Текст книги "Lead Him Not Into Temptation"
Автор книги: M. L. Steinbrunn
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Jen
I must be out of my fucking mind. I take that back, Casen must be out of his fucking mind and I must have had my frontal lobe removed to agree to this camping trip. It’s just Casen and me in his little camper with five, I repeat, five children! Blake, the queens of the divas Emma and Grace, Olivia, and Abby who I invited. Hendrix is coming along, but I’m putting him in the adult category so I don’t feel so outnumbered. I have to admit, I’m a little worried about my safety. If these kids decide to revolt, it will play out like a scene from The Hunger Games and I’m positive my camera isn’t going to save my pampered ass.
Casen already went up to the campground and got everything ready for the weekend. Fishing gear, sleeping bags, lawn chairs, and massive amounts of snacks, which could feed a third world country. I don’t know how Feed the Children can feed a child on thirty cents a day; our food bill was nowhere near that estimate. My credit card will never be the same.
I’m in charge of picking up the kids and taking them to the campsite. I think everyone is overestimating my managerial skills because I personally don’t see this ending well. As I pull into Vivian’s driveway, I see all of the kids, aside from Abby who’ll be meeting us there, lined up along the entryway. The wide range of moods peering back at me has me shitting myself before I even get out of my car. Blake, as expected, is full of excitement with a perma-grin plastered on his face. The folded arms and frowns, which Emma and Grace are sporting in addition to the mounds of suitcases next to them, suggest they will be the leaders of this weekend’s revolution. Then there is little Olivia. I’m not too concerned with her. I’ve assigned Henri to her for the weekend. I even bought a special leash with clips on both ends so I can connect them together. There will be no wandering off for that little munchkin.
I climb out of the car and I’m immediately met with demands from the rebel leaders.
“Just so you know, we are not okay with this. We will not be touching anything icky and we will report all naughty words back to Daddy,” Grace tries to negotiate.
“I’m with you girls, I don’t do icky stuff,” I respond. “We’ll leave that to the boys. Blake, be prepared for a weekend filled with fish guts.” Blake perks up even brighter, as do the girls.
“I was beginning to think you changed your mind,” Vivian says as she and Carly make their way from the house to meet us. They both wave to Brooks who brings the minivan out of the garage. Yes, the minivan. There are so many kids coming with us we have to borrow Vivian’s minivan. Again, I must have had a lobotomy.
Brooks parks the silver beast in front of us and pushes the button to slide open the passenger doors. “Jen, you know I appreciate you doing this so we can have a weekend away, but I’m seriously questioning your sanity. They’re my kids, and I have yet to find the courage to take them all on a vacation,” he tells me as the kids all throw their bags in and climb into their seats.
“This was Casen’s idea. At least you have a drop down DVD player; this is where I’ll spend the majority of the weekend.”
He hugs and kisses the girls and then buckles them into their seats before making his way to me. “Just bring them back in one piece with as little emotional scarring as possible. I would prefer not to have to explain to their teacher where they learned the colorful language you’re known for.”
“Hey now, I like to think I use profanity in an appropriate manner which is fucking ladylike.” Both of my friends laugh, while Brooks shakes his head.
“There’s the Jen we know. Now, don’t go getting lost in Walmart,” he says, slapping me on the back and heading into the house.
“I hope you bring his cone along,” I tell Vivian.
“Are you kidding me, between the baby and the vasectomy, we’re looking at months of celibacy. We’re using this weekend to our full advantage.”
“She’s not kidding,” Carly adds. “I took her this morning to have the va-jungle tamed.”
“Cut me some slack, the belly is getting big enough that I can’t reach it myself,” Vivian defends herself.
I laugh and give them both a hug and slide into the driver’s seat of the ultimate mom wagon. “I’ll leave you to your weekend of sex. At least someone will be getting laid. I’d hate my misery to go to waste.” Everyone waves good-bye, and I say a small prayer for my survival as we pull out of the driveway.
Between the potty breaks and stops to change out movies, the two-hour drive took three hours. THREE! It’s dark as I pull into the campsite, and Casen meets me at the van to carry kids into bed. I make a mental note to tear the van apart in the morning, as somehow Blake lost a shoe. How one loses a shoe in a four by ten confined area, I’ll never know, but we won’t be doing any exploring until the sneaker is found.
As soon as everyone is settled, Casen and I change into our pajamas, climb into bed, and run through the plan for the following day.
“I thought we would go fishing and hiking. I picked up some water guns for the afternoon when it gets hot,” Casen whispers as to not wake the minions.
I snuggle down into the blankets and Henri takes his usual spot wrapped around my legs. “Whatever will pass the hours as quickly as possible. I keep telling myself it’s really only one day. Anyone can survive twenty-four hours of something.”
He laughs, pulling me into a safe embrace, which has become a feeling of home for me. Kissing my temple and laying a hand on my growing stomach, I melt into him. “I love you, sparkplug. Get some rest; you’re going to need it.”
It’s not the sunlight, which wakes me up, nor is it the smell of bacon and eggs Casen is cooking for everyone. No, I’m woken up to the smack in the face served by a toddler rolling around in my bed. Olivia must have climbed in and fell asleep after Casen woke up to start breakfast. I was not warned of this by Carly. She failed to mention the tossing and turning as well. Now, the first casualty of the trip can be marked down as my right eye.
I free myself from under her arm and tiptoe out of the room. The living area looks like a bomb has exploded. Sleeping bags and pillows are thrown everywhere, body parts poke out from various pieces of the bedding. While I’m not sure where to walk to not step on anyone, I’m thankful they are asleep. Well, they are asleep until Casen starts jingling a damn triangle like we’re on a cattle drive. “Come and get it,” he hollers. Everyone pops up, wide-eyed and freaked out.
“Have you never heard the phrases, don’t poke the bear and never wake a sleeping baby?” I ask Casen when he walks in the door. I bite my lip trying to rein in the colorful language Brooks mentioned. “Momma bear,” I say pointing to myself. “Sleeping babies,” I add, waving my hands over the kids spread out on the floor.
“Sorry guys, breakfast is ready. We have to get moving while the fish are still biting.” Then he closes the camper door and the kids fall back onto their pillows.
“Come on, guys. If we don’t get up, he’ll be back with that jingling thing again.” My advice is met with groans. Blake even throws his pillow at me. “If you wait too long, he’ll feed all of the food to Henri,” I add, moving over everyone and opening the camper door to go outside. That gets their attention and they begin moving around as I close the door to fill my own plate to start the day.
Thankfully, my morning sickness has passed for the most part and has been replaced by a massive-sized appetite, so when Casen hands me a plate I attack it like a starving person. I’m not at all bashful about the food I may have smeared all over my face because of my slacking table manners. I notice Casen staring at me intently, probably wondering how much food I can actually eat or get on my face.
“In my book, pregnancy gives me a free pass on the use of napkins,” I tell him, digging in for more.
“I said nothing, sparky,” he says in surrender with a laugh.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking,” I respond between mouthfuls.
Within the hour we manage to get everyone fed, cleaned up, and loaded for fishing. Abby shows up just in time to head to the lake. Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling about her being a part of this weekend. I want her to have fun, I want her to like me, and I don’t want to forget to feed her like I did with the cat. I’m glad our first weekend together will include the other kids to serve as a buffer.
I gather the girls and we select the prime fishing spot while the boys unload the fishing gear and cooler filled with drinks and snacks. Trudging through the grass the quarter mile hike to the lake, I think I heard every excuse possible as to why Emma and Grace could no longer continue. Bugs, poison ivy, snakes—which I banned all further discussion about—dirt on their purses, I heard it all.
“We’re here, girls!” I happily announce when we finally arrive at the fishing spot. “Now do you remember what I told you about the bait?” I ask them as we begin to set up chairs.
“No worms, ask for the good stuff,” Emma repeats from the pep talk I gave during breakfast. I informed them how Casen would try and make them fish with worms, but if they wanted to get a good fish they need to use salmon eggs. I fully intend on coming out ahead on this fishing trip.
The boys join us and begin running the lines on the poles. “What kind of bait does everyone want?” Casen asks and looks to the girls to back up his plan for victory.
“I want to use the worms!” Blake shouts excitedly. I don’t really think he cares if he catches fish, Blake would be happy playing in the wiggly worms. I shake my head at his naivety. Casen lets him stick his hand in the plastic container and his face lights up at the sensation of the worms on his skin. As soon as his worm in on the hook and cast into the water, he moves on to the next pole.
Abby gives me a look of confidence and requests Power bait for her red fishing pole. She takes a seat in a lawn chair and begins practicing casting and reeling it in, over and over again instead of letting the line sit in the water.
Olivia isn’t the slightest bit interested in fishing and has focused her energy on the butterflies in the grass behind us. Thank goodness for the dual leash invention I’ve attached to her and Hendrix. As long as she doesn’t eat any of the bugs, we should be good to go.
Emma and Grace have a different plan in mind. I give them a look and a nod when Casen asks about their lines. “We want the good the stuff,” Emma announces, looking to Grace. They grab their fluffy purses and open them with a devilish smile. “We brought scrambled eggs.”
“We’re going to catch the biggest fish, huh, Jen?” Grace adds as they each pull out handfuls of their breakfast leftovers. Apparently, we had a breakdown in communication or at least a mistranslation.
“You plan on fishing with scrambled eggs, girls? I’ve never heard of that,” Casen inquires as he puts together his own line.
“Jen said you would try and make us use worms, but we aren’t falling for it,” Grace explains with her clean hand securely on her hip to emphasize her point.
“Yeah, we’re going to help Jen win!” Emma says, throwing her hand in the air and then looking for a high-five from me. Playing the middle ground, I give her a gentle tap in the middle of her palm as a reluctant, half-assed high-five. I figure it still counts.
“Oh, really?” Blake interrupts.
“Um, yeah,” Grace responds, throwing as much attitude as her little voice and body can put together.
“How about the loser has to make lunch?” Casen says. “You guys and your scrambled eggs versus us boys and our worms.”
I look back and forth, unsure how to proceed. If we were using salmon eggs against his worms I would totally take the bet, but freakin’ scrambled eggs? Those girls are killing me. If I end up having to cook lunch, our trip may get cut short because of food poisoning. There is no sense in pretending I can cook anything except popcorn; and let’s face it, even that isn’t a sure thing.
Before I can give my opinion on the bet, the girls are jumping up to shake Casen’s hand to accept the challenge. They rush to me and help load up their lines. I pack them as best I can with their eggs and launch their lines into the lake.
“Oh my God! My line is moving,” Abby shouts just as I get everyone settled. She’s jumping up and down, waving her hands around, unsure of what to do with the bobbling pole. I grab it from where it’s wedged on her chair and hand it to her.
“Start reeling it in, hun,” I tell her, helping her to hold the rod. Skipping along the top of the water as the line is brought in, her fish is gorgeous. Huge and slippery, we struggle to get it off the hook and onto the cord we have set up to store the fish we catch, but we accomplish it with gigantic smiles on our faces.
Just as we finish loading up Abby’s line with bait again, our Barbie and Hello Kitty poles baited with scrambled eggs begin to wobble. “We got one, too!” the girls scream.
“Um, since your pole isn’t really doing much, you think you could help for a second?” I ask Casen triumphantly. Surprisingly he hops up and helps Emma with her line.
“Wow, girls, I think you might be on to something,” he says as uses the net to capture Emma’s fish, which is the size of a whale.
The girls couldn’t lose; they would throw out their lines and immediately reel them back in. It isn’t long before Blake makes his way to our area begging for scrambled eggs. Thankfully, the girls take pity on him and share their eggs. Soon he, too, catches a fish.
By the time we’re done, there is no question who won our battle of the sexes challenge. At camp, everyone enjoys the fish Blake and Casen prepare and the girls are even decent sports about winning, rarely throwing their victory in the boys’ faces.
By mid-afternoon the heat of day has us sweating to death and we veto the hiking idea, opting instead for the water gun fight.
“Kids versus adults,” Blake suggests. “We’ll even let you have Henri,” he adds to sell his idea. The kids all cheer and we have no option but to agree to the teams.
“Our only stipulation is you stay in our camp area and you have to keep Olivia with you at all times so she doesn’t wander off,” I declare.
“Agreed,” Blake and Abby both say. “We need time to prepare, though,” Blake adds.
We nod and hand over a pile of water guns, which are already filled, and a bucket to fill with water to refill their guns. Everyone separates and prepares for the water war of the century.
Casen and I work together to fill our guns and devise a plan to pick off each kid, one at a time. Grabbing our rubber bucket, loading our pants with water pistols, and holding super soaker Nerf guns, we exit the camper ready for battle.
Our competition has been hard at work as well. Each kid is decorated in war paint, either with mud or makeup. The minions are all armed and ready to take us out.
“Ready! Set! Go!” Casen shouts, prompting everyone to scream and run toward each other firing their weapons in a steady stream of water. Judging from the soaked status of everyone involved, I’m not seeing how there can be a clear winner, but we’re having fun so it makes no difference.
One-by-one, we each surrender when we run out of water. When it’s all over we each find a place in the sunshine and lie out to dry off. With Abby on one side of me and Olivia on the other, I relax and enjoy the moment. That is until my nose senses something vile. No, vile isn’t a strong enough word, pungently horrendous might do a better job.
I follow my nose and it directs me to our little Olivia. I take a deep whiff and instantly pull away. Poop, she smells like human shit. Turning to the group, I begin my interrogation. “Guys, what did you use for your war paint?”
“We used mud,” Blake answers, pointing to himself and Abby.
I look to Grace and she immediately shakes her head. “No way, mud is gross. Emma and I used our makeup.”
I look to Casen, and he looks as confused as I feel. “Who painted Olivia?” I ask. Everyone looks around shaking their heads. No one fesses up to painting her, so I go to the source. “Olivia, how did you get your war paint?”
“Me painted,” she says, pointing to the stripes running up and down her arms and on her cheeks.
“Very nice, baby. What did you use to paint?”
“Poop!” she shouts with a smile. “Me made poopy paint.”
My compassionate smile fades into a look of disgust. I slowly turn to Casen as my dry heaves begin. “I can’t. You have to deal, Casen,” I whisper in-between heaves. “I just can’t do poop.”
“To the camper everyone, let’s cleanup for dinner and s’mores,” he laughs. I follow behind as all the kids head to the camper, Olivia with an enormous smile of pride on her face from her handiwork. “Poop, the kid painted herself with poop,” I whisper to myself in disbelief as we head to the bathroom to wash the war paint away.
The cars are packed, and we make it back to Vivian’s house in record time. More than likely it’s because they slept the whole way home, thus no potty breaks. The entire drive home, I replay the weekend over and over in my head and think about how surprisingly well Casen and I handled it.
Feeling relatively proud of my parenting experience and even happier about spending the weekend with Abby, I pull into Vivian and Brooks’ driveway, content with how things went, yet ready to hand over the keys to the mom van.
I turn off the ignition and turn in my seat to face the kids who’ve begun to wake up. “Rise and shine, everyone. Review time. What are we going to share with your moms and dads?”
“We caught big fish and ate lots of s’mores,” they repeat in unison.
“And what do we not talk about because it never happened?” I continue.
“Poopy paint,” they all respond.
I whip back around in my seat and hit the button to open the doors. “Nice job, crew. Thank you for using Jen’s mobile service. You may now vacate the van, using the nearest exit.”
Fuck yeah, I have this mom shit in the bag.
Seven Months Later
Jen
I never got the chance to do the nesting thing the first time around, and this time, Casen has prepared enough for both of us. It’s 3 a.m., only a week from my due date, and of course I’m up for yet another bathroom break. Casen is asleep, enjoying a solid night’s rest. I don’t remember what eight hours of sleep is like, but I’m positive I was a much friendlier person then. Quietly tiptoeing down the hallway, I stop outside the nursery to peek in on all that Casen has done already for our little guy.
Pushing the door open, I pick up a stuffed animal from his crib and sit down in the rocking chair we found at an antique store. The nursery is primed in superhero décor, which Casen has assured me will yield us a miniature dark knight and not a Howard Walowitz. I caved and now there are giant Captain America and Batman canvases hanging above his bed instead of footballs or sailboats.
Running my fingers through the fur of the teddy bear, my mind wanders to the last time I was days away from having a baby. The dread of having to give her away, the shame, the sadness; I didn’t want that day to ever arrive. I’m thankful for my aunt’s deception, because it has given me a second chance to correct that wrong…make Abby a part of my life instead of a memory of my past.
Now here I am, on the verge of having another child, a child I didn’t think I deserved to have. For the first time in a long time I’m excited for what the future holds, not just for me, but for the family I now have.
“Everything okay, sparky?” Casen whispers, leaning on the doorframe. He is absolutely scrumptious with his brown hair in disarray, and dark grey sweats hanging off his sculpted hips. It’s a shame I can’t even reach my own ass to wipe it, or I might act on the urge. I’m bendy, but maneuvering around this belly would require Cirque du Soleil training.
I smile at the thought of our sex life returning to active status…six weeks from now. “Yup, I’m good,” I murmur back as I continue rocking. “I can’t believe in less than a week, this room will have our baby in it and then Abby will be moving in.”
“It feels surreal, huh?”
“Are you sure you’re all right with everything?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t worry, but there are times I’m afraid Casen will feel overwhelmed and want to walk away. I know it’s my own insecurities, but every once in a while they creep into my mind.
Casen enters the nursery and kneels at my feet, grabbing my hands. “Jen, I love you more than I thought it could be possible to love someone. I love you, not only because of who you are, but because of what you have given me…a family. I could never be anything but grateful.”
It’s exactly what I needed to hear to calm my rising anxiety. He kisses my expanding belly and stands. “Come on, love, let’s go back to bed,” he says, offering me his hand like he has a million times over the last nine months. Just like I have a million times before, I slide my hand in his.
Casen
I feel a sharp nudge in the middle of my back, rousing me from a deep sleep. Looking to the clock on the nightstand the bright green numbers read 4 a.m. You have got to be fucking kidding me. We’ve only been back to bed for an hour and Jen decides to practice her nightly ninja skills, I think to myself as I attempt to fall back to sleep. Sharing a bed is not something she’s adapted well to, the concept of his and her sides of the bed is a lost concept in this house. She thrashes around in her sleep so much that snuggling or spooning is actually code for restraining her from karate chopping my nut sack in her sleep. It’s not even that she’s having nightmares; she’s just a wild sleeper.
Closing my eyes, I feel the deep calm of sleep begin to take hold once again when a solid push nails me. “Casen, wake up,” Jen says with another nudge. Only one eye pops open, I’ll reserve the second once I find out the reason for this early morning wake-up call.
“We are out of watermelon and ice-cream. I’ll get more tomorrow, just let the sun come up first,” I tell her, snuggling back into the blankets and closing my eyes.
“No, Casen, wake up. I think my water broke,” she says in a surprisingly calm, hushed tone.
Both eyes snap open and I rise up in bed as quickly as possible, getting tangled in the sheet and nearly falling out of bed. “What? Are you sure,” I ask, flipping on the lamp but remaining quiet as not to wake Hendrix.
“Well, I’m not positive, but I’m having a fluid situation and I’m pretty sure I know how not to piss myself,” she says sarcastically, her volume indicating her lack of concern for keeping Henry asleep.
I jump out of bed and run to my shirt and shoes. I grab all of the bags we’ve had packed for weeks and stand waiting for direction. “Are you having contractions? Are you in pain? Do we need to leave for the hospital? Why aren’t you getting dressed?” I fire off question after question in lightning speed, unable to contain my nerves and excitement.
“I’m not, that’s why I’m not sure if my water broke. I would think I would already be in pain if it had.”
“Well, what did the book say?” We bought every baby preparation book available on Amazon, surely something in one of them mentions this scenario.
“I didn’t read them. I got to week twenty-four and then started skimming and looking at pictures. I’ve given birth before; I figured I didn’t really need to read up on that part. How does one not know they are in labor?” I nearly drop the bags as a now wide-awake Henri barrels me over, wanting to go outside.
“Well, let’s go just to be safe. Worst case scenario, they send us home.” I leave the room with the bags to let the dog out and load the car. Hustling back into the bedroom after buckling in the infant seat, I find Jen doubled over breathing deeply.
“You okay, sparkplug?” I ask tentatively.
“What in the hell have you been doing? I’m definitely in labor, we need to get to the hospital,” she squeezes out each word through clenched teeth and my stomach begins to twist in knots at the sight of the woman I love in such pain. I know I need to snap into action, but panic mode has set in and I stand there frozen at the realization I’m about to be a father.
Her contraction subsides and she storms over to me, snatching the car keys from my hand. “I’m headed to the hospital; if you want a ride, I suggest you get your ass in gear.” That’s all I need to get me moving.
“I’m focused. Give me the keys, I’ll get you there,” I yell after her as she reaches for the driver’s door to our new SUV. Of course, Nelly is tucked safely in the garage, we sold off Jen’s car and bought this a month ago. I run around to the passenger side, lay a towel on the fresh leather, and ease her into the seat.
Throwing the car into drive, I race down the street of our suburb, away from our new home we bought after signing the record deal, and toward my new family. Jen’s eyes are closed, her brows scrunched, breathing deeply with each painful contraction. I notice my breathing matches hers, my brows scrunch together when hers do. I only wish I could also take some of her pain away.
“Sparky, you hanging in there?” I ask, bracing myself for a harsh, abrasive response.
“Mmm hmm,” she mumbles through a deep cleansing breath. She briefly opens her eyes to see we’re stopped at a red light. Unfortunately for me, we’re the only car in a two-mile radius. “You only have one job, Casen. Get me to the hospital,” she snaps. “Is it really imperative that we stop at this light at 4 a.m. when there are no other cars around? Treat it like a four-way stop, dammit,” she hollers as the pain of the next contraction takes hold.
“Okay, babe. I’m hurrying. We’re only five more minutes away from the hospital, just hang in there.” I try to keep my voice as calm as possible as I slam the gas pedal to the floor and barrel through the light.
I cut those five minutes to three by disregarding all traffic rules, pulling the car into a parking space just shy of 4:30. I rush around the car to grab Jen’s bag and help her out of the car. Our pace drastically slows though, as she has to stop to breathe through each contraction, which by my mental count are only two minutes apart. It probably takes us more time to walk to the labor and delivery nurses’ station than it did for me to drive us here. I will not be mentioning that to Jen, though. I would like to have more children in the future and I’ve learned she’s keen on collecting the man parts of men who piss her off.
“Can I help you?” a plump, middle-aged woman behind the desk asks, obviously irritated she’s working the night shift. Pam, the desk worker, immediately rubs me the wrong way, and I begin to silently pray our interaction with this woman ends after we leave the check-in counter.
“My girlfriend is in labor. Her water broke about thirty minutes ago,” I tell her, doing my best to be polite as Jen concentrates on her current contraction.
“Are you sure your water broke?” she asks dismissively.
Jen looks up from the white tile floor which has become the all-important focal point and serves me the iciest of death glares. Instead of relaying the message that she is seconds away from being stabbed in the eye with her flower pen, I opt for, “We’re pretty sure.”
“Okay, well, have you filled out any of the pre-admission paperwork?”
“No, our appointment is next week.”
When she rolls her eyes and heads off to another room to retrieve the paperwork, all of my patience disintegrates. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I spit out in a hushed tone. Jen shushes me, but I ignore her. “What are they going to do, send us to the parking lot to deliver the baby in the car?”
Jen twirls around, pinning me with the death glare previously reserved for Pam. “You will shush, Casen Thompson. These women have to put their hands near my vagina; you will not piss them off.”
Stepping into the fray of growing tension, Pam returns with the necessary paperwork along with another nurse. “Here, you’re going to have to fill this out,” she says, shoving a clipboard at me.
“You can follow me to an observation room,” nurse number two says.
“Observation room? Do you think she’s not in labor?” I ask.
“Well, sir, we have to be sure before we send you to delivery,” Pam chimes in.
We’re taken to a room the size of my closet with a single bed and a monitor. Jen changes into a hospital gown and climbs into the bed so the nurse can attach the monitor. Instantly the baby’s heartbeat echoes through the room and the screen shows the peaks and valleys of Jen’s contractions.
“How are we coming with the paperwork?” Pam asks.
“I just got in the room, it’s not done yet.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes to get it from you,” she says before leaving the room. I give her a little salute to send her off.
I’m not sure what observation is taking place because as soon as the monitor is connected, nurse two leaves as well and we’re left alone for the next thirty minutes.
“You need to get someone; these are getting bad,” Jen breathes through a contraction. I jump into action, thankfully though, nurse number two walks through the door, so I don’t have to track anyone down.
“Let’s go ahead and see how things are progressing,” she says, taking the monitor strips in her hand to examine them. “Looks like you’ve been having good ones.”
I grind my teeth at the lack of care or concern anyone is showing us. I know this is no big deal to these two women who see deliveries all day every day, but this is scary and exciting for me and I have no idea what to expect.
“I have to push,” Jen shouts, gaining everyone’s attention. My freak-out mode is now soaring, but nurse number two still sees no reason for alarm; never mind we’re still in a damn observation room.
“Let’s check things out, hun, just keep breathing,” she says as she places gloves on and prepares for what has to be one of the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever seen. All I can think is, I wonder if this is how Five Finger Death Punch got its name.
The nurse’s eyes bug out and she jumps from the bed, shouting into the hall. “Call delivery, I need some help in here.”
