How ironic. I always believed self-inflicted misery was Matvey’s poison, but clearly, we aren’t so different. God save our baby if that’s the case.
Our baby. “Couldn’t wait to meet me, could you?” I joke through the waves of pain. “Hold tight, Nugget. Mommy can’t wait to meet you, either.”
In a sea of bitterness, that’s the one sweet drop that keeps me going.
As the doctors rush me to the birthing room, I cling to that thought like a lifeline. I cling to it as they tell me all sorts of things: that the labor is progressing too quickly, that it’s already too late for an epidural. That I’m gonna have to push, ma’am, push.
As I call Matvey’s name, and no one answers.
As the agony of bringing a new life into the world tears through me, I cling to that one thought with all I have.
I’m goi
