"Naira, could you hand me a glass of w-water?" I ask, panting as another contraction rips through my body.
Naira's eyes widen, and in a flash, she's beside me, frantically asking if we need to go to the hospital. I shake my head, "No, I'm fine; my water hasn't broken yet."
"I've been timing them, and they are just five minutes apart!" she says, expressing her concern.
I ignore her and reach for a glass of water, spitting it out as my stomach tightens, and my back starts aching.
"And three minutes now," she says, tapping the watch on her wrist, "I need to call Mark; we need to get you to hospital."
She instantly heads out, running straight to her room. Taking deep breaths, I go towards the sofa in the living room, pausing when I feel a fluid trickle down my maternity leggings. I bend and lean against the sofa, gripping it tightly as I close my eyes, screaming when another contraction comes; this one stronger and more painful. When I open my eyes, trying to breathe through the pain, I find myself staring into Ansh's wide eyes, who is sprawled out on the sofa.
With his mouth hung wide open, he implores, crying out, "Please don't deliver your baby here."
...
The 20 minutes drive to the hospital is stressful as every time we're held up, Naira swears loudly, and I look at her disdainfully, causing her to apologise.
"We'll get there soon, warrior," Ansh says from the driving seat before giving me a pleading look, "Please just don't start pushing in my car; I would really prefer not to see that."
"Shh, you're doing so well," Naira adds, cooing softly. Every time I get a contraction, she tells me that she's proud of me and reminds me to be strong. She holds my hand and rubs my fingers, trying her best to distract me from the pain.
"I n-need Mark," I force out, crying in pain as another contraction wrecks my body. "He's waiting at the hospital," Naira says, making soothing circles on my palm.
I breathe a sigh of relief on sighting the hospital. Ansh parks the car quickly and rushes to the entrance while Naira stays behind with me. He comes back with an orderly who eases me into a wheelchair and whisks me towards the maternity ward.
"Mark," I murmur in pain when I'm helped to the bed. "Shh, I'm here," I hear him say before my sweat-soaked forehead is planted with a kiss.
Doctor Seth comes inside and sits in between my legs, checking my progress, "You're just dilated to four centimetres; we can't give you an epidural yet."
I whimper, groaning as I continue experiencing intense pain and discomfort in my lower back. Mark strokes my hair and reassures, "You've got this; it's okay. You'll get through this."
I yell, snapping at him, "IT'S EASY FOR YOU TO SAY. YOU'RE NOT THE ONE WHO WILL PUSH A BABY THE SIZE OF A WATERMELON!"
...
Two hours later, I'm still just dilated to 5 centimetres, but the pain is worse. The doctor gave me Fentanyl to take the edge off the contractions, and it worked...for ten minutes after which the contractions were back and harder than ever.
Half an hour later, I get up to use the washroom, but I'm hit with such intense pain that I almost crumple onto the floor if it isn't for Mark's arms. The contractions have begun to hit four in a row; at their absolute peak.
My doctor comes and checks me; I'm dilated to 7 centimetres, which is far enough for an epidural. I sit up, leaning against Mark and one of the nurses as the doctor administers the epidural. The pain is so severe that I can't sit still. I'm given another shot of Fentanyl to relieve the pain enough to get the epidural in. Within the second try, it's in place, and I have an unbearable urge to push.
Doctor checks me again, and within a matter of minutes, I've dilated to ten centimetres; epidural kicking fast and showing its effects.
"The baby is still high up; it's going to be an hour or two of pushing," the doctor says before leaving the room to check on other patients.
"I just want the baby to be out," I say, with tears streaming down my face.
"You'll be okay, honey. It's almost over," Mark says softly, entwining my fingers in his.
I breathe heavily, trying to calm myself, but when he starts mumbling 'you'll be okay' repeatedly, I lose it.
"YOU COULDN'T HAVE KEPT IT IN YOUR PANTS!?" I scream, rendering him speechless. "You're the one responsible for this."
Head nurse instructs me to push and eyes Mark with a look of sympathy.
Why is she looking at him with sympathy!!??
I try to push, and she guides me to push after counting to ten. I push with everything in me, and suddenly, she's yelling for the doctor to come back.
The doctor has barely worn gloves before she's telling me to stop pushing.
"Why?" I shriek, panting loudly, "Just take it out!"
With a huge smile on her face, she replies, "Baby is crowning, and we don't want you to tear. So, please relax and continue panting, Siya."
I continuously pant, and after the baby's head has emerged further, I give a push to free the baby's shoulders. With one last heave and gentle pull by the doctor, the baby is born in a rush of fluids.
With a big smile on her face, she announces, "You've got a healthy girl. Congratulations."
I choke out a sob, and Mark kisses my cheek. "We-you," he immediately changes his word when I raise my eyebrow at him, daring him to go on, "did it."
In a rush, the nurse is shoving the medical scissors in Mark's hands and despite his protests, he cuts the baby's umbilical cord, relenting. The doctor passes her to the nurses, who begin cleaning her; however, in spite of suctioning out her nose and mouth, she doesn't cry.
I ask worriedly, "Why isn't she crying?"
It takes her a few seconds to take her first breath, and my heart melts into a puddle when I finally hear her first cry. They wrap her up and hand her to Mark who lays her across my chest.
I look down at her and kiss her tiny forehead. She is exactly how I imagined: little tufts of hair cover her head, and her eyes are the same shade as of Mark's. I smile when I feel Mark kiss my hair and mumble, "She's perfect. Just like you."
"Mumma went through so much for you; you better not make me cry! Ever," I mumble softly to her and gasp when she opens her eyes and looks up at me.
It's this moment that I realise that I'll do anything to protect her.
My precious baby.
...
After everything is calm, Naira enters the room, followed by Ansh.
Her face lights up as soon as she looks at her, a tear tracing down her cheek, and she asks, sniffling, "What's her name?"
"Natasha," Mark and I reply at the same time, and I let him go on, "Among its other meanings, it means a flower."
Naira's smile is replaced with a frown as she swats Ansh's hand away, "Wash your hands before touching her."
He huffs before heading towards the washroom. I hand Natasha to Mark before catching Naira's attention.
"Will you like to be her godmother?"