Page 57 of The Cannon
Fifteen hourslater we look like the first settlers who crossed country in covered wagons. My clothes are wrinkled, and I’d love a shower. But I should have gone home for a break sooner. Now the big event is getting close. Only January looks the same. Especially after the epidural. Brick’s eyes are bloodshot, and he seems ten years older. Dad’s half asleep on the long couch and my mother has positioned herself in a chair next to the head of the bed.
Two nurses are working to get the equipment ready for the baby. One of them keeps an eye on the monitor.
“Here comes another one,” Brick says watching the contraction on the screen.
January squeezes his hand and scrunches up her nose, eyes tightly shut.
Then the doting husband gives his instructions. “Breathe, baby. Whoo whoo whoo.”
It’s so awesome to watch my brother in this role. Out of his comfort zone but doing everything right. Looks like January is about to break his hand off. But she doesn’t make a sound. It’s all on her face.
“Oh baby, it’s almost over. It’s starting to recede.”
He looks at my mother and I who are holding her other hand and giving words of encouragement.
“Good girl. You’re doing great,” Mother says.
“I’m sweating. Bristol, come wipe my brow,” he says.
The humor of his remark hits us all at the same time. Even January finds it funny.
“Oh no. That’s awful, Brick! Nurse. Think you can give him an epidural?” she says chuckling between the waning pain.
“Maybe morphine would be a better option,” the nurse laughs.
I come around and use the handkerchief my dad’s holding out to pat Brick’s forehead and upper lip.
The contraction eases.
“That was a big one.”
Into the room come two nurses wheeling a cart with the baby tray, where it will be examined, cleaned and weighed.
“We’re getting close now. Doctor’s on his way. Are you all staying?” the older nurse says.
“No. No one’s staying but me,” Brick says firmly.
Can’t say that I blame them for their decision. That’s how I’d want things if I was about to give birth. The tears well in my eyes, but for once I’ll be able to hide behind the happiness of the day. I’ve seen misty eyes on everyone.
“Okay, we’ll be in the waiting room by the nurse’s station. Please come tell us what’s happening as soon as you can,” says Mother, tenderly kissing January on the cheek and giving Brick a pat on his hand.
“Don’t worry about us. Stay until they’re done with the exam and the scale. Just enjoy it all. And have a nurse take pictures,” I say.
My father gets up and wipes his face of tears. He holds out his palm up and wiggles his fingers at me.
“Give me back my handkerchief. I’m feeling a little sentimental.”
Mom takes the handkerchief from me, goes to his side and wraps an arm through his.
“Come on, Grandpa,” she says sweetly. “We’ll get teary together.”
They leave the room and I gather my belongings. Tears stream down my face now. It’s not just because I’m overcome by the beauty of the moment. I cry for for me.
“God bless you both. Can’t wait to meet your boy. Love you,” I say blowing a kiss in their direction.
As soon as I pull back the door, I see Sawyer leaning against the opposite wall. I melt into his arms and the tears flow.
“You okay?”
