He curses under his breath. Then he rolls down the window and yells, “Hey, y’all! Paige needs to get to the hospital. The baby’s coming!”
A cheer rises up from the sidewalk, and I peer out to see our neighbors and friends waving at me. They pause the cowboy parade so we can cross the street.
Panting, I wipe my sweaty forehead. “I don’t know whether I should be embarrassed or impressed.”
He smirks. “Impressed, definitely.”
Once we reach the other side of the street, he guns it, and we barrel through town.
I glance at my phone where I’m tracking my contractions. “Um. So this is weird.”
He glances at me as he takes a turn. “What’s weird?”
“My contractions were coming every five minutes, but now they’re a minute apart.”
He growls. “I knew we should’ve left sooner.”
“I thought it was false labor again.” He’s already rushed me to the hospital three other times. “I need to push.”
“Hang on.”
“No,” I groan. “I can’t fucking hang on. Our baby is tunneling her way through my vaginaright now.”
“We’re almost there, Paige. One more minute.”
I don’t think I have a minute. Tears stream down my face as I prepare myself to deliver this kid in my husband’s truck.
But then he stops the vehicle, hops out, and starts yelling. My door opens and he scoops me up.
I wave at my body. “She’s here. I feel her head.”
His eyes widen, but he somehow manages to keep his cool. He sets me down. “Hang on to the truck.” After he closes the door, I grip the handle.
“Can I pull down your shorts?”
“Do it.” I glance around. The parking lot is pretty empty, and my t-shirt is on the long side, but I’m in too much pain to care.
He pushes down my shorts and undies as I curse myself for not leaving for the hospital sooner.
A nurse runs toward us with a wheelchair, but she’s too late. I squat and push because my baby is coming right the fuck now. I screech, “She’s here!”
My husband reaches between my legs with one hand, holds onto me with the other, and looks in my eyes. “I got you. And I’ve got her. Do your thing, sweetheart. Breathe through it, like we learned in Lamaze class.”
He mimics the breaths, and I breathe with him. My husband did every class with me and read all the baby books even though this is his third child. The confidence radiating from him calms me down immediately.
I can do this.
I push again.
My legs shake with the pressure and pain. I blink, and a second later, there she is, our sweet, precious baby, who lets out an angry howl.
“Oh, my God. She’s beautiful.” A sob escapes me, and Rhett presses a kiss to my sweaty forehead.
“You did great, Paige. She’s perfect.” My husband whips off his shirt, wipes her little face, and then wraps it around her. The nurse takes a minute to check on the baby and then helps me into the wheelchair.
“Why do you look like that”—I wave a hand around my thirst trap of a husband—“and I look like this?” A limp strand of hair hangs in my face, and I blow it away.
Rhett gives me a crooked grin. “You’re gorgeous and so fucking strong. I’m so proud of you.” He kisses me.
