13 years ago

The alarm had already went off to get up for PT, but he hit snooze…

and in the nine minutes between, I had a weird feeling. 

Did I seriously just pee in the bed? (hahaha)

I get up to rush to the bathroom, but made it to the edge of the bed where (just like the movies) a huge burst of water poured from my womb.

In shock, I yell “my water just broke”!!!! 

And he had the nerve to say “you just peed in your pants” as he reached over to turn the alarm off. 

But, he glances at the floor after seeing the fear in my face. 

And like a lion pouncing on its prey, he’s on me…scooping my half-naked self up with his half naked self,  trying to carry me to the car.

He’s crazy. 

I talk him into us both getting dressed and we leave 5 minutes later. 

He’s a madman. 

He’s rushing, blowing the horn, getting literally battalions of people to get out of the way, because it was PT hours and we lived on post. 

I wasn’t even cramping, but that didn’t matter to him. 

In his mind, his job was to deliver me to the hospital as quickly as possible. 

My mind is racing as I recall the night before: 

Baby names were being discussed: Jack, Michael, Ethan. 

Yeah, that one! 

Ethan. Ethan. Ethan. 

But what middle name? 

No worries, we still have 8 more weeks before we have to decide. 

8 weeks. 

8 weeks. 

No, hours. 

Fifteen hours later…

there he was. 

I saw him for only a second before he was rushed off to get hooked up on all the machines. 

Ethan. 

No. That doesn’t sound right. 

No private room, no husband to stay, no sight of baby since birth, 9 hours ago. 

I slowly make my way down the corridor, against the advice of my rude nurse. 

And there he is…hooked up to God knows what, stomach sinking too deep with every breath. 

He flinches when I touch him. 

I cry. 

He cries. 

I long for my husband. 

Stupid Army and their semi-private rooms. 

One should not be alone after giving birth, especially when the baby is “not thriving”. 

Yet there I lie, alone. 

Riley. 

Yeah, I like that name. 

Riley. 

Now, 13 years later, I look up to him. 

I see signs of manhood…the mustache, the adam’s apple protruding. 

And I’m blessed. 

I’m blessed to see him grow, to see him thrive, to see him love God with all his heart.

 

 

 

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