Until one cramp makes me pee a little.
God, I can’t wait until this big headed girl is off my bladder.
I roll off the bed and waddle to the bathroom , shimmying out my boy shorts to sit on the toilet.
I freeze when I notice the dark red spot blooming in the seat of my panties.
When I grab some tissue, I breathe through a cramp, and start panicking when the tissue is dark red, too.
I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be having a period at thirty-nine weeks.
Another cramp has me crying out and easing myself onto the floor. When I peek into the toilet bowl, hot tears spring from my eyes.
The entire bowl is filled with blood.
And the next cramp knocks the wind–and clearish, reddish liquid–out of me.
“Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.”
Something’s wrong.
“No shit, sherlock,” I answer myself aloud. Something is very fucking wrong. And a contraction–very different than the cramp I just had–has me biting my lip so hard I draw blood.
I get onto my hands and knees and begin crawling through the pain. Contractions are coming in hot and fast, coupled with the cramps worsening with each second. Blood is gushing out of me by the boatload, coating my thighs, the floor, and dragging with my feet.
“Oh, God,” I cry out, when a debilitating contraction knocks me onto my side.
It feels like I’m being ripped into two. Beanie is going haywire, making my tummy hard as a fucking rock.
Oh my God. Is this how Bella felt?!
I knew there was a reason He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named looked so good to be seventy.
I start trying to slide toward the bed on my side, inching along like a damn caterpillar. Three contractions later, I make it to the bed, and begin to pull the comforter off.
Fuck… who can I even call? Who’s closest?
Am I really going to call someone else whenheis just across the backyard?
My phone falls onto my nose, just as another cramp hits me, and I don’t bother keeping quiet. This shithurts, and I don’t think I’ll ever, EVER do this shit again.
Them hoes ain’t say shit about labor being like this!
I grab my phone and tearfully go to my favorites and pressShaddy.As it rings, I place it on speaker and lay the phone next to my head on the floor.
After three rings the line clicks over. I don’t give him a chance to talk.
“Shaddy, please… something’s wro-ONG!” I shout as another contraction hits me, and I hear the blood pooling on the ground beneath me.
Not even fifteen seconds later I hear thundering footfalls coming near me.
“Oh, fuck, Mace,” he whispers behind me, before the sounds of vomiting take over.
Oh yeah. I call the one nigga I know that’s squeamish around blood.
“TIGHTEN UP RAHSHAD I’M DYING!”
I hear him hang up on me before dialing nine-one-one. As he tells the operator I’m in labor and bleeding, he gently pulls me onto my back and spreads my legs.
