My friends and family told me a million things about pregnancy and parenthood. After hearing all their jokes, anecdotes, and advice, I was prepared to wake up sixty times per night, to wait a bajillion weeks to have sex again, and to change more diapers than I'd ever imagined. For unpredictable postpartum hormones, for changes to our marriage—both good and bad—and for hefty amounts of tears from all three of us.

But no one told me how helpless I would feel.

I placed my elbows on my knees, leaning closer to Bailey's hospital bed. "Are you doing okay?"

It was 10:30 in the morning and neither of us had slept at all. I was exhausted both mentally and physically; I could only imagine how she was feeling.

"Yeah," Bailey said. "I'm fine." She toyed with the sleeve of the blue hospital gown absentmindedly, watching her obstetrician speak to the resident in the far corner of the room. They stood closely huddled together beside the door, speaking in low voices as they reviewed Bailey's chart. The resident was asking questions and the doctor was shaking her head, explaining something.

Unease settled into my gut. 13.5 hours in, Bailey had agreed to an epidural but her labor still wasn't progressing. She was stuck at seven centimeters.

After reaching some kind of consensus, her obstetrician approached the hospital bed and studied the fetal heartrate monitor with a frown. "Bailey," Doctor Harris said, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses. "If the baby doesn't come soon, we're going to need to discuss a c-section."

Judging by her tone of voice, it didn't sound like there would be much to discuss.

"But—" Bailey's gaze cut over to me, expression crestfallen. The look on her face gutted me. I reached over and took her hand, desperately wishing I could do something more useful. Her other hand fisted the white sheet draped over her lap. "That wasn't part of the birth plan."

Her doctor nodded sympathetically. "I understand, but at some point, you'll both be too tired for labor to continue. There's also an infection concern since your water has been broken for some time now. We're going to start some Pitocin to see if that can help move things along first, okay?"

Bailey's teeth sank into her lower lip. "Okay." I knew she didn't want Pitocin either, but it was a last resort.

Moments later, a nurse appeared and added a bag to the IV stand, adjusting settings on the monitors. As the door clicked shut behind her, Bailey drew in a breath and let out a long sigh. She rolled halfway onto her side to face me with an expression of utter defeat that made my stomach twist.

"Hey." I stood up and leaned over the bed, brushing her blonde hair off her forehead. "You're doing great."

Bailey had been so strong these past nine months. Or 40 weeks, as she liked to remind me, emphasizing that it was actually more than nine months. She barely complained—even through morning sickness that lasted all day, leaving her so sick she could hardly finish her articles at times.

She gazed back up at me, sadness behind her gold-flecked eyes. "I'm going to end up with a c-section, aren't I?"

Ever the perfectionist, Bailey had done a deep-dive into birthing practices almost as soon as the test turned positive. She had been determined to avoid what she said was "the cascade of interventions during birth." And she'd been especially hell-bent on not getting pushed into a c-section unnecessarily. Unfortunately, it was looking like it might be necessary.

"I know you had your heart set on things going the way you planned. But like Doctor Harris said, what matters most is keeping both of you safe."

At this point, I didn't care if the baby came by literal stork. I just wanted her and the baby to be okay. But I wanted to respect her feelings, especially since it wasn't my body being poked and prodded.

*

Time slowed to a crawl. Even with the Pitocin, Bailey's labor wasn't progressing. When we first arrived at the hospital, Bailey had been skittish but I'd been fairly calm, all things considered. Now, between the lack of sleep and the stress and the worry, my nerves were through the fucking roof.

Suddenly, the fetal monitor started beeping wildly. A second alarm sounded, buzzing in an even more alarming manner. Bailey's gaze rocketed over to me and my heart clenched. I was already in a hospital, because I might need one myself if things went badly and I had a heart attack.

"Something's wrong," Bailey said, panic rising in her voice. "Something is wrong with the baby."

I swallowed. "I'm sure it's going to be okay."

Doctor Harris burst into the room accompanied by a handful of medical staff. They began checking the monitors and examining Bailey, exchanging a rapid-fire dialogue of medical terminology that meant next to nothing to me.

A split second later, she turned to face us, expression solemn. "The baby is in distress and needs to come out now."

And in a flash, I was the only one left standing in the room.

*

After scrubbing up for surgery like I'd been told to, I paced outside the double-doors outside the operating room while losing my mind. Who was I kidding? I'd already lost it. It had been at least a couple minutes without any update. Five, ten, maybe more. There was no clock, so I didn't know. All I knew was Bailey was in there without me and I had no idea what was going on.

Whether she was okay. Whether the baby was okay.

My entire life was on the other side of that goddamn swinging door.

Seven and a half laps later, the glass-and-metal door swept open and a red-headed male resident rushed out, looking frazzled. Combined with the fact that he looked about 17, it didn't exactly inspire confidence.

"I'm sorry," he said breathlessly. "They forgot to come get you."

They fucking what?

I must have looked as furious as I felt, because his expression immediately shifted to one of terror.

"Sometimes it happens with crash sections," he added.

Good to know they regularly forgot partners in the goddamn hall.

He moved out of the way and held the door open, waving me on. "Uh, you can come in now."

The clinical scent of antiseptic bowled me over as I followed him into the sterile white operating room. A handful of doctors and nurses were grouped around Bailey, separated by a sheet hung at waist-height. To spare her from the carnage, I assumed, which I caught a glimpse of on the way by and wished I hadn't. Cuts and minor injuries didn't phase me but organs on display were another story.

The minute I laid eyes on her face, everything inside of me hurt. She looked so vulnerable hooked up to a million machines with the anesthesiologist standing by her head.

Bailey's eyes locked with mine and her chin wobbled. "I'm scared."

I was, too.

"I'm here now." I stroked her forehead gently, hoping to have some calming effect in the midst of the chaotic operating room.

"She's doing great," Doctor Harris said from the other side of the curtain. "Baby's almost out."

"See?" I said. "Almost done."

Moments later, a cry pierced the air of the operating room. The best sound I'd ever heard.

"It's a girl," someone called out.

With those three words, my entire life changed.

A daughter.

*

"Hi there, baby Carter." I glanced down at the tiny fist wrapped around my index finger. Even her teensy fingernails were perfect. Long eyelashes rested against her chubby baby cheeks while she slept peacefully in the plastic bassinet.

It was like someone cut my heart out of my body and put it in this football-sized bundle of love. And I knew I would do anything for her, just like I would for Bailey.

Bailey tilted her head, studying my face. "Are you surprised she's a girl?"

"A little," I admitted. "But she's perfect." Our little family was perfect.

Until now, I didn't know it was possible to feel whatever it was that I was feeling. I couldn't even put it into words. I wanted to call my mother and apologize her for every time I'd made her worry or didn't show up home when I was supposed to.

Because now I knew what it was like to have a piece of your heart out there in the world, separate from you, and it was terrifying.

"She has your hair," Bailey murmured.

I laughed softly, because she did. A full head of dark, downy hair sticking up all over the place just like mine in the morning. Hopefully, her personality was more her mother's or we were both in for some headaches down the road. Like, starting at age two and lasting until at least twenty years old.

"I think she has your nose," I said. "It's cute."

The covers rustled as Bailey shifted in the hospital bed and pulled herself upright, wincing. "We should probably settle on a name."

"Have you decided on one yet?" We had narrowed down to three top contenders, but Bailey was going to make the call. Only seemed fair, especially with the way the delivery had gone.

"No." Bailey frowned, glancing over at the portable bassinet. "I keep going back and forth."

Carefully, I eased down onto the bed beside her, leaning my head against hers. "I'm sure she won't mind if we wait a day or two. How are you feeling?"

Bailey finally slept for a couple of hours around dinner time, but she still looked almost as pale as the sheet beneath her. What we both needed was to go home and sleep in our own bed, but it would be a few more days before they discharged her.

"Other than the fact that I was cut open and stapled shut this morning? Fantastic."

I suppressed the reflexive urge to cringe. A c-section was no joke. Anyone who said that wasn't "real birth" deserved a swift punch to the throat. I was still blown away by how strong she had been through everything. How strong she still was being.

"I would have done it for you if I could." I meant it; if it she didn't have to go through that again, I'd have done it ten times over myself.

Bailey looked up at me with a wry smile. "You could never handle the morning sickness."

"Probably not," I admitted. Throwing up was one of my most hated things in the world. I was borderline phobic of puking—and poor Bailey had done a lot of it over the past nine months.

"You do so much for me already," she said softly. "I know you're going to be the best dad there is."

"I'm sure as hell going to try."

I reached over and hit the dimmer on the light switch. Beside the bed, our daughter made a tiny mewling nose and stirred, settling back to sleep.

Bailey slid her top arm over my stomach and snuggled up against me. Her breathing slowed, deepening and turning more regular. For a minute, I thought she'd dozed off for some much-needed rest.

"Oh, no." She lifted her chin, eyes wide. "Are you going to be one of those dads that threatens to beat up her boyfriends if they mess with her?"

I gave her an innocent look. "No."

"You sure?"

"Of course, James. I'll teach her how to do that herself."

Chase as a dad = adorable, am I right? He knows he won't always be around, either, so his daughter is gonna be able to handle herself. Or daughters, maybe? Guess we'll see!