 Photo by Omar Lopez on Unsplash  SEAMUS
“One more push, Tiggy,” Dr. Morales coaches, her blonde head disappearing between Tig’s legs again as she ducks down. With a grunt, Tig grips her knees, hauling her chest forward, her face turning tomato red with the effort. I stand helplessly beside her, my arm around her shoulders, supporting her – but that’s all I can fucking do. Jesus fuck, it feels so wrong to watch my wife go through this while I just stand here. “Push, push, push, stop!” the doctor coaches. Tig slumps back against my warm with a small wail. “Is it out yet?” she asks, her voice cutting off in a pitiful sob. Christ. Pressing a kiss to her temple, I turn to the doctor, my eyebrows raised. “Almost,” Dr. Morales assures us cheerfully. “No more pushing.” “No,” Tig whimpers. “I have to push. I have to get it out of me.” I squeeze her shoulders as the doctor shakes her head. “No. We’re going to pant now, Tiggy and the baby will come out.” Tig is shaking her head, her lips pressed together, but even as she keeps shaking her head, she opens her mouth, panting roughly. The doctor beams, her head disappearing again. “That’s it, Tiggy! Just like that! You’re doing great.” My baby is almost here. Holy shite. Taking Tig’s hand, I lift it to my lips, brushing a kiss there as I watch her face, screwed up in concentration as she pants. She is red-faced and sweaty, and her hair an absolute mess. She has never looked more beautiful than she does at this moment. “Is tú mo shaol ar fad.” Tig keeps panting, the doctor still encouraging. Still holding Tig’s hand, I inch down the side of the bed, my feet drawn by some primal urge. Peering between her legs, I stare in shock as the baby slides into the doctor’s waiting hands, a mess of fluid and flesh, in some cases barely indistinguishable from each other. Dr. Morales flips the baby over, his face red and scrunched up, his head slightly misshapen. “Congratulations, it’s a boy.” My heart stutters. I have a son. Tig and I have a son. Tig lets out a strangled sob as the doctor places the tiny, red baby on her chest. Tig’s face lights up with love as she looks at his little face. “He’s perfect,” she croaks. Yes, he is. Dr. Morales hands me a weird-looking pair of scissors. “Ready to cut the cord, daddy?” She places two clamps on the cord still connecting the Tig and our son. I snip where she points. It’s not as easy as cutting paper, but I get the job done. Our son lets out a small cry, and a nurse carefully lifts him off Tig’s chest. “We just need to weigh him and clean him up, then you can have a hold, daddy,” she informs me cheerfully, bearing my son off to the other side of the room. Turning back to Tig, I brush a kiss over her brow. “Ye did amazing, mo bhean chéile.” “He’s here,” she croaks back. Yes, he is. “Tiggy, we need to deliver the placenta now,” the doctor says. I glance over at her as Tig nods, but I’m distracted as the nurse approaches, holding a little green bundle in her arms. My son. “You hold him like this,” she says, carefully laying him along the crook of my arm, showing me how to support his little neck. As the nurse steps back and I cradle my son, looking down at his little, scrunched-up, red face, the world shrinks to a tiny bubble, and my heart swells with love. I had a necklace made for Tig that is inscribed with the Irish words for you are my whole world, but that simply isn’t true anymore. She isn’t my entire world because Tig and our son are my whole world. “Have we thought of a name?” the nurse asks, bursting into my little bubble. “Cillian,” both Tig and I mutter at the same time. “Lovely,” the nurse replies, moving off as I croon quietly to my son. TIGGY Giving birth is exhausting. I don’t care what anyone says, it’s exhausting. I feel like I could sleep for a week. At the same time, I am wide awake, and I only want to stare at Cillian’s little face all the time. He’s sleeping peacefully now in his little bassinet beside my hospital bed. Beside him, Seamus is also asleep, stretched out in the visitor’s armchair. They tried to make him leave, but he informed the nurse that visiting hours didn’t apply to him. The nurse didn’t argue that fact. There are benefits to having your husband be an infamous mafia figure. I smile over them both, my guys. I didn’t think it was possible to love two people this much. Curling on my side, I tuck my hand under my cheek, my eyes settling on Cillian’s face. One thing I always wondered about was if giving birth was as painful as they say, why women did it more than once. Now I know. Looking at Cillian’s perfect little face, I would one hundred percent do it all over again, just for this moment. There is a stirring as Seamus blinks awake, his eyes focusing and meeting mine. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and I grin back at him. His hand reaches out, resting on Cillian’s head, stroking it. Everything that led us to this moment was worth it. Our marriage might not have been perfect to start, but it sure is perfect now. Our little family is beyond wonderful, and I wouldn’t want anything else. Who would have thought, all that time ago, that being told I was marrying Seamus Fitzpatrick in three weeks would turn out to be the best thing ever to happen to me? I sure didn’t. Life is funny that way and pretty perfect. THE END. |
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