This is part of an ongoing series. Start with Part 1.
March 11th, 2023.
I woke up before 8am thinking I had peed the bed.
Then I realized. My water broke.
I texted my mom. Then I woke him up and told him we needed to go to the hospital. My water broke — they'd been clear about this, come in immediately, don't wait.
He told me to get back in bed and rolled over.
I said no. We need to go. Now.
He asked if I was sure. I said yes. We need to go now.
He wanted to shower first. Said it wasn't a big deal. That he'd be quick.
I told him I'd drive myself because I was not having a baby in the car.
He said he'd be quick. He never was.
Thirty minutes later I texted my mom I was still waiting on him.
8:36am — Omg now he wants coffee lol. I'm like GET TO THE HOSPITAL.
He wanted to stop for coffee. I was getting pissed. My water broke an hour ago. I was anxious.
He pulled into our usual spot. I was in the passenger seat of my own car, contractions hadn't started yet, and we were pulling into a parking spot because he wanted a latte.
While he was ordering — he actually did know my order, surprise — I sat in the car and texted my boss.
8:39am — Hey it's me. Looks like the baby is coming so I'll probably need to plan on taking leave. Just want to give you as much notice as I can.
8:42am — [Boss]: Exciting — wishing you the best.
In hindsight I had taken most of Friday off because I'd been feeling so unwell. I probably should have known. But I hadn't, and now I was sitting in my car at our usual coffee spot, watching him order like we had all the time in the world.
He came back with our drinks and announced he'd told the baristas we were having a baby. They knew us — we went there way too much.
We got to the hospital just after 9am. Triage. Tests. Waiting.
At around 10am I told my mom they were still doing tests. By 10:30 I was still in triage and had just found out my doctor had gone out of town for the weekend. My due date was the 13th and apparently he hadn't expected her to come early — first-timers are usually late, they said. There'd been so much talk about inducing in the weeks before. He hadn't planned for on time.
The nurses noticed the overseeing specialist — Dr. R., who I'd seen regularly throughout my pregnancy — was listed on my chart and asked if I wanted him to come in. I said yes.
By noon I was finally in a room.
Time does something strange in hospitals. It compresses and stretches at the same time. I remember pieces — not a clean sequence.
They offered me the epidural straight away. Mentioned it could extend labor. I wasn't even feeling cramps yet and part of me wanted to see what it was like — how long I could go. So I held off.
Then I got to the point where I just wanted to sit on the toilet. It felt like I needed to take a huge poop. He asked what I was doing. I said: it feels better sitting here with my butthole open.
He laughed and said he appreciated the directness.
Then I asked for the epidural.
I had been terrified of it for months — everyone's horror stories. The anesthesiologist was going to be at least thirty minutes out. The nurse said no way, we'll find someone else. Five minutes later I was getting an epidural.
4:04pm — Got the epidural. It was nothing. Feel so much better.
What they did not inform me of was that I wasn't allowed to eat anything after. Only liquids. I hadn't eaten anything all day. I was so hungry.
The nurse warned me it could drop my blood pressure, to let her know if I felt nauseous or dizzy. A few minutes later, I did. I made a joke that I absolutely refused to puke or shit myself. Then I just wanted to fall asleep.
He was next to me.
For a moment — just a moment — I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. Like I loved him again. Like the person sitting next to me was the one I'd first met. He was being so good. Present. Calm. Like he actually wanted to be there.
I let myself have that moment. I didn't analyze it. I just lay there and let it be true for a little while.
Then he ruined it like he always did.
"You love me, don't you?"
It's important to say — at no point in our entire relationship had either of us ever said those words to each other. I love you. He would only ever ask do you love me and I hated it. I never answered.
I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep. He kept saying don't fall asleep, panic creeping into his voice. The nurse gave me IV fluids and just like that — the moment was gone.
My mom showed up sometime after 5pm.
At some point, she asked the nurse what time to expect the baby. They said probably around 5am the next morning.
She said she'd go home, get some rest, come back in the morning.
I told her: "You know as soon as you get home I'm going to have this baby and you'll have to turn right back around."
She laughed. It was almost an inside joke — when my dad died, we'd all gone home. The moment my mom pulled into the driveway, we got the news. We all had to turn back around.
She left anyway. Said to call her when it was time.
A nurse came in to check something and mentioned something offhand about having the baby. I asked her — genuinely, because no one had told me — "How do I even know when it's time to push?"
She explained. Basically: a lot of pressure. Like the biggest poop of your life.
I said: "...I've been feeling like that for the past hour."
She looked surprised. Checked. Then moved fast.
"It's time to get the delivery team in here."
Dr. R. arrived and did a double take when he saw him in the room. It hadn't been in my birth plan at all. I hadn't expected him to be there — I thought it would be my mom, just my mom. But here we were.
I called her. She had just pulled into her driveway.
She turned back around.
I pushed for maybe thirty minutes. I remember looking at the clock — it was half past something. It went fast.
The delivery doctor asked if he wanted to see the head. He said okay. Looked. Then pulled out a tiny flashlight so he could see better.
Dr. R. looked at him. "What are you, a cop?"
Everyone laughed.
The delivery doctor said she could actually use more light — then asked if I wanted to feel the head.
He said it felt like a soggy potato.
The room laughed. The doctors said that was a new one.
At 12:04am on March 12th, 2023, my daughter was born.
They handed her to me and she immediately pooped all over me before she even hit my chest.
I wanted to cry but only did for a second.
He was right next to me. Told me I made it look easy — that in the Navy, the deliveries he'd assisted with, women had been sweating and screaming for hours. I hadn't done any of that.
He went to get my mom from the waiting area. She was in the bathroom. She came in about thirty minutes later, held her granddaughter, then went home to sleep and said she'd be back the next day.
It was just the three of us.
The nurse gave my daughter her first shot. I watched him cry.
It was only the second time I had ever seen tears in his eyes.
I still didn't have a name for her. He had made that a source of anxiety, ridicule, and tension throughout the pregnancy. I had options. But I'd decided I would know after I met her. I hadn't told him what they were.
On March 12th his mother showed up. Unannounced.
I had been texting my mom that morning telling her I was exhausted and to come later. And then:
2:50pm — Well his mom showed up unannounced.
I had never met her. I hadn't been told she was coming. I hadn't wanted anyone there yet — I was one day postpartum, in a hospital gown, holding a newborn I was still figuring out how to feed.
She walked in like it was her right to be there. He seemed surprised. Awkward. He was apparently annoyed she'd shown up without telling him either.
I could see immediately that something was off between them. The dynamic. The way they talked to each other. The way she looked at him.
At some point she told him he had a belly and needed to get to the gym.
The day after his daughter was born.
I said nothing. I held my baby and I said nothing.
She came back the next day too.
And so did my mom. Finally.
At some point while he had left to get things from my home, a nurse checking my blood pressure noticed a bruise on my arm. She reported it. Because of a prior report — something I had disclosed to my counselor during the pregnancy, a mandatory reporter — three separate people came to talk to me while he was gone.
They asked questions. I answered them.
Then they asked if we lived together.
I said no.
And just like that, they dropped it. Like not sharing an address meant the danger wasn't real. Like the bruise on my arm and the report from my counselor and everything in between had some kind of residency requirement.
It wasn't the first time the system had seen something and decided it didn't quite fit the box.
It wouldn't be the last.
On March 13th we finally settled on a name.
She looked like an Olivia to me at first — a name he had originally liked. But not today. Today he ridiculed me for it and said we're not naming her that when my cat's name is Olive.
I knew what I wanted to name her, but was scared to tell him. Then I sent him a text of the name and the meaning because I knew he'd cave to that.
He wrote it on the whiteboard in the room. It was official.
I gave him the middle name — it was his grandmother's. He'd had so little say in anything, and I wanted him to have that. Even then. Even after everything.
That's the kind of person I was still trying to be.
We went home that night.
Then came the birth certificate paperwork.
By this point I already knew I didn't want him to sign it. He'd spent months questioning whether she was even his. He was unreliable. He paid for nothing. My life would be simpler without his name on that document — and I knew it. But I also knew that if it felt like my decision, he'd make it a fight.
So I filled out the paperwork first. Then I asked him.
"Do you want to sign this? You'll also need to sign the Voluntary Acknowledgment of Paternity."
He said: "I'm not signing that until there's a paternity test."
I said okay.
No argument. No further discussion.
We went home later that night.
Part 13 — coming next.
If you've ever had a perfect moment inside an impossible situation and let yourself have it anyway — you are not alone.
She was worth every single second of all of it. That part was never complicated.