Never Giving Up (Never #3)(43)

“Well, amniotic fluid smells different than urine, so that’s one way you could rule out urination.”

“I’ll go smell it,” Porter said, standing up from the bed.

“You will not!” I yelled. There is no way that I would ever recover from my husband smelling my sheets. I just couldn’t. All the mystery would be gone. I could never, ever, feel sexy around him again if he smelled my sheets. “I’ll smell it.”

“Amniotic fluid smells sweeter than you’d imagine and, funny enough, a little like semen.”

Gross. “Ok, so what if it is amniotic fluid?”

“You should start to experience contractions and we would want to see you in the hospital when your contractions were three to five minutes apart.”

“I haven’t had any contractions.” I said, immediately worried I’m doing this whole labor thing wrong. I couldn’t even contract when I was supposed to.

“It might take a few hours, but you should start contracting soon. It was more than likely contractions that ruptured your membranes. You just couldn’t feel them because they aren’t strong enough yet. You could be contracting right now. It’s just a matter of waiting until they’re strong enough to do some damage.” I cringed at her nurse jargon; I didn’t need any damage done to me. “However, it’s important that we deliver the baby within twenty-four hours of the membranes rupturing, so if you aren’t contracting within the next, oh say, ten hours, you should come in anyway.”

“Then what happens?” I asked, horrified.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mrs. Masters. First, determine whether or not it was urine on your sheets and go from there. I’m looking at your chart and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t expect a totally normal delivery. Is this your first?”

“Yes.” I said sadly, suddenly wishing I knew what I was doing.

“It’ll be ok. I would bet money that you didn’t wet the bed. It sounds like you ruptured.” Again, I cringed. She needed some different verbiage. I hung up with the helpful nurse and went to smell the sheets. I lifted the offending linens to my nose and gave then a hesitant sniff. I immediately and unconsciously felt my lips turn into a surprised pout.

“Huh,” I said out loud to Porter who stood just outside the door. “She was right. It does smell like semen.” I smelled the sheets again to confirm my opinion and then stopped, realizing what I was doing.

“Wait,” he said, a huge smile coming across his face. “It doesn’t smell like pee?”

I shook my head and then, damn it, smelled the sheets again. I stopped mid-sniff and threw the sheets to the floor to discourage my nose from trying to smell them again. “No, it’s definitely not pee.” I saw the smile on his face and it took me a few more seconds to put all the puzzle pieces together. “Oh, shit,” I whispered as soon as I caught the wave he was already riding.

“Babe, your water broke.”

“Holy shit.”

“Stop swearing. The baby can hear you,” he said with a warm smile, joking with me.

“Oh my God.”

He shrugged. “That’s a little better.”

“Porter! Stop it! This is serious!” I squealed. I pointed down to the sheet. “That’s not pee!” Now he laughed, beautiful joy shimmering all over his face. I heard big belly laughs and saw his gorgeous smile. It was contagious. I started laughing too. At first, just small spattering laughter. Then it grew into the kind of laughter that made your eyes water, laughter that bent you in half and made you grab your stomach. My stomach was huge, but it still shook heavily with laughter. Then I laughed even harder as more fluid trailed down my legs. The whole situation was hilarious.

But then all the hilarity ended when my stomach was ignited in hot fire as I experienced my first honest-to-goodness contraction.

“Oh holy shit,” I said as I grabbed my belly, wincing in pain. Porter had no jokes about language as he flew to my side, instantly alarmed by my discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, panicked.

“Contraction,” I managed to utter, still clutching my belly. The pain started very low, but shot out and felt like my entire belly was in a vice grip. It lasted forever, or about thirty seconds, which in labor time is forever. When it was over I took a few deep breaths to stop myself from vomiting and then stood up. “That was terrible. I thought they were supposed to get worse as labor progressed, not start off so painful you wish you were unconscious.” I looked at Porter for answers, but his face looked pale and confused. He would obviously not be offering me any labor advice at the moment.

“Maybe . . .” he managed to speak. “Maybe you are really good at labor and skipped the easy part.”

I laughed, forgetting the pain I had been in just minutes before. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said through giggles.

Three hours later I was no longer laughing at Porter. It seemed as though he’d been partly correct is his assessment of my situation. I was really good at labor. Within an hour of my contractions starting they were four minutes apart and I was in some serious pain. Pants were pointless because with every contraction I leaked even more fluid and couldn’t stop chanting “Ew, that’s gross,” through each one. We did the stereotypical speeding car race to the hospital as I was sure the baby was going to fall right out of me. This was pain like I had never experienced.