When everyone leaves, I take Deven to the guest bedroom and we lay down to go to sleep. I hold her against my chest.
“Did you enjoy the party?”
“I would’ve been able to enjoy it more if I could move.”
I laugh. “Soon enough,” I promise. “We have six more weeks until your due date.”
“Six weeks is a lifetime, Hudson. Hell, we didn’t even date six week before we got engaged.”
“We did too,” I argue.
“No, it would’ve been six weeks, but we broke up for those two weeks, remember?”
I shake my head. “I only remember the parts of my life that had you next to me.”
She laughs. “Such a suck up.” Her hand flies to her stomach and she gasps in pain.
“What? What is it?” I ask, fear consuming me.
Her body relaxes. “I shouldn’t have eaten those jalapeño poppers. They are making the babies crazy in there.”
“You want some something for your stomach?” I ask.
“No, I think it’s fine.”
I wrap my arm around her stomach and one of the babies kick at it. “Man, I think that one is going to be a soccer player.” I laugh.
“Tell me about it. They’ve been kicking the shit out of me all day.” She jumps again, this time letting out a painful cry.
“Are you sure it’s just indigestion?”
She shakes her head. “Nope, not anymore. I think we should go to the hospital.”
“Okay, let’s go.” I rush from bed and slide my feet into a pair of shoes before moving around the bed to help her up. She stands up, takes two steps and then I hear a gush of water hitting the floor. I turn around to see her scared expression.
“Come on. You’re in labor.”
“No,” she shakes her head. “It’s too early.”
I nod. “I know, but remember the doctor said that triplets like to come early. There isn’t enough room in there for all three of them. It’ll be okay. Let’s just get to the hospital. The sooner the better.”
I get her loaded up into the SUV and race around to the driver’s side, climbing behind the wheel. She’s hit with a contraction just as I’m backing out. Her screaming scares the shit out of me, and I stomp on the brakes. She catches herself on the dash.
“What the hell, Hudson?”
“Sorry, baby. You just scared me,” I say, finishing backing up the drive.
Finally, we’re on the road. As I drive, I make sure to call everyone in the family. After they’ve all been informed, I take her hand in mine and let her squeeze it as I breathe along with her, hoping to help her through as much as possible.
It feels like it takes forever to get to the hospital, but we finally make it and I wheel her through the front doors.
“We’re in labor. Six weeks early,” I add on.
“Okay, let’s get you back, honey,” the nurse says, taking the wheelchair from me. As we ride up the elevator to the maternity ward, all she does is cry and moan and cuss at me loud enough for God to hear. I feel angry for doing this to her, scared that she’s never going to let me touch her again, and happy to become a father soon.
“Don’t worry, honey. She doesn’t mean anything that leaves her mouth right now,” the nurse reminds me. I feel a little better, but fear still consumes me when I think about how early these babies are.
We’re taken to a room, and I help her strip down into a gown and get into bed. She’s hooked up to monitors and tubes and wires, and as she’s breaking my hand, the doctor walks into the room.
“Has your water already broken?” he asks, pulling on a glove.
“Yes, and the contractions are two minutes apart,” I tell him.
He sticks his hand where the sun don’t shine and says, “Yep, you’re fully dilated and ready to start pushing.” He removes his hand and pulls off his glove. “Nurse, ready to go to delivery!” He looks back at us with a smile. “I’ll see you up there.” He leaves without another word.
The next thing I know, I’m given some kind of gown, shoe covers, and a cap to put on, and we’re taken to another room that has a bright light hanging from the ceiling. The doctor walks in, barking orders to the nurses and snapping his gloves into place.
He sits between her parted legs, which are draped over with a blanket, and levels his eyes on us. “You do know that with the babies