I throw the covers off my body. “It’s Frankie’s birthday.”
24
September 12
Welcome to your life, Frankie!
Welcome to my new life.
HERE COMES a big one.”
“Don’t tell me!”
I turn my attention from the peaks and plateaus of the monitor measuring Lindsey’s vitals to her red face. “Sorry.”
Lindsey has opted for a natural, drug-free birth. About two hours ago, she began to regret that decision, but it was too late for one of those spinal taps. She grabs onto the side rail and does her who-who-who breathing, and I’m glad it isn’t me in that bed.
Watching the whole birthing process has been a huge learning experience. Lindsey’s had so many fingers up her vagina, she should start charging admission. From the safety of my chair next to her bed, I find the whole thing fascinating. When we arrived at the hospital at four this morning, her contractions were four minutes apart. Nine hours later, her contractions are closer and lasting longer, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts screaming bloody horror like in the movies.
“I have to tell you something,” Lindsey says as she takes deep cleansing breaths and the spike on the monitor drops.
“If you want to tell me you’re pregnant, I already know.”
“Not that. I lied about Frankie’s father.”
I look over at her. “What?”
“I lied about telling him I’m pregnant.”
“Okay.” This is kind of a bizarre time to bring it up.
She reaches for a cup of water, and I stand to help. “I don’t know who his father is. I just said that because I didn’t want you to think I was a slut.”
I just look at her, kind of shocked that this is what she wants to talk about right now.
“I had a few wild months after Mrs. Rogan died.”
“Mrs. Rogan?”
“My client before Patricia. The Rogan family wanted me to stay in the house and take care of the place until they settled her affairs and put it on the market.” She shakes her head. “I lived out my sexual fantasies. I think maybe two or three times.”
“Most women do that. It’s normal.”
“A week. Sometimes twice in one day.”
That’s not so normal. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I don’t want you to be surprised if he comes out part Asian or black or Hispanic or Russian.”
Russian?
“Or Swedish.”
“He’ll come out looking like Frankie. That’s all that counts.”
“I’ve felt so horrible for lying to you.”
“I really don’t think it matters at this point. I don’t care. I love you… and here comes another one.”
“Don’t tell me!”
I sit back down in my chair and keep my mouth shut. Or at least I try, but when the doctor comes in and wheels a stool to the end of the bed, all bets are off. I move behind his left shoulder and watch Lindsey grab her bent knees and push. It’s not a pretty sight down here in the front row. Kind of disturbing, but exactly where I want to be sitting.
“There’s his head,” the doctor announces from his catcher’s position.
“Where?”
“Right here.”
I bend my head down and look right up Lindsey’s hoo-ha. “That hairy-walnut-looking thing?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my God.” It hits me that I am seeing the top of an actual baby’s head. I know this is biologically natural, but it’s new to me. A few more pushes and Frankie’s head pops out like a little purple alien. “Oh my God, Lindsey, Frankie’s head’s out. I can see his face.” The doctor suctions the baby’s nose and mouth. Lindsey pushes out a shoulder, and then Frankie just slips into the world and is put on his momma’s stomach. Lindsey’s bawling and touching him, and he opens his mouth and screams and screams.
“That’s my favorite part,” the doctor says, and I agree. A nurse hands me scissors to cut the rubbery cord. His color has changed to pink, and he is rolled up in a swaddling cloth like a burrito and placed in his mother’s arms.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Lindsey asks through blubbery tears.
“Beautiful.” I touch his cheek with the back of my finger. He’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt. He has so much dark hair. “He looks like he’s wearing a little toupee,” I say, just before I start blubbering too. I’ve never experienced this kind of awe and sheer joy.
“I’m your momma,” Lindsey tells him, and I think of my mother. For the first time since her death, her memory isn’t accompanied by pain. I think about her on the day of Lindsey’s baby shower, smiling when she beat the other women in the