The setback, p.32
The Setback, page 32
“Yes, that’s a good idea.” Uncle Will grabs Ethan’s wrist and practically drags him toward the door.
They collide with the nurses who were rushing in with a rolling cart full of stuff. They’re all wearing weird blue apron things that cover them practically from neck to knees. It looks like they think I’m carrying the bubonic plague.
“Alright, we’re ready,” the nurse in front says.
“Pushing often takes quite some time,” Dr. Isaacson says. “Don’t worry if you push through several contractions and nothing happens. Alright?”
But after just three contractions-worth of pushing, there’s a kind of burst and then a sliding feeling.
Aunt Donna says, “She’s here!”
“Yes, she certainly is,” Dr. Isaacson says. “Now just one more push for me.”
Everything moves really quickly after that. I was prepared that they might take her away, whisking her off to the NICU. I was ready for her to have breathing problems, or not cry enough, or possibly need to be warmed.
But none of that happens.
“Would you like to hold her?” The nurse with the dark hair who seems to be in charge has cleaned her up after shouting numbers out loud. Now she’s wrapped in a blanket. “Or should I hand her to this lady?” She tosses her head at Aunt Donna.
“I’d like to hold her. Is that alright?”
Aunt Donna’s crying, but she nods. “Of course.”
The nurse hands the tiny little baby to me. “She’s very healthy. She has an APGAR of nine. Nice job, Mom.”
The second she reaches my arms, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. I can’t help crying myself. She looks nothing like a turnip or a potato. She is tiny, and beautiful, and perfect. “Oh, she’s so pretty.”
Aunt Donna hasn’t moved.
“Did you see her?”
She makes a sound that I can’t quite comprehend.
“Look at her tiny nose,” I say. “And her dark eyelashes.”
Aunt Donna still hasn’t moved closer.
“Aunt Donna?”
She shakes her head. “You want to keep her.”
“What?” I stop staring at the baby girl and snap my head toward Aunt Donna. “Why would you think that?”
Now she’s really bawling. “Who wouldn’t want to keep her? She’s just perfect. I knew you’d want to keep her when you saw her.”
“Have you been worried about that this whole time?”
Aunt Donna shrugs, and I realize that she has been. “Come here. Now.”
My sweet, kind, generous aunt finally takes two steps closer. “I’m not sure I can hold her and hug her if you are keeping her.” She sniffs.
“Aunt Donna, this little girl is your baby. I just wanted to hold her for a moment, to make sure I got things right.” After the big mistake I made that resulted in her creation, I’ve been worried for months and months that she might not be quite right.
But she’s just perfect.
I’m giving Aunt Donna a perfect daughter, just like she deserves. I hold her up, my arms shaking a bit. All those contractions were exhausting.
Aunt Donna takes her from me, trembling every bit as much as I am. “Oh, Beth. Thank you.” And now she’s sobbing again, but this time, her eyes are firmly fixed on our darling little girl.
A moment later, the doctor starts tugging and pulling on things.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Cleaning you up again.” The doc’s voice is flat, but her hands are steady.
The cleanup isn’t wonderful, but eventually they get things put back together, and I’m allowed to take my legs out of the stirrups.
“Your recovery will be much quicker because you didn’t get an epidural,” Dr. Isaacson says. “You should be able to walk around and go to the bathroom, or whatever else you’d like to do at any point.”
My body’s not as excited about going to the bathroom as Dr. Isaacson seems to think it should be, but eventually, with the help of the dark-haired nurse, I do it. A few moments later, I make it back into the main room, cleaner, calmer, and finally cleared to eat. Aunt Donna’s feeding the baby with a dreamy look on her face.
“Uncle Will can come in,” I say. “I’m decent.”
The nurses bring him in moments later, and he looks even dopier than Aunt Donna.
“Can I hold her?” he asks.
“You’ll have to wait your turn.” Donna makes no move to pass her over. “She’s eating anyway.”
Ethan laughs, and my eyes dart his direction. His smiling face feels like the nicest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like a balm on my raw heart. While Uncle Will and Aunt Donna wrap themselves around the new baby, Ethan slips over to my shoulder and wraps his arms around me. “You are amazing. That is a miracle.”
“It kind of is,” I say. “The best kind of miracle.” I shift a little. “Or, you know, maybe close to a miracle. A real miracle wouldn’t have left me feeling so lousy.”
Ethan chuckles. “Even miracles have a cost.”
“What do you think?” Aunt Donna asks softly. “Any of the names we’ve discussed feel like a good fit?”
“What about Althea?” Uncle Will says. “It’s always been my favorite and it means ‘blessed with healing abilities.’” He glances around the room, his eyes meeting mine. “I feel like she’s already healing this family.”
I realize in that moment that carrying this beautiful child was a constant memory for me of my mistake. Of my poor judgment. Of how much my family was willing to pressure me for their own ends without any regard to my health or well-being.
Without meeting her, this baby was like a scarlet letter in my life.
But now that she’s here, it feels nothing like the stupid story I had to read in school. This baby isn’t like Pearl. She’s not a constant reminder of my sin. She’s far too beautiful and far too loved for that.
No, she’s the promise that even when we make mistakes, beautiful things can come from them. She’s the healing gift that has brought me a new family, one that I know will love me no matter what.
“I didn’t even call my mom,” I realize. “We just came straight here.”
Even now, I don’t feel like calling my parents.
“They’re actually in Aruba right now.” Aunt Donna looks a little sick as she says it. “Your dad told me that if you need them, we should email.”
“Oh.” For some reason, that makes me laugh. Not an uncomfortable or disappointed or manic laugh. No, it makes me laugh because it’s so classic Patrick and Amelia. Their daughter’s having a baby they didn’t want her to have? Why not go on vacation. Maybe it will just go away.
But that’s not the life my little girl is going to have. She’s going to have amazing parents who put her first. She’s going to be loved, to be cherished, and to be a priority for them.
Aunt Donna’s been patting the baby’s back, but then she passes the baby off to Uncle Will, finally. “I think Althea is perfect.” She presses a kiss to her forehead. “Maybe we can call her Thea for short.” She turns toward me. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re both right. Althea sounds great.”
“Thank you,” Aunt Donna says. This time, she’s not crying.
“Thank you so much,” Uncle Will says.
“You’re welcome,” I say. “But can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” Aunt Donna says. “Always.”
“Did you mean it when you said you wouldn’t mind if I stuck around?”
Uncle Will blinks.
Aunt Donna beams. “Will’s house is almost done. In a few weeks, we can move out, and you can have my place to yourself.”
“Wait,” Ethan says. “Does that mean you’re thinking about it?”
I didn’t think that there’d be a place for me in this new, strange family I’m gifting them. I thought I’d feel strange, being Althea’s mom and also her cousin. But it doesn’t feel strange at all.
It feels right.
Maybe, sometimes, God answers prayers in weird ways. Maybe, sometimes, mistakes can still bring joy to everyone around them. And maybe this is one of those times.
At least, I really hope it is.
29
Donna
I spent the first few months of my pregnancy with Aiden worried that I would miscarry. By the time the doctor told me that things looked good, I was so relieved that I never cared much about whether I felt lousy. What was a little discomfort if my baby was alright? What were a few headaches or a little heartburn, as long as he was growing as he should?
After he was born, everything was a bit of a blur. My mom came to help out, which was good, because I had no idea what I was doing.
Diapers, burping, colic, swaddling, and nursing were all new.
It was overwhelming. It was scary. It was also beautiful. His first real smile came at twelve weeks. His first word—dada—happened with no prompting from me. The day he learned to sit up was a Sunday, and that night he would not lie down in his crib at all. At least, not until he passed out. The day he learned to scoot—he never really crawled very well—was a huge shock. I had child-proofed nothing. All of those memories were the things that kept me going in an increasingly miserable marriage.
My husband was always busy at work, and it felt like he got busier whenever something difficult happened at home. If Aiden or I got sick, he had a huge project and would be gone around the clock. If Aiden was teething, he had to pull all-nighters. When I started baby food and Aiden spit out every single new food I tried, Charlie started holding morning meetings. Being alone for most of the memorable moments might have been a little disappointing, but Aiden made up for it.
This time around, I spent most of baby Thea’s pregnancy hovering and nervous. Would Beth change her mind? Would my little niece really leave after the baby was born? It felt like the price I would pay for this miracle was the loss of something that had grown to be very dear to me.
But now Thea’s here, and she’s perfect even though she came two weeks early, and Beth has agreed to stay, at least for now. Unlike the last time, my husband’s around as often as possible and that’s a good thing. April isn’t the best time for a rancher to have a baby, but he’s still spending every second he can at the hospital with us.
“Today’s the day you can both come home,” I say. “How does that feel?”
“Pretty good,” Beth says. “I bet it’ll be nice for you too, since you haven’t left the hospital in three days.”
“Actually, I feel great,” I say. “I didn’t have to push this little angel out. That makes a big difference.”
The nurse removes the blood pressure cuff. “Yeah, the happiest mothers I see in here are the adoptive ones. I’ve always felt like it was pretty hard that new mothers have to make the baby, endure childbirth, and then dive into newborn care and feeding right off the bat.” She shakes her head. “It’s like running a set of sprints before starting a marathon.”
“Well, I’m happy that I’m done with the sprints,” Beth says. “And I’ve passed the beautiful little baton to you for the marathon.”
“You three are adorable,” the nurse says. “We’ll miss you around here.”
There’s a tap at the door, and a lanky man wearing green scrubs comes inside, carrying a tray. “Meal service.”
Yesterday, breakfast was pancakes and eggs, but today’s is something else. The smell is not good. “What is that?” I cover my mouth.
Beth pulls the tray off the top of the plate, and the smell doubles. “Chicken and waffles?”
The nurse nods enthusiastically. “It’s new to the menu, and everyone loves it.”
Everyone but me, I guess. I bend over and puke the protein shake I just drank into the trash can. An arm on my shoulder startles me.
“I really don’t want to be annoying, but have you thought about getting a pregnancy test?” The nurse looks concerned.
I shake my head. “No way. Listen, the reason we’re adopting is that I can’t have kids. Trust me.”
“But you have a son, right?” The nurse frowns.
I hate having to go over this and over this. Each time it reminds me that I can’t do what I wanted to do most.
“Right, but trust me. I’m not pregnant.”
“Before I switched to OB, I was an ER nurse for a while. If you knew how many people told me they couldn’t possibly be pregnant, and then were. . .” She shrugs. “It’s fine if you don’t want to test for it, but you’re at a hospital. I could do a simple blood draw and then you’d know for sure.”
“You should do it.” Beth’s voice is quiet, but her eyes are full of worry.
She hasn’t really asked for anything. No special favors. No fancy food. No high-strung demands like I read about on the social media adoption threads. Not that I’m surprised. Beth’s always been sensible and calm.
“You think so?”
Beth shrugs. “What would it hurt?”
I’ll feel like a failure all over again when it comes back negative, like I know it will. That doesn’t feel like a compelling enough reason. Apparently if you throw up twice in three days and you’re a woman, everyone assumes it means you’re pregnant. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
I don’t mention it to Will when he shows up to pick us up.
“The bassinet’s all set up,” he says. “The changing table’s assembled, and the wipe warmer’s hooked up, even though you said you don’t need one.”
His mother’s so funny. She keeps insisting that I’ll want it in the middle of the night. She also bought a boppy, although I won’t be nursing, and a changing table, even though I always just changed Aiden on the floor.
“I also went by and checked on my place. They’re right on schedule, which means in two weeks, we should be able to move in.”
“How do the floors look?”
“They’re not in yet,” he says. “But they’re there, acclimating to the humidity. They’re supposed to start tomorrow morning. The new furnace is installed. It feels great, at least.”
Running his ranch, checking on me and Beth and the baby, and monitoring the new build all on his own wouldn’t have been possible without his parents. I still feel a little bad for the way I jumped to conclusions with them before. They’re amazing people, just like their son.
I insist on sitting in the back of my car, next to the carseat. Like the day I brought Aiden home, my gaze stays focused on Althea the entire ride.
“She’s fine?” Will’s even worse than I am, checking the rearview mirror every ten seconds to make sure we’re alright.
“Rear-facing carseats are horrible,” I say. “If they weren’t safer, no one would ever use then. She’s just fine. Actually, she’s better than fine. Her hand is right by her face like she’s posing for a glamour shot.”
“Oh man,” Beth says. “I should have sat in the back, too.”
Beth has been pretty interested in Althea, acting like a doting big sister. After I stopped worrying she’d change her mind, it’s been wonderful to have her nearby. I might be the saddest one when we leave Beth to live in Will’s renovated farmhouse.
“Ethan wants to know if he can come over when we get back.” Beth looks a little nervous. “Or will it be too many people?”
“He’s always welcome,” I say. “Just like before.”
The rest of the ride goes smoothly. Babies sleep so much in the first few days that it makes trips a snap. When we get home, Will’s parents are there, standing in the front yard with Aiden, holding a banner.
Welcome Home Althea! Welcome Home Beth!
Clearly an adult did the lettering, but Aiden drew flowers and hearts and butterflies with colorful markers, and it makes me smile. My sweet little man finally has a sibling.
After snapping a flurry of photos of Althea in her carseat, and plenty of oohs and aahs at her little outfit, which is covered with embroidered strawberries, we finally take her inside. Will makes carrying a carseat easy. When I have to carry one, it always feels like my arm’s going to pop off like a defective Barbie doll.
As we carry her into our bedroom, I notice a new quilt draped over the back of the glider. “Whoa.” I cross the room.
“My quilting club has been working on it,” Will’s mom says. “I hope you like it. We had to wait until you’d picked a name to finish it off.”
It perfectly matches the theme I chose, with alternating white and blue stripes, offset with blocks of pink cherry blossoms. “I love it so much.” I run my fingers across the soft fabric. “Once we move and I have a separate room for her nursery, I’ll have to decide whether to hang it on the wall or use it.”
“Please use it,” she says. “It’ll make me happy to see her holding it.”
On the bottom edge, on one of the white blocks, her name, Althea Grace Earl, is embroidered with little hearts on either side.
“Thank you, Grace.” I hug my mother-in-law tightly, happy that my little daughter will have such a wonderful grandmother and namesake.
“Thank you.” His mom’s crying, but I know it’s from joy. She’s not perfect, and neither am I, but I’m so happy that I’ve learned to understand her better.
My phone starts buzzing between us, and she backs up. “What’s that?”
“Just a phone call,” I say. “Hang on.”
I pull out my phone, but it’s an unknown number. I usually screen those, but I’m in such a good mood, I just answer. It’s probably someone who wants to ask about my car’s warranty, but today, I don’t mind.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Earl?”
“Yes, that’s me.” Though it still feels weird answering to that.
“This is Bonnie from Ashley Regional.”
“Oh, no. Did we forget something?” It’s such a long drive. I hope it wasn’t anything important. “When I don’t get enough sleep, I have to tie my head on or I’ll leave it somewhere.”
“No, it’s not that,” she says.
“Is that the hospital?” Will asks. “Is anything wrong?”
“What is it?” Now I’m worried. They do a lot of testing when your baby’s first born, and I thought we had results on all of it, but maybe I got confused. My brain starts running through things one by one. Is it her hearing? Was her last bilirubin too high? She doesn’t look too yellow, but sometimes that changes fast.
