Doctor Dearest

I pat the edge of my bed and he steps near but doesn’t immediately sit. I tug on his hand and he chuckles and scoots me over so he can fit beside me. I hold up a bite of Jell-O for him but he laughs and shakes his head.

“I don’t think I can eat right now,” he says, turning to look at me.

I shrug. More for me.

“Lindsey just gave me a pep talk and it really helped.”

“I can tell. You aren’t screaming demands anymore, which is nice.”

“I can’t promise I won’t start back up again.”

He laughs and glances down at the hospital gown covering my belly. Underneath, two black belts are strapped around my bump, monitoring the fetal heart rate of our baby, the length of my contractions, and the time between them.

His hand reaches out to rest there, just below both of the belts, and his eyes meet mine.

“You’re doing it,” he says, sounding like he’s in awe.

I lean my head on his shoulder. “We’re doing it. We’re going to be parents, Connor. This little baby will be ours to totally screw up.”

“We’ll do okay, I think.”

His hand rubs back and forth, soothing me. I close my eyes for a moment, basking in his calmness, knowing it’s only a matter of time before another nurse walks in to check on my progress.

“You’re going to be such a good dad. You know that?”

“I hope so.”

I blink my eyes open and lift my chin. He leans down and gives me a kiss before a knock sounds at the door and our doctor walks in, all smiles.

“Who’s ready to have a baby?” she says, rubbing her hands together with glee.

I can’t help but laugh. Lindsey was right—I’m in good hands.Noelle Loise Easton is born at 4:44 PM with a full head of dark brown hair. She wails as soon as she enters the world and the doctor hands her up to me. I’m paralyzed by fear and responsibility. A roomful of people look on as I hold her against my chest, skin to skin, shushing her gently and telling her everything will be all right.

“I’ve got you now, mon bonheur. It’s okay. Shh. It’s okay. I promise.”

Everything happens so quickly after my initial moments with her. They take her and weigh her and clean her up and I’m left on the bed, trying to crane my body around everyone to get a better view. I want to see her. I want to count every toe and every finger and every hair on her head. I want to rest assured that she is real, our daughter, that everything is okay and the hard part is over.

We’ve had potential names picked out for a few weeks, both a boy name and a girl name. We knew we wanted a family name for our child. Noelle is both a nod to my French heritage and to my brother. Loise is Connor’s grandmother’s name, but we also got a kick out of the fact that it’s so close to Lois. Surely that’ll make her smile again, right?!

Hours later, when the room has been emptied and I’m supposed to be sleeping, I lie on my side in bed, unable to shut my eyes. Connor isn’t sleeping either. He’s lying on the couch beside my bed with Noelle on his bare chest. She woke up crying a few minutes ago so I fed her, and she gripped my finger tightly in her tiny hand. I didn’t want to pass her off to Connor, but he wanted to hold her too, so I reluctantly kissed her forehead and let him take her. He changed her diaper and was supposed to put her back in her swaddle, but instead, he brought her back to the couch and tucked her underneath his blanket with him.

“Just for a minute,” he promised. “I won’t fall asleep.”

He’s quietly humming the tune to “Brahms’ Lullaby”. Her eyes are closed as she sleeps, snug against his chest. Her face is turned toward me, her pudgy ruddy cheeks visible in the dull light seeping into the room from the hallway. Her tiny hand is pressed flat against his skin. I think, for the thousandth time today, how lucky I am to be here with him.

His singing stops and I hear him talk to her. It’s impossible to make out every word, but I catch bits and pieces.