Discovering Us 4: Beatitude

VIOLET

I look down at her, her mismatched eyes meeting mine as she wriggles with her mouth wide open. I’ve never seen anything so extraordinary.

Her hair is the same shade as mine, but her face is mostly Tyler’s, with fuller lips and my small nose. She’s his spitting image, except for her hair and eye color.

One of her eyes might eventually turn into his light chocolate shade.

This is my daughter, our baby.

Everything else becomes a blur. My mind is consumed with her, my heart growing to make room for this new love.

The pain of contractions, the anxiety, the panic, all of it becomes insignificant as my world starts to revolve around this tiny human who just came out of me.

My little girl.

My El.

I’ll love you forever.

CALLUM

That was the most peculiar, captivating, awe-inspiring, and utterly revolting moment of my life.

Can it be all those things at once?

Watching our little redhead emerge from Violet’s body was something I never imagined witnessing and never want to see again.

Next time, I’ll take Zach’s role. That seems safer.

Tears prick my eyes as I wrap a damp towel around her tiny body. She’s screaming, her eyes wide open. From this angle, they look like different colors, but I can’t be sure.

I’m rubbing her back just as the doula taught us in class.

Violet got her home water birth, thank God, even though we almost missed it.

She’s looking at the little human with tears in her eyes.

We’re all silent. And crying.

I glance around and see tears streaming down their faces too.

The room is humming with excitement and fear. We almost missed this because we decided to go for lunch. I argued against it.

Why was Violet alone? Only God knows.

Why didn’t she call us?

Tyler is gently cleaning our little girl, wiping away the residual blood and sticky cream from her face.

She does resemble him in a babyish way, except for her nose.

Her nose is tiny and button-like, and her lips are fuller than his.

She quiets down, blinking rapidly as if her eyes aren’t focusing.

“Does she have two different colored eyes?” he asks, bringing me back to my earlier thought. I lean in for a closer look.

“Looks like it,” Zach says, peering down at her.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, breaking my silence.

And she is, so beautiful.

So beautiful that we’ll have our hands full when she reaches high school. Beautiful enough to make us threaten some boys to keep their hands to themselves.

Hold on, she’s barely a minute old.

Damn. I glance at the oven clock, which reads four fifty-seven.

When was she born?

How many minutes has it been?

Why is time moving so fast?

I’m the first to get out of the pool, gathering towels and a bottle of water for Violet.

Tyler gets out as soon as he notices the red, murky water. He can’t get out fast enough.

I don’t blame him. I feel filthy having been in that water, but I’m glad I was there to experience it.

The birth of our daughter.

My daughter.

TYLER

She slid right into my hands, squirming as I lifted her to Violet’s chest.

Our baby has the palest skin.

Bright red hair thick enough to cover her scalp, and red eyebrows too.

She’s tiny.

Small enough to fit in one of my hands, she’ll look even smaller in Zach’s or Callum’s. Her head is perfectly round, and she has a sharp jawline that leads to a sharp chin.

Her lips are full and curved like Violet’s, and her nose is small and button-like.

Her eyes are remarkable. One is very dark, and the other might be a dark blue or green. Either way, they’re strikingly different from each other. I can’t wait to see how they change as she grows.

She cries, clearing her lungs, then quiets down to look around. She’s searching for Violet’s breast.

“Here,” Zach says, helping guide Violet’s nipple to the baby’s mouth.

He encourages Violet to move her to her breast. Despite the murky water, the baby opens her mouth and latches on.

Violet winces a bit, but the baby stays attached, sucking as if it’s a race.

“She was hungry,” Zach laughs, kissing Violet’s neck. I can’t believe he’s not grossed out by the water. Who knows what’s in there.

My skin crawls at the thought. I’ve never felt dirtier. But would I change it? No.

“So am I,” Violet says, and Callum takes the initiative to make a smoothie for Violet. The noise of chopping and blending fills the room.

“Nothing too heavy. Remember Karen said you might be sick after,” he says, offering her the straw he conveniently put in the blender cup.

“Thank you, Cal,” she grins, and then the door opens. Callum jumps up to answer it, passing me the cup so I can help Violet drink.

I expect it to be one of the midwives, but it’s Carla and a sheepish-looking Jerry who walk in and stop near the kitchen island. As his eyes meet Zach’s or Violet’s, he turns back around, facing the ovens and wall units.

Carla stops behind him, taking in the room. The silence probably gives everything away as her face changes from curiosity to a smile that’s too big for her face.

“What do we have here?” Carla’s singsong voice echoes around the room as she walks over to us, practically skipping with joy. She looks at Violet and Ella as she kneels beside them.

“Oh look, Jerry, she has red hair like Violet,” she says, but Jerry only nods, not moving from his spot. He nods before speaking, and I find it amusing.

“That’s lovely, congratulations guys,” he says happily.

“It’s fine, Jerry. I’m covered in a towel, you won’t see anything,” Violet assures him. But she’s wrong. The top half of her breasts are still visible, especially the one the baby is attached to, which is sitting outside her bra.

“I think I’ll sit on the sofa,” he says, skirting around the room. He makes a point of staring off into the yard as he takes a seat facing away from us.

“You left your phone at ours. We would have brought it sooner, but Lynn only just left for the hotel,” Carla says as Violet nods.

Damn, how long was Violet alone like that? I’ll have to ask her later.

“Where’s the midwife team?” Carla asks, looking around.

“They’re on their way. We only called them about twenty minutes ago,” I tell her, and she frowns.

“How long have you been in labor?”

“Hours. It’s all written on my Post-it notes,” Violet shrugs, so I walk over while dripping water from my boxers onto the wood floor.

Damn. She’s right.

The array of Post-it notes stuck to the table have times written down starting from two thirty-seven, ranging from five minutes down to two minutes between times until I get to the pack of Post-it notes that is half used, and the top one has a small scribble on top.

It seems she was alone for nearly two hours, laboring by herself.

“Damn, Vi, you need to stop forgetting your phone. Is this the whole time you were in labor?” I ask. She shrugs.

I look down at our baby who’s fallen asleep on her chest, her little mouth forming an O shape and her eyes closed.

“I fell asleep with contractions when I came home, but I woke up in pain,” she says, and Zach looks upset.

“Baby, how long were the contractions happening?” he asks, and she answers immediately.

“I woke up this morning with them.” Damn, she’s been in labor all day?

“Wait, where were you then?” Carla asks Zach and me, probably piecing together our conversation. Where has Callum gone? He’s missing.

“We went out for lunch in town…we got back literally just in time,” Zach says. Damn, Callum said we should have stayed at home. Who knew he would be right?

“I’m just going to get dressed,” I say as everyone nods, and Carla offers to make coffee.

When I reach our bedroom, I find Callum in the process of getting dressed. He’s just pulling his shirt over his head, his muscles flexing with each movement. The sight of him alone is enough to stir a reaction in me.

“Found you,” I say, striding over to him and pulling him close. Our lips meet, but he keeps his body from touching mine. I pull away, laughing, and glance down at myself.

“You’re dirty,” he points out with a shrug.

“I’ll take a quick shower.”

And that’s exactly what I do, scrubbing the blood from my skin three times over. Yet, I still don’t feel clean. It’s as if it’s lodged in my pores, under my nails, in my hair.

***

Assisting in the birth of our daughter was an experience I’ll never forget, but it’s not one I’m eager to repeat. Zach, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine with it. He can take the reins next time.

I don’t bother with proper clothes, opting for lounge pants and an old top I used to wear to bed on chilly nights.

I descend the stairs, carrying the outfit Violet picked out for our baby’s first day in the world.

It’s a tiny, newborn-sized onesie, white with a delicate lace collar. I also bring down a matching hat and mittens, along with a blanket.

When I enter the living room, I find the midwife sitting on the couch with our baby. Violet is nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Vi?” I ask, a sudden panic seizing me.

“She’s in the downstairs bathroom, taking a shower,” Callum answers. He’s standing over the midwife, arms crossed over his chest, as she measures our baby’s length, head, and tummy.

I notice the baby’s umbilical cord has been cut and clamped. Did Zach do that? He was supposed to.

Our baby girl lies quietly on the towel, naked and observing her surroundings. I realize Zach is missing too. They must be showering together.

“Have you chosen a name for her yet?” the midwife asks.

“Not yet,” I reply. But Ella has been the name I keep returning to ever since Callum suggested it.

Damn Callum and his knack for picking names...

“Well, she seems healthy. She’s small, but that’s okay. Good things come in small packages sometimes, don’t they, sweetheart?” she coos at our baby, then looks up at us. “She’s eighteen inches long. Her tummy’s eleven inches around, and her head is eleven and a half inches. She weighs a sweet five pounds, eleven ounces.” She turns her attention back to our baby, gently stroking her cheek.

“Do you want to dress her?” She gestures to the clothes in my hand.

I nod. Thankfully, I’ve had practice with this sort of thing. But Ava was always a big baby. Our little girl is thin, with slender arms and legs, a lean body, and a small head. Ava had rolls upon rolls.

I start with the diaper. That’s the easy part.

I gently lay the tiny onesie on the couch, then cautiously lift our baby girl, making sure her fragile head is well supported. I settle her back on the couch, guiding her tiny arms and legs into the onesie, snapping it closed as I go. In no time at all, she’s all dressed up. I scoop her up again, taking a deep breath, the scent of her hair filling my senses.

She carries a unique scent, a mix of blood and something sweet that I can’t quite put my finger on. I guess it’s the smell of a newborn.

I shove the towel aside with my foot and settle on the couch, positioning her on her tummy against my chest, just like I used to do with Ava. I ensure her little head is turned to the side, then I let myself relax.

This is my first cuddle with our baby.

I’ve had moments like this with my sister’s baby, even my friend’s baby, but this…this is different. This time, it’s my own flesh and blood. My own daughter. A daughter I’ll treasure for a lifetime.

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’re finally parents.