“It’ll be over before you know it and you’ll be holding that beautiful baby of yours in your arms.” He smiles, looking somewhat nostalgic.

“Great, I think someone just got baby fever again,” Kate says as she rolls her eyes at him.

I manage to smile through my tears before their faces disappear down the hall.

There’s something to be said for being a patient in an operating room; it’s the most surreal out-of-body experience there is. The sterile walls and bright lights somehow create a calm before the storm. I’ve zoned out, only barely hearing the distant voices. Things are thrown over me, poke and prod me. When a contraction rocks me to the core, they warn me they are giving me an epidural and the pain is suddenly washed away.

I want to smile.

I want to laugh and run through the fields, dancing and carefree.

What a fucking relief.

In a sea of calm, I stare into the light, blissfully dazed, until the doors burst open and the Jerk rushes in. The guards behind the surgeons are trying to catch him, and when the nurse figures out who he is, they give him a gown and a mask and make him sanitize his hands. He is by my side so fast, with bloodshot eyes surrounded by a thick black bruise; he looks a complete wreck.

The stale stench of alcohol lingers on his breath as he sits closer to me. Jesus, he is drunk.

“Really? This is how you welcome our child into the world? Drunk and covered in dried blood?” I whisper.

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time. In case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“I don’t want to get into it now.”

“Why? Because Eloise is pregnant, too?” I spit back, accusing him in front of the entire medical team.

The anesthesiologist tries not to smile, but it’s obvious behind her mask. It doesn’t stop me from asking the questions the Jerk doesn’t want to answer.

“She’s not pregnant, okay? I don’t know why she told you all that,” he answers, sounding short-tempered. “We have a baby to bring into this world, so enough questions, Malone.”

“Well, you’re still a jerk and your roses suck,” I mutter.

He doesn’t respond, focusing on what is happening behind the makeshift wall between my head and my stomach. At this moment, I notice his bloody shirt and split lip for the first time. He grabs my hand and entwines his fingers into mine. It’s not the right moment to pull my hand away from his and start another argument. So I just wait and stare at the ceiling, avoiding his bruised and battered face and my bruised and battered ego.

There’s chatter, chaos, and anticipation around me. Time becomes fuzzy and my eyes continue to watch the lights until the moment my heart jumps out my chest, singing a song of ecstasy. The moment the sound of my baby’s wail breaks the silence, and officially, we welcome a son into the world.

There is joy throughout the room, and I stretch my neck to see the little wrinkly baby lifted into the air, covered in goo. I am besotted and smiling through my tears at the beautiful sight. Moving my head to the left, I watch as they take him away to clean him up, rubbing him vigorously with a towel. Then the nurse wraps him up and calls Haden over. She hands him our son, and with a slow and careful pace, he walks over to me with a gentle smile and brings the baby closer so I can study him properly.

I am in awe.

He is the epitome of beauty, and everything else in my life becomes insignificant because this little baby has completely stolen my heart.

“Say hello to Mommy,” Haden whispers, bringing the baby close to my face. I stare at him in astonishment, and desperate to touch him, I rub my nose along his cheek and smell his soft skin.

He has broken me, but in a good way.

My ill feelings towards Haden wash away at this very moment because of my gratitude.

If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be experiencing a love so great. A love that consumes me whole.

I love him, more than life itself.

The baby, that is.

And maybe, somewhere very deep inside, the Jerk as well.

 

I yearn for peace, silence, and a moment to take it all in. I yearn for life to stop, even if just for a minute, so I can stare at my son’s face and absorb the miracle that is this beautiful baby boy.

From the moment they wheeled me out of recovery and into my room, there was an endless stream of visitors armed with flowers, balloons, and blue, stuffed toys. It was like a nonstop circus. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline running through my veins, the circus would have gone on around a sleeping Presley.

It wasn’t just the visitors, but the nurses as well. They bustled around me, doing their rounds and checking on the baby and me. Haden, being the stubborn jerk he was, refused to leave the room, wanting to make sure everything was okay. But I had to put my foot down during the breastfeeding tutorial. My boobs out for show and a baby that had difficulty latching on due to his size was something I didn’t want Haden seeing. Of course, my wishes weren’t respected; I found out that he went to the nurses’ station to ask questions about my boobs and the nurse happily went on and on about them.

Yeah, I’ll just lay here and pretend I didn’t hear any of that.

The baby was doing great, considering how early he’d arrived. The doctor was happy with his growth and breathing, recommending that I stay in hospital for only another week as long as he saw progress and no complications. It was a giant—and I mean GIANT—learning curve for the both of us, and I was surprised that Haden caught on to the whole bath, nappy, burping, swaddling routine so quickly.

He visited after work every day, armed with something new for the baby each time, and a little something for me. We had the routine down pat; I texted him what I wanted for dinner and he snuck it in every night. I figured, if I was going to die of a heart attack by eating the greasiest burgers that existed, I might as well do it while I’m already in a hospital! Okay, stupid guilt attacked me afterwards when I remembered that everything I shoved in my mouth went straight to the baby. It was all rabbit food from that moment onwards.

It’s a couple of days after the birth that I meet Haden’s mother for the first time and am officially introduced to Mr. Sadler as his stepfather, David. Mrs. Sadler (Liz) seems nice enough, and just like Haden said, she’s a lot like my mother. I can see where he got some of his looks from, but according to her, Haden is the spitting image of his late father.

Like any proud grandparent, Liz refuses to put the baby down and gives me endless advice on how to swaddle. Who would have thought that my whole life would one day revolve around swaddling? Half the time, I’m worried she’ll swaddle him to death with how tight she wraps his little body. But I soon found out the why she does; my kid is a wriggler. He wriggles his way out of every swaddle unless you wrap him like he’s in a cocoon.

Mrs. Sadler picks him up, rocking him back and forth in her arms.

“Presley, I can’t thank you enough for bringing our beautiful grandson into the world. Look David, doesn’t he have Haden’s eyes?”

“He looks just like him.” Mr. Sadler smiles.

In all fairness, the Jerk is beautiful, so I guess that’s not a bad thing. When I first laid eyes on my son, he looked like a wrinkly old man, but as the days passed, certain features started forming and he looked more and more like Haden. Except for the hair. It’s curly, and we all know where that came from.

“When Haden was born, he cried for days on end. Nothing would settle him.”