Page 58 of The Cannon
“I will be now you’re here.”
And it’s true, because slowly but surely I regain my composure.
“I hear baby’s about to arrive.”
“Yes. She’s dilated to nine and a half. Oh. Here comes her doctor.”
The physician sweeps into the room and closes the door behind him. As expected, he didn’t make eye contact with anyone. I understand completely. A random greeting or acknowledgement of any family member could result in delay. He’s got more important things to do.
“Let’s go sit with my parents.”
Walking down to the waiting room I can hear the voices and laughter of my family. The Swifts aren’t known for being demure or introverted. And when we’re excited, it’s on another level.
“The gang’s all here,” Atticus says as I walk in.
Our family has taken up half the space. Only an older couple and a teenager share the room.
Charlotte has brought her basket of goodies and she’s passing them around. Even offering cookies to the strangers. “Bristol, want a po boy? There’s also Gouda and crackers, some delicious olives, apples.”
“I’ll take a sandwich. Toss it here,” I say hands in the air. It’s a good throw.
“Sawyer, want one?”
“No. Thanks. Let’s go sit on the couch. You can put your feet up,” he says taking my hand. “How many hours have you been up?”
Looking at my watch, I calculate the hours. “I got up at six yesterday morning. It’s twelve now, so thirty. Thirty hours.”
We sit and I put my back against the wall, stretching my legs up and out.
“Why don’t you stay at my place tonight?” Sawyer says.
“What I’d really like to do is stay in bed all day.” I unwrap my sandwich and take a big bite.
“That works for me,” he whispers.
* * *
Forty minutesand three mini Snickers later, one of the delivery nurses peeks in the waiting room.
“You can go back in now,” she smiles widely.
It’s a stampede. Our food is left where it sits. Every sign of our exhaustion has vanished as all six of us head for room 303.
My mother and father lead the charge.
“Let me see! Let me see him!” Mother cries, rushing in.
Baby boy Swift is in his father’s arms. His tired, proud, teary, over-the-moon, father’s arms.
The appropriate ohs and ahs are offered as we crowd around the newest family member. That a beautiful baby. Our genes run strong. He looks like a Swift. The tiny body’s swaddled tight and he wears a blue beanie to keep his little head warm. The lips. They’re pursed in an air kiss.
Every one of us is crying.
“We haven’t forgot about you, January,” my mother says turning toward her daughter-in-law and touching her face gently.
“I know. Be with our boy. Isn’t he darling?”
Brick passes him to his grandmother.
