Page 83 of This Love
I moved the burp cloths and the last few baby outfits we’d been given from the washer to the dryer. Rosie trotted along beside me as I moved from task to task.
A darting cramp moved up my belly. I paused, holding my side. The Braxton Hicks contractions didn’t alarm me anymore. I’d been dealing with them for days. At my last checkup, Dr. Chancellor confirmed they weren’t the real deal. Just the body practicing.
Rosie let out a short, sharp bark. I paused, looking at her. “What?”
She trotted to the refrigerator and opened the door, pulling out a water bottle. She brought it to me.
“Okay, okay. I’ll pause for a drink.” I returned the water bottle to the door and got a plastic cup to fill from the sink instead. “No microplastics if we can help it, okay?” I took a sip.
Rosie sat at my feet, looking mollified.
“You know you’re going to make me pee even more.”
Her tail wagged like that was the plan all along.
I looked out the window onto the backyard. Dad had installed a baby swing in the oak tree that shaded the corner. It sat waiting, a bright bit of yellow against the wood fence.
A baby. He was coming. Tomorrow.
I’d gotten a real kick the last few days out of people asking me when I was due and answering, “Oh, in about seventy-six hours.” They always looked so confused until I told them that was when my C-section was scheduled.
It was kind of nice being able to know. My bag was completely packed. Extra clothes, nursing bras, mega-panties for the hospital-grade post-partum pads. We even sneaked in my favorite chocolate bars and Tucker’s Mountain Dew. Some things were nonnegotiable.
I pressed my hand to my belly. I’d have a wicked scar down low. Dr. Chancellor assured me it wouldn’t be noticeable after a few months, but I’d been on the internet. It showed.
I took another sip of water, trying to decide what to do next. Fill the dog feeder for sure, although the bag was full and heavy. Maybe I should have Tucker do it.
Another contraction hit, but this one was like a freight train compared to the others.
I doubled over, dropping the cup. Water slid across the floor like a river.
Rosie’s tail stopped wagging. She whined, then gripped the edge of my sleeve and led me over to the table and chairs.
“Okay, Rosie, I’ll sit down.” I pulled my arm away, needing it for balance. The contraction had let up, but I still felt like I was being squeezed from within. I kept my breath low and slow. No huffing. Not today.
Braxton Hicks could get more intense than the ones I’d felt so far. I knew this. The difference between them and real ones was that they were erratic rather than regular.
I reached for my phone, which sat across the table, and checked the time.
Three thirty-two.
“I doubt there will even be another one,” I told Rosie. That was the way it had been working. They were so far apart that you couldn’t even time them. Once a day usually, but maybe one in the morning and one at night.
But I always noted the time, just in case.
Tucker would leave work before too long. Nothing bad would happen, and I’d rather not worry him while he finished up everything he needed to do before taking several weeks off for the baby.
The contraction eased and went away entirely.
“Okay,” I told Rosie. “It’s over. Dehydration can cause contractions, too, so you were right to make me drink more.” I reached down to pet her head. “I should always listen to you.”
I surveyed the water on the floor. “I guess I should mop that up. I don’t need to be slipping on it.”
I lurched back to standing, then waited to make sure the contraction would not return. It didn’t. The mop sat in the narrow space between the refrigerator and the wall.
It had fallen toward the back. I snaked my arm toward the handle, but my belly kept me from leaning in. “Dang it,” I told Rosie. “I don’t think I can get it.”
I pulled my arm out and peered at the mop in the dark corner. The bottom was closer to the front than the top. Did I dare get on my knees and reach for it?
