slapping his chest, I push him away. “Babe. Rowen, my scar.”
He immediately pushes off me, knowing exactly what I’m implying. I love having sex with my husband. That has never changed. But even twelve weeks after Cace’s birth, the friction of our bodies irritates that area. We’ve learned to make adjustments.
Situating himself on his knees, he yanks my body toward his, lining himself up with me again. Before he thrusts, though, he cocks his head and looks over to the side, listening.
“He’s fine. He’s still asleep. Get inside me, Rookie.”
Turning his attention back on me, he complies with my demand. Only instead of thrusting, he goes slow, gaining traction and drawing out the anticipation of our pending orgasms as long as possible.
I stretch my arms above me and grab the headboard, hanging on for dear life as his gentle ministrations are short-lived and he ends up pounding into me, taking what he wants and giving me just as much in return.
“Ohgod, Rowen. I’m almost there…” I cry.
“Get there…” he pleads, and I know he’s holding back, waiting for me.
Reaching between my legs, he pinches my clit ever so slightly and that’s all that it takes to push me over the edge again.
“Ooooooooohhhhhhhh…” I call out, hoping I don’t wake the baby who is in the bassinet across the room, but not able to control the sounds that come from deep within.
Very quickly, Rowen follows right behind me. “Fuck… me…”
Several very long and blissful seconds later, Rowen collapses next to me on the bed. We immediately roll into the spooning position and rest. I’m not quite sure how our sex life has remained intact with a newborn who doesn’t sleep through the night, but it has. I suppose there is one benefit to having a C-section. As soon as my stitches were out, we were given the all clear to enjoy ourselves again, as long as we used some heavy-duty precautions against getting pregnant again so soon. The idea of going through another nine months of morning sickness scared the shit out of me, so I started a low dose pill that same day.
Gently running his hand over the scar my husband is fascinated with, Rowen asks, “Does it feel different? When you orgasm?”
