Page 56 of Friar
Dr.Cooper checked her again and nodded.“Ten centimeters.It’s time.”He looked at me over his glasses.“Dad, you might want to move up by her head for this part.”
Dad.The word hit me like a physical blow.In minutes, I would be a father.The knowledge both terrified and elated me, a confusing tangle of emotions I had no time to unravel as Cheri’s grip tightened again.
The room shifted into higher gear, nurses positioning themselves around the bed, equipment being readied.I held Cheri’s hand with one of mine, my other arm supporting her back as she bore down with the next contraction.
“That’s it,” Dr.Cooper encouraged.“Good push, Cheri.I can see the head.”
Sweat soaked through her hospital gown, her entire body trembling with effort.I felt helpless, useless, yet determined to be whatever she needed in this moment.I held her, whispered to her, wiped her brow, and prayed to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in anymore to keep her safe, to keep our baby safe.
“Rest between contractions,” instructed a nurse, checking the monitor.“Baby’s doing fine, but we need to pace ourselves.”
Cheri collapsed back against the pillows, her chest heaving with exertion.Her eyes found mine, fear and determination warring in their depths.“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Youaredoing it,” I insisted, pressing my forehead to hers.“You’re already doing it.Just a little more.”
The next contraction came before she could respond, her body tensing as she bore down again.Dr.Cooper’s voice was steady, guiding her through it.
“Push, Cheri.That’s it.One more good push.”
I watched her face, the skin pulled tight over her cheekbones, pale despite the flush of exertion.She trusted me.She was delivering my baby.Her face contorted with effort, a low moan escaping her lips that built to a cry of pure determination.Something primal uncurled in my chest: fierce, protective, and unfamiliar.
“I can see the shoulders,” Dr.Cooper announced.“One more push and you’ll meet your baby.”
The next moments blurred together -- Cheri’s final push, her cry echoing off the sterile walls, the sudden, strange emptiness as our child slid into the world.A beat of silence that stretched into eternity, and then --
A cry.Strong, indignant, alive.
“It’s a boy,” Dr.Cooper said, his professional demeanor cracking just enough to show a genuine smile.“A healthy baby boy.”
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.The nurse laid our son on Cheri’s chest, his tiny body still slick with birth, his face red and scrunched in outrage at being thrust into the cold, bright world.He was impossibly small, impossibly perfect.
Cheri’s arms circled him instinctively, cradling him against her.Tears streaked down her face, mingling with sweat.“Friar,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.“Look at him.”
I bent close, my heart threatening to burst from my chest.Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes.A shock of dark hair plastered to his head.And when he blinked up at the harsh lights, I saw his eyes… shaped exactly like mine.
“He’s perfect,” I managed, my voice breaking on the words.My hand looked massive next to his tiny body as I gently touched his cheek.“You’re perfect.”
A nurse approached, apologetic but firm.“We need to clean him up and get some measurements,” she explained.“Just for a few minutes.”
Cheri nodded, reluctantly letting them take our son.I watched as they weighed him, measured him, cleaned the birth fluids from his tiny body.He wailed in protest, his little fists clenched in fury at the indignity of it all.Fighter, I thought.Like his mother.
“Seven pounds, six ounces,” called out a nurse.“Twenty inches long.”
“Perfect APGAR score,” added another, her voice approving.“Strong lungs on this one.”
Dr.Cooper was still working with Cheri, delivering the afterbirth, checking for tears, but my focus had narrowed to the small bundle being wrapped in a blue blanket.My son.My blood.The culmination of everything Cheri and I had fought for, had nearly died for.
“Here you go, Dad,” said the nurse, returning with our now-swaddled son.She placed him in my arms with practiced ease, adjusting my hold to support his head.“First time holding your boy.”
He felt impossibly light in my arms, a weight that changed everything and nothing all at once.His cries quieted as I held him, his eyes blinking up at me with a focus that seemed impossible for someone minutes old.I stared back, entranced by the tiny life we’d created.
“Hey there,” I whispered, my voice rough with emotion.“I’m your dad.”
Dad.The word felt strange on my tongue but right in my heart.I carried him back to Cheri, gently placing him in her waiting arms.She looked exhausted but radiant, her smile wider than I’d ever seen it.
“We did it,” she said softly, tracing our son’s features with gentle fingers.
I leaned in, pressing my lips to her forehead.“You did it,” I corrected.“I just stood here and watched.”
