Page 19 of Save You

Chapter 8

Southampton, England, 1972

Rosalie

I gave birth to my baby at half three in the morning, after ten long hours of labor which had me frequently doubting my own abilities to survive the ordeal. And now, my pain is diminished to barely anything, and I am holding this tiny, pink, fragile, mini-human being. It will forever be the most surreal and most awesome experience of my life, one that has proven love at first sight truly does exist.

I wasn’t a screamer or a curser, instead, I curled into myself. I remember panting a lot, growling through the peaks of a contraction, and squeezing hold of Sadie’s hand with a strength I wouldn’t otherwise believe possible from someone like me. I also recall telling the midwife that I couldn’t go on any longer, that I was done and ready to give up. She had smiled and rubbed my shin affectionately while reassuring me that this meant my baby was ready to come into the world. She then promised me that he or she would be with us very soon. I could have cried with exhaustion, but it weirdly gave me the encouragement to dig down for the final ounce of strength I had left to carry on.

Sadie was with me the entire time; a rock of epic proportions who in the height of my pain and fear, had proven herself to be my mother figure, my birthing partner, and my friend. Though I couldn’t bear anyone touching me and had practically snarled when she tried to rub my back, her words of support and unfailing belief in me had kept me sane and focused. She truly will make a great nurse one day.

“When you feel like you can’t go on anymore, Rose, you know your baby will soon be here,” Sadie had said to me as I went through the last, painful contractions of labor. The sensation to push was the weirdest and most inexplicable thing I have ever gone through. During the whole process of trying to evict my stubborn little lodger, I had made low, growling noises from the back of my throat, which I swear made me sound like an elephant in distress. The midwife told me not to, warning that it would cause my throat to hurt, which almost earned her a cacophony of expletives. Like I gave a damn about my throat while a human being was being pushed out of my vagina!

When my baby’s head popped out, stretching me beyond belief, my vagina felt like they were literally on fire. It took all I had not to move away as they turned the baby’s head, telling me to hold off pushing until they were finished. Sadie was right down the business end, studying it all like the hungry nurse I know she’s desperate to be. She kept telling me how amazing it all was and how exciting it was to be watching the beginning of someone’s life. Though her words were meant to be inspiring, all I could think was, ‘Getitthe hell out of me!’

Eventually, with pain, sweat, tears, and a ton of other less savory bodily fluids, my little person was born. My hellish journey finally ending at a beautiful destination where everyone was smiles and laughter, and me singing my thanks when my bundle of joy began to cry. Relief hit me before I managed to glance over to see his little bits and pieces to know that I had had a baby boy. I then looked at the rest of him and marveled at how perfect he was, with everything in its rightful place. Seconds later, he screamed the place down, prompting the residents from downstairs to all cheer through the floorboards.

The midwife handled him with such skill and speed, it was hard to believe she was holding something so fragile within her arms. She wiped him clean before I even recognized what she was doing to him, then finally, handed him over to me. I giggled nervously, realizing that I had never held a baby before.

As I shushed him and made cooing noises, which I copied from the midwife, he eventually gave up on his need to announce to the entire street that he was here and quite cross about the fact. Instead, he snuggled against me, then peered up with puffy, confused eyes, which were all grey and unable to focus. I teared up because I could see that even though I was nothing but a black blur to him, he knew who I was and that I was his. I also knew he was mine. Not Carl’s, just mine!

Soon after, he began to fidget with his mouth searching for food that he could already smell on my chest. If you ever needed reminding that you are an animal in this unusual, modern world, having a baby will prove it to you. Everything happens on instinct, from labor, birth, to his very first meal. My midwife helped him and me to find one another, for him to latch on and finally begin suckling with greedy gulps that would eventually leave me chapped and sore. However, watching him during that first time was nothing short of pure bliss, cementing my love and instant parental protectiveness over him.

When Tom knocked softly on the door, patiently waiting for the go-ahead to come in, his face was quite the picture. A scene of bloodied sheets, a bunch of women in white uniforms, and now me with a small human being resting on my naked chest was enough to have him looking extremely uncomfortable. The midwife laughed at him and muttered something about first-time fathers. We had looked at one another, knowing that he wasn’t my little man’s biological father, which only further added to the awkwardness of it all. It was easy to see that he felt like he was intruding. Something about that made me feel…disappointed.

Once the placenta was given the all-clear, and the room cleaned of as much blood and goodness knows what, as possible, the midwife left with her assistant to go and answer another call. Apparently, it was a full moon and there were babies popping out all over the place. I think Sadie was desperate to ask if she could go with them, but anxiety and the call of my little one had her thinking better of it. Instead, she went to see them out downstairs, thus leaving Tom, me, and my nameless little boy alone in the room.

He swayed on his feet and remained in the shadowy corner while running his hand nervously through his hair. He only ventured toward me when I had successfully covered up and given him a slight nod with a crooked, tired smile.

“May I?” he asks, holding out his arms to take the sleepy little boy from my chest. I smile and nod again, trying rather awkwardly to adjust my arms so I can pass him across to Tom. He appears to be a natural at it, and the baby accepts his embrace without any fuss. I watch as Tom smiles widely and mouths ridiculous noises and words to my son, all the while bobbing him up and down to try and keep him happy.

“He’s a handsome fella,” he says quietly, “but how’s Mummy doing?”

“Well, I’m not going to lie, that was an awful experience,” I reply bluntly, making him laugh, “but I think I’m pretty much in love with him already.”

“Well done, Rose,” he says, looking at me with a warm expression. “I remember my aunt giving birth to Sadie, but without the happy ending.” He then places his hand over mine as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “I have to admit, Rose, I was bricking it downstairs.”

I look at him with an unsure furrowing of my brow, but then turn it into a smile to try and tell him how much his words, his support, his everything, means to me. I’m not sure if it’s what I achieve in my rather befuddled state, but the intention is there, nonetheless.

“Tom, I can’t thank you enough,” I tell him, for now seems the right time to, “I don’t know where I’d be without you and Sadie.”

He looks back at me and we stare at one another for a while, lost in unvoiced words and emotions. Tom pulls back first, looking nervous, as though he’s fighting something he can’t seem to control. My heart sinks over his reaction, so I decide it best to try and change the subject.

“I had to explain to the nurses that the scars on my body were from my father and not from you. I think the lead midwife was getting ready to attack when she saw my back.”

Why I thought this was a better, less awkward thing to mention, is beyond me. As soon as the words have left my mouth, I inwardly curse myself for being so callous. His face turns stony, not all that far away from angry, so I smile tightly and look away to sigh over my own stupidity.

“Is there anything I can get for you two?” he asks, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the baby.

“Yes, actually, a name,” I reply with a mischievous grin. His eyes almost double in size as he shoots his face up to look at me, making me giggle with relief over having moved on from our uncomfortableness.

“Really?” he gasps. “Gee, I don’t know. My father was a no-show, my grandfather was a religious nutter, and…I guess… Malcolm?”

“Ok, but Mal for short?”

“I like it,” he says with a smile, bobbing his head like he’s contemplating it over and over in his mind, “it’s my middle name.”

“Mal Taylor,” I say out loud, “it has a nice ring to it.”