A Mother’s Day Gift

She stood before the mirror admiring her baby bump. It was growing rounder and heavier each day. I thought she was the most picture-perfect pregnant girlfriend ever. I came up behind her and kissed the top of her head. She smiled sweetly. With my hands hugging her belly, I watched her reflection. It was our first time being pregnant but she was handling it like a pro. The morning sickness, the cravings, everything. I buried my face in her neck and inhaled, her bubbly giggle a pleasant sound. I whispered a prayer that our baby girl would have her infectious laugh. We didn’t know the gender of our baby yet. We had agreed to be surprised at its birth but I hoped for a little girl that was the spitting image of Becca while she wanted a boy.

We were together four years now and I didn’t need a day over to know I wanted to be with her all my life. Having a baby together just sealed the deal. No way was I leaving her to parent our kid on her own or have another man father my child. She was everything to me and I made every effort to let her know I was going to be there with her all the way. As the baby developed, Becca had a more and more difficult time adjusting. She was having to do less and rest more. This was not her nature. Naturally, her body was heavier and it was harder for her to move around the way she was used to. The complaints mounted. It was too hot, her ankles were swollen, her clothes didn’t fit, and she couldn’t find a comfortable position to sleep in. I hated that she faced such discomfort and to make her feel better I waited on her so that she didn’t have to walk around doing her usual house duties that got her warm and sweating. I got my apron on and cleaned the kitchen. With gloves elbow high, I scrubbed the bathroom. I was terrible at folding clothes but I did the laundry and put them away into drawers as neatly as I could. Becca thought it hilarious.

“You’re just so focused on doing it.” She would laugh.

After bathing her, I massaged her feet and sat behind her so that she was propped up whenever she felt sleepy. She slept more comfortably in a half-lying position. My legs were numb but for the fact that she slept so deeply, I didn’t mind.

I remember when we first heard our baby’s heartbeat, Becca cried. She had made a pregnancy journal. In it, she recorded the date, pasted the ultrasound in, and wrote the emotions she felt at first hearing the sound and feeling the movement of life inside her. Whenever she was overwhelmed with the challenges of being pregnant, she drew for the cute book and, skipping through the pages, was filled with an elation that was so clearly evident in her eyes. She would close it and call out to me.

“Derrick! We’re having a baby!” She screamed excitedly as though it was fresh news. It made me laugh.

Her moods were like the weather. At times she was beaming, other times she wept fitfully. It was not an easy journey going through the changes but Becca adored the little being she was bringing into the world and along with her body, it was changing her outlook on life itself. She was a throw-caution-to-the-wind kind of girl, one of the reasons I fell in love with her, but gradually that changed and she planned more. I was right by her side and we bounced ideas off each other discussing different parenting styles and the future we wanted for our little one. Becca was so together. She balanced the pregnancy along with the other aspects of her life so well. Of course, it was not without struggles.

“Thanks for keeping me positive.” She often told me but in truth, it was she who kept me positive. She was a huge inspiration and by her grit alone, I was motivated to be the best I could be for both her and my coming baby.

As slowly as it felt time was passing, it flew by and soon we were in our third trimester. Becca was heavier than I imagined she could ever be. It amazed me how rapidly her stomach had grown and I was consumed with excited impatience. Becca was tired. Her energy was not as high as it was in the earlier stages.

“I can’t wait to hold you.” She’d say wearily as she lay falling asleep between my legs. She was ready to welcome our baby into the world. The weight was beginning to get unbearable on her back and feet. She waddled.

One night, I was awakened by a tight grip in the crotch. I flew up, flicked the light on, and looked over at Becca. She was writhing in pain and the sheets where she lay were soaked through. I grabbed my cell and phoned the hospital where we were booked to give birth. The baby was coming. I pocketed my keys and picked her up as quickly and gently as I could.

“Ten minutes, muffin,” I grunted as I turned sideways through the door with her in my arms.

I placed Becca in the backseat. Our bags were already packed and kept in the car for convenience and what a convenience it was. Becca’s contractions were very close together. Any delay and I would have had to pull over and deliver the baby myself like the very brave men in the movies, and I didn’t have that kind of pluck. The baby was early. We weren’t expecting to go into labor until another week. We pulled up to the hospital and were greeted by a nurse waiting at the entrance with a wheelchair ready to receive us. Becca was breathing roughly from the pain. We rushed her into the room and lifted her onto the bed. The doctor checked how dilated she was and a look of surprise spread over her face.

“The baby is right there,” she exclaimed. “Get ready to push.”

Holding Becca’s hand, I watched her in the most miraculous act. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath as she obeyed the doctor’s first command. With all her might, she pushed. Sweat beads formed on her forehead and she crushed my hand. Tears spilled from her eyes, I wanted so much to kiss them away. The doctor informed us that we were doing very well and that the baby would be out in one last push. Becca looked up at me, her eyes tired but filled with love. Taking a deep breath, she gave one last big push and the piercing cry of a baby boy filled the room.

“Congratulations, you did beautifully.” The doctor smiled as the nurse received the baby in a blue blanket.

After the doctor finished with Becca, the nurse cleaned her up. She lay exhausted on her pillow. I kissed her forehead and stared down into her shining eyes.

“You’re amazing,” I whispered. Becca smiled lovingly.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your girl.” She told me in a gentle voice. I shook my head.

“I couldn’t be happier that you got your boy,” I responded, the respect I had for her multiplying.

Just then, the nurse approached us with the little bundle of blue. She placed him in Becca’s arms and her eyes watered. She looked at him, then at me with pure awe and adoration in her eyes.

My eyes caught the time. It was thirteen minutes after twelve, May 8th.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” I said caressing her shoulder. The tears brimmed over swimming down her face and, stretching her lips up toward me, she kissed me lightly.