Chapter 8
Episode 8 The Labor: The Day He Finally Arrived
The Labor that stroke so hard that I could barely move around to get my stuff or even go to the bathroom. I almost had our son in the bathroom when I went there to urinate.
The seasons turned while our son grew. Autumn surrendered to a hard, bright winter, and the nursery slowly came together—one piece at a time, one quiet evening at a time. He built the crib on a Saturday afternoon, cursing softly at the instructions while I sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting tiny onesies by size and color. The lavender scent from my mother's rocking chair had faded, replaced by the clean smell of new wood and the faint, sweet powder of the clothes we washed and folded and washed again.
By the time the first snow fell, my belly was round and heavy, a warm planet I carried everywhere. He moved constantly, a restless little swimmer, and I would lie awake at night with my hands on my sides, feeling him shift and kick, marveling at the fact that he was real, that he was ours, that he was on his way.
We had settled on a name by then—Daneel, after his grandfather, whose quiet strength I had always admired. He had suggested it one night over dinner, and I had started to cry, not because the name was sad, but because it felt so right, so perfectly his. He had laughed and pulled me into his arms, and we had stood in the kitchen, swaying to music that wasn't playing, with the snow falling past the window and the whole world hushed and soft.
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