Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Um. Hello?” I called out, feeling a little awkward about letting myself into an empty kitchen. “I was looking for milk.”
“In the fridge.” Diesel’s voice sounded from deeper in the house. “We’re in the living room. Come say hi.”
I added a healthy glug of milk to my travel mug of coffee, and not in a particular hurry to head to The Heist, I followed Diesel’s bidding. The living room was rather crowded. Wren was perched like a pelican on the recliner with a notebook out. Maren was stretched out on the couch, head in Diesel’s lap, while a familiar-looking woman with curly dark hair in her mid-to-late thirties sat at Maren’s feet, thumbing through a large three-ringed binder.
“Hi.” I extended the greeting even as I tried to make sense of the gathering. “Uh… What’s this?”
“I’m having a prenatal appointment.” Maren made an airy gesture. “This is Marissa, my midwife.”
“Wonderful. Nice to meet you.” I offered Marissa a hearty handshake before turning my attention to Maren. Her reluctance to pick which OB/GYN practice she wanted for her prenatal care had been the topic of multiple conversations around the house. But something told me Eric would hardly celebrate Maren and Diesel having chosen this particular path. “You’re doing a home birth? Your father may have a coronary before we ever get to the labor part.”
“We’ve got a birth plan for that.” The midwife had a merry laugh. “And he’s the paramedic, right?” She pointed at a silver cane with a metal penguin handle. “He and Jonas and the rest of the hospital staff saved my life back in the late winter.”
“I’m glad you survived.” I used my warmest possible tone, but former patient or not, Eric was going to hate her on the spot. I tried to catch Diesel’s gaze to warn him, but he had eyes only for Maren, stroking her hair as she turned toward me.
“Do you want to hear the coolest thing?” Maren asked, blue eyes sparkling.
“Sure.” Might as well delay the discussion of how to deal with Eric’s reaction.
“Can we show him?” She gestured at the bag near Marissa’s feet. “Please?”
“Of course.” Marissa fetched a white tube attached to a little box, the sort of fetal Doppler I’d seen on TV shows. Maren obediently lifted her Safe Harbor College T-shirt slightly to bare her lower belly. The whole room got silent, a sort of quiet anticipation filling the space. Hope lodged in my throat, stealing my next breath, slowing my own pulse as if that might help us hear.
Thump. Thump. Thumpa. Thumpa. Thump. The noise was not unlike loud butterfly wings, fast but steady, delicate, yet surprisingly strong.
“Wow.” I exhaled all the air I’d been holding, only to have a hand land on my shoulder.
“Oh my gosh.” Eric appeared to be using me to steady himself, as his expression was every bit as dazed and awed as I felt. He wore a newer version of the pancake breakfast T-shirt he’d loaned me. “Is that…?”
“Our baby.” Maren beamed at us both. “Isn’t it amazing, Dad?”
“Yeah.” Eric’s voice came out faint as his gaze swept around the room before finally settling on the midwife. “Marissa? What are you…?” He trailed off, understanding apparently dawning as his eyes went wide. “A home birth? No. Maren. Really?”
“I’ve done my research.” Maren pointed at a stack of books on the floor that included Diesel’s well-worn pregnancy guide. “We both have. Younger first-time moms have a super high rate of interventions in hospital births. And no offense, but I hate doctors and hospitals.”
“I know.” Eric’s voice took on a soothing pitch. “But home births bring their own set of risks.”
“We’re minutes from the hospital.” Maren waved a hand like this would convince the guy who could likely calculate the seconds to the ER from any point in town.
“Minutes isn’t the same as steps from the OR.” Eric matched Maren’s stubborn look.
“I was born in a home birth.” I finally had something worth contributing to this standoff. I’d been born during one of my parents’ commune phases, a place in central Oregon, and by my mother’s accounts, my birth was barely more noteworthy than a strenuous yoga practice. “Well, technically, it was outdoors, but close enough.”
“You were born outside?” Maren seized this detail eagerly, sitting up on the couch. “Too bad it’s going to be January or February. I’ve said for years we need a hot tub on the deck.”
“No one is having a baby on the deck.” Moving away from me, Eric turned his attention to Wren, who’d been scribbling notes the whole time. “Wren? Surely, science has some opinions to back me up on this.”
“Actually, in other countries like the UK, home birth is way more common, with a lot of research showing lower complication rates. Morbidity rates are lower. I can show you studies—”