thirty seven

                                    

                                          
My contractions start early in the morning, the first rays of the sun barely peeking over the horizon.  It feels like intense pressure, like my insides are being squeezed so tightly it leaves me breathless.
                          
The intense and sudden pain draws out a small groan from my lips, but it doesn't last long.
                          
I write it off as Braxton Hicks, so I don't mention it to anyone.
                          
Except, I realize a little too late that it's not just false contractions.
                          
They're real.  Really real.
                          
I'm washing dishes after having lunch, despite Ian's protest, when my water breaks.
                          
I bite back a panicked scream and hold onto the counter until the pain passes.  Sweat trickles from my brow as I pant and I look at the growing puddle at my feet, the slick wetness running down my thighs.
                          
"Morgan, why don't you go take a seat, I'll finish up here and..." My mom begins, trailing off as he stares at me with wide eyes, "and your water broke."
                          
"Surprise," I gasp breathless.
                          
"Oh shit," he curses, coming beside me and guiding out of the kitchen and into the living room.
                          
Ian and dad are standing immediately upon taking in the sight.  I give Ian a wobbly smile, breathing harshly through the growing pain.
                          
"Holy shit," Ian whispers, snapping into action and helping me sit while my mom searches for clean clothes and shoes.
                          
My dad is in charge of the hospital bag as he rushes out the car, choosing to drive us himself rather than to call James.
                          
He's nervous, everyone is.  But there's an excitement thrumming through the air.
                          
"You okay?"
                          
"Ye-Yeah," I groan, "yeah, I'm okay, just... hospital, soon, please."
                          
My words are clipped, filled with agony and rushed through gritted teeth.
                          
Fuck it hurts!
                          
"Come one sweetheart," Ian coos, "let's get you some drugs."
                          
I snort a small laugh despite the pain and bury my face in his chest, "okay."
                          
It's slow going, but we get to the car with me clinging to Ian's arm and finally we rush toward the hospital.  My dad breaking more than a few speeding laws and running a red light once (only once, he stresses).
                          
It's hours of pain, of on and off contractions until I finally get my drugs.
                          
And all is well until my god-mother steps through with a small frown.
                          
"What's wrong?" Ian asks immediately.
                          
"Something's wrong?" I ask weakly, trying to sit up but failing, my heart monitor spiking up.
                          
"No, no, nothing too bad," she reassures, "baby's just breached."
                          
"Breached?" I gasp, "What-What does that mean?"
                          
"Baby's not in the right position, we're gonna have to perform a C-section since you're too far along to try and change the little one's position," she explains delicately.
                          
"Will... are they okay?"
                          
"Yes, baby's safe."
                          
Within another hour, I find myself hesitant as I see Ian stand.  My hand holding onto his so tight, so afraid of letting go.
                          
"It's okay," he whispers, kissing my brow, "I just need to change and I'll be right beside you again.  They're almost here, baby boy, our little one is almost here."
                          
I nod, a lump stuck in my throat, "ye-yeah."
                          
And I finally let him go, tears blurring my vision as I see him turn his back.