“Oh, god!” I cry out, grinding to a halt just inside the door as I take in the scene in front of me: Mom is sitting on an incline on the bed with her legs up in the stirrups as the man I assume is her doctor and my father are investigating what’s going on down in ladytown.
Greyston slams into my back, pushing me forward another step. When he registers what’s going on, I immediately turn around, pushing on his chest and trying to cover his eyes. I know it’s already too late, though. You can’t unsee that shit. Trust me. I know.
“We’ll, uh, be outside,” I stammer, shutting the door behind us and pressing my forehead to the cool hospital wall. “That was…” I shudder before turning to look at Greyston, whose eyes are so wide he resembles a deer in headlights. I laugh, because it is kind of funny now—horrifying, yes, but still a little funny. “I’m so sorry.”
He blinks a couple times, shaking his head, possibly in an attempt to shake the memory of my mother’s vag from his brain. It won’t be that easy, believe me. “It’s…” He clears his throat and smooths his dress shirt, pretending to be unaffected. Yeah, right. “I’m fine. That was nothing.”
I don’t have the heart to call him on it. He has every right to try to repress that, so I nod in agreement. Before I can suggest we go to the waiting room, the door opens and the doctor steps out, smiling.
“Sorry about that,” he apologizes. “Your mother is asking for you.” He must sense our unease, because he laughs gently. “It’s safe, I assure you.”
Slowly, Greyston and I make our way to the door and push it open. As the doctor said, she’s completely covered up. Dad is next to her, holding her hand and talking to her, his forehead pressed to hers and their eyes closed. It’s an innocently intimate moment, and it tugs at my heartstrings. One thing I’ve come to appreciate over the years is how undeniably in love my parents are after over two decades together. Sure, that comes with a few less than awesome memories of the two of them caught in the heat of the moment, but I’ll gladly take the mental hit several times for witnessing just one moment like this.
The door clicks softly, drawing my parents’ eyes to us, and they both smile infectiously. I cross the room and throw my arms around my mom, her tears of happiness dripping onto my bare shoulder. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re both here!” she exclaims. “Sorry about what you walked in on.”
I laugh, feeling my own tears of happiness stinging my eyes. “That’s okay,” I assure her, pushing her hair from her slightly damp forehead. “It’s surprisingly not the worst thing I’ve walked in on the two of you doing.”
Yeah, I can joke about it a little now. Just a little, though.
Dad snickers. “I didn’t think this would be all that fascinating,” he admits, confusing me. “Well, when you were born, it was rare that a father was in the room. I didn’t know about half the stuff that goes on. Then there were the books…”
“Books?” I question, knowing my shock is plainly written all over my face. “You read pregnancy books?”
“It’s all very fascinating,” he says, flooring me further. “Makes me regret not forcing my way into the delivery room when you were born.”
This conversation is both sweet and awkward, but I focus on the sweet.
Greyston and I stay with Mom and Dad a bit longer, long enough to witness several contractions. I ask my mom why she’s chosen not to take the epidural, but she’s a proud woman who “did this once before without drugs, and she’ll do it again.”
Personally, I’m getting the drugs when I’m in this position. You bet. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
The doctor comes in, and Greyston and I step out again, not needing to have a repeat moment of when we’d first arrived. This time, when he emerges, he directs us to the waiting room, telling us it’s time for my mom to have a baby. I’m nervous, excited, and just a little bit scared. I’m once again reminded of her age and how there are more risks involved. It’s all I can think about as I pace nervously in the waiting room.
Greyston must sense my distress, because he grabs my hand and pulls me onto his lap, holding me close and kissing my temple. I rest the side of my head against his forehead and let his whispers of reassurance wash through me as he runs his hand up and down my back. Soon, my apprehension begins to subside. When I look up at the clock, I see that almost two hours have gone by, and when I drop my eyes from the time, my father is walking into the waiting room with a tiny pink bundle cradled in his arms.