Never Giving Up (Never #3)(49)
“That sounds serious.” Ella’s voice was faint and frightened.
“It can be, if you don’t watch it. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.” The doctor stood and removed her gloves, throwing them in the trash can by her feet. She came up to Ella’s side and pressed her hands against Ella’s stomach, feeling around for something. “Ok.” She placed a hand on Ella’s shoulder and gave her a smile. “Your uterus is still contracting and making very good progress on shrinking back down. You lost a lot of blood so I am going to prescribe you some iron. You needed four stitches so you’ll need to be extra careful for a few days while those start to heal.” She paused and gave Ella’s shoulder a small squeeze. “You did really well, Ella. I was worried for a while, but you did a great job.”
“She’s going to be ok?” Ella asked, hopeful.
“Everything looks excellent,” a nurse said as she brought the baby back to her. She handed her over, wrapped in a pink blanket, a hat on her head, covering the large bump, hiding it from view. “Eight pounds, four ounces, twenty-one inches long. Scored a nine on the Apgar test.” The nurse noticed the confused look on Ella’s face. “She’s perfect.” She laughed. “Don’t let the bump bother you. She’s perfectly healthy, just needs a little extra care. She had a rough exit, seems like the side of her head might have gotten caught on your pelvis.”
“Is that why my side hurt so much?”
The doctor and nurse both just smiled at her. That bothered me. How many times did Ella tell them she was in pain while she was pushing? They hadn’t paid much attention to her complaints and it seems like there might have been something legitimately wrong. I liked Dr. Bronson, and I wanted to believe she did what she thought was best for Ella and the baby during the delivery, but a small part of me was angry they had let her push so long when it turned out the baby had been in distress the whole time.
I tried to let my feelings of anger go, now was not the time to harbor negativity. Now was the time to cherish the little girl that was currently snuggled against my wife.
“So,” the nurse said, upbeat. “Do we have a name for this little, darling girl?”
Ella turned her head and looked up at me, smiling, eyes shining, looking like the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
“Yeah,” I said, not breaking eye contact with her. “We do.”
When my parents and Tilly walked into the hospital room, I couldn’t contain the smile that spread across my face. Watching their faces light up, witnessing their eyes go wide as they found the little bundle of bliss currently resting against my chest; it was a moment of pride for me. I wanted to show off the perfect little baby I’d made. I wanted to watch them fall in love with her, just like I had, and take all the credit for their happiness. She was my most impressive accomplishment, and also the most precious one. In an instant, just one moment in time, she’d become the singular and most crucially vital person in my life. All she had to do was be. She existed and therefore, so did I. It was amazing.
Mom and Tilly instantly cried. I expected nothing less. She was perfect and worth crying over. My dad walked to Porter and shook his hand, saying something congratulatory to him. Porter smiled as he shook his hand but then turned back to me and the baby, just as enraptured as I was.
“Oh my word, Ella, she’s just perfect,” my mother said, looking adoringly down at her sleeping face.
“I know,” I said, my eyes gliding back to her soft cheeks, one of which was mushed against the swell of my breast.
“Well,” Porter’s mom said through happy tears. “What’s her name?”
My eyes darted to Porter, nodding, letting him know he could reveal our secret.
“We’ve decided to name her Matilda Rose,” he said softly, watching his mother closely. It was like watching an artist create a painting. First you saw both of our moms hear the name, then you could see the understanding cross their faces, and then the best part: The surprise, the joy.
“You named her after me?” Tilly asked, tears now coming quickly, flowing over cheeks big from smiling.
“Well, actually, we named her after both of you,” I said looking between Tilly and my mother. My mom’s eyes were just as wet as Tilly’s.
“Matilda for you, Mom,” Porter said, holding back tears I could hear in his voice.
“And Rose, for your middle name, Mom,” I said. “We really hope that Mattie here,” I said looking down at my daughter, “takes after all the strong and important women in her life.”
I watched for a few minutes as the two moms passed their granddaughter back and forth, cooing at her, touching her, loving on her. I was still baffled and completely in awe of everything happening right in front of me. Was this how my mom felt about me when I was born? I can’t imagine it’s possible that my mom loves me as much as I love Mattie. But when my mom’s eyes fluttered from my daughter up to me, I saw it; I saw her love for me. It’s always been there, but now it was different. I saw my mother differently, Tilly too. How lucky was Porter to have such an incredible mother? It was easy to take a mother’s love for granted, until you were one.
A nurse came in and smiled at the obvious and copious amounts of love in the room.
“Hi, I’m Fran. How are you feeling?” She asked me.