“Oh God, I can’t do this.”
A string of expletives ran through my mind as I fought to keep the words inside. Normally, I would have let the words fly, but I’d be damned if, after everything, my daughter’s first moments were greeted by her mother cursing like, well, a fighter pilot.
“Just a few more pushes,” the nurse encouraged, and I focused my attention—and ire—on her. Sure. It was “just a few more pushes” for her; she wasn’t the one trying to squeeze something approximately the size of an oversized watermelon out of her.
I’d told myself I wouldn’t lose it during childbirth, that I’d be Zen and calm, that it couldn’t be that bad. The reality was both better and worse than what I’d imagined, easier in some ways and harder in others. Jordan had told me—or tried to, at least—but nothing, not even the many childbirth classes Alex and I had taken together, had prepared me for the real thing. I hadn’t predicted the rush of emotions, the fear, how months and months of being pregnant would drag on until I was simultaneously ready for her to be here and equal parts terrified of the responsibility I’d have when she was here, of needing to protect this tiny, vulnerable baby from everything the world could throw her way.
I’d held my breath as I got past the point when I’d miscarried last time, as we reached every milestone in the pregnancy, spent more time than I cared to admit scouring the Internet for probabilities and percentages, for mathematical odds in our favor that said everything would be okay. The losses in my life had made me not take anything for granted and our daughter was no different. The doctors kept telling me everything was okay, that she was healthy and strong, but I wouldn’t be able to breathe easy until I held her in my arms, until I stared into her eyes, until she felt real. Right now she was a dream, my greatest one, and I was terrified I’d wake from this life I’d carved out of sadness.
Another contraction hit me—harder than the last—rivulets of sweat raining down my face. Yeah, there was little glamorous or romantic about this. My teeth gritted as a cry escaped my lips.
Fuuuuck.
Alex squeezed my hand, his callused fingers rubbing against my skin. “We’re almost there. I know you’re tired, but you’re amazing. So amazing. You got this. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Focus on me.”
I turned my head, staring into his blue eyes, at the love swirling there. It didn’t do anything to mask the pain; an epidural definitely would have been more effective, but there hadn’t been enough time. Like her father, our baby girl played by her own rules and we’d gone from zero to sixty in no time at all.
“Oh my God!”
This time I couldn’t hold back the litany of profanity, the pain unlike any I’d ever experienced.
“That’s it,” our doctor proclaimed. “I can see the head.”
I gripped Alex’s hand so tightly I half wondered if I’d broken a bone or two, and focused on his face, my gaze locked on his. I was aware of people speaking around us, of Alex saying something to me, but everything faded into the background, time running together as I pushed through the pain, the burning pain, and then—
A cry broke through the white noise rushing in my ears, a beautiful, healthy cry that suddenly took my world and spun it on its axis, shuttering time, that sound becoming everything. In an instant, my world changed and became something new again.
A tiny baby. A wedding band on my left hand, shiny and new, still unfettered by the nicks and scrapes that would appear over the years, the wear and tear of life, marriage, a military marriage.
Hope. Love. Joy.
“She’s beautiful,” Alex whispered, his voice cracking. “So beautiful.”
Tears ran down his cheeks and it wasn’t until I felt the wetness on my face that I realized I was crying, too—big, heaving sobs born of incredulous wonder and so much relief.
I looked away from Alex, my gaze falling onto the most perfect sight I’d ever laid my eyes on.
She was wrinkly and chubby-cheeked, her lungs getting a workout as she cried, her face scrunched up as she railed against the world for disturbing her slumber. The nurse placed her in my arms and I stared down at her, feeling as though I’d had an out-of-body experience, unable to believe she was here and she was really ours.
Hannah Marie Rogers looked up at me with big blue eyes—her father’s eyes—and I fell in love. Head-over-heels in love.
“Hi.” My lips curved into a smile, tears tumbling down my cheeks. “I’m your mama.”
She blinked, her gaze locking on mine, and a look flashed in her eyes, her cries quieting, recognition steady between us.
I love you. I will always love you. My heart is yours.
“She recognizes your voice,” the nurse said.
I nodded. I’d read how babies recognized the sounds they heard in the womb, but seeing it in my daughter’s eyes, having that bond between us—
My life had been defined by so many moments—happy ones, sad ones—a knock at the door, a kiss, a glance.
“I think she does.”
I turned toward Alex, lifting the baby in my arms slightly so he could get a good look at her.
“That’s your daddy, Hannah.”
His lips brushed the top of my head as he reached out and stroked her cheek, his cheeks wet, eyes shining.
“She’s so beautiful. She looks exactly like you.”
I smiled. “She has your eyes.”
Wonder filled his voice, clutching my heart in a tight fist and sending it tumbling through my chest.
“Yeah. She does.”
He wrapped his arm around me, our daughter between us, and in that moment, everything was utterly perfect.
* * *
“Can we come in?”
Jordan peeked around the door to our hospital room, a big smile on her face and Julie on her hip.
I grinned. “Of course.”
She opened the door, revealing Burn, Thor, and Becca. The guys were still wearing their flight suits and had clearly just come from work. They carried giant pink balloons that read “It’s a Girl” and lush bouquets of flowers.
“Easy’s been sending like a million pictures, but it wasn’t enough. We’ve been dying to meet her,” Jordan added. Her gaze drifted from me to Alex. “Congrats, Papa.”
His lips curved into a smile brighter and sexier than any I’d ever seen on him, the obvious pride blinding. “Thanks. She’s sleeping in her bassinet.”
Jordan handed Julie over to Burn and came over and gave me a hug.
“I’m so happy for you guys.”
The tears—happy, exhausted, awed tears—that had been my constant companion these past couple days bubbled up again.
“Thanks.”
She made her way over to the bassinet while I greeted the rest of the group.
“She’s gorgeous,” Jordan commented, staring at our two-day-old daughter. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
She really was. I’d always liked kids, always wanted my own, always thought they were cute, but there was something about your child that was everything. I’d read about this kind of love, had people tell me what to expect, and yet the power of it was so unexpected.
She was everything in my eyes.
They all made their way over to see her, the guys lowering their voices to keep from waking the baby. Burn gave Alex a hug and the look that passed between them—hell, the look on all their faces—
Burn held Julie cradled in his arms like she was the most precious thing to him. Her little head rested on his green flight suit, a spot of drool landing above the Wild Aces patch. Thor looked on with an indulgent smile on his face, the fighter pilot I’d seen slamming shots at bars mellowed to something else, this big, tough guy making faces at a baby.
And Alex—
I’d never seen him look happier.
Hannah stirred, a shriek coming from her bassinet, and before I could get out of bed and pick her up, Alex swooped down and scooped her up in his arms, his voice taking on the hushed tone he always used when he talked to her. Burn and Thor moved closer, Thor’s fingers waving in the air at her as he began speaking in what could only be described as baby talk, a sound I never imagined I’d hear from big, badass Thor.
“God that’s sexy,” Jordan commented, a wry grin on her face. “Nothing like three fighter pilots reduced to mush by two babies.”
Becca laughed. “Amen.”
We stayed there, watching our men, snippets of their conversation filling the room, talk of flying and what Alex had missed at work interspersed with the occasional reference to the girls. Halfway through the conversation, Alex’s gaze drifted to me, and he sent me a deeper smile, one that tugged at my heart.
“I love you,” he mouthed to me.
“I love you, too,” I replied, the power of those words overwhelming me, the love staring back at me filling me with peace.
My vision blurred, and something clicked inside me.
I’d never really understood why Michael loved to fly so much; never comprehended how he lived with the risks he took, how he could go up every time, knowing this time he might not come home. Eventually I learned to accept that it just was, that loving him meant loving every side of him, including the biggest part, the one that had me passing sleepless nights with worry or sitting next to a nearly packed suitcase on the floor, tears raining down my face as I smothered the sound of my sobs, as I faced another six-month stretch without him, another cycle of missed birthdays and holidays, memories we’d never make together.
With Alex, I accepted it because it just was. I’d been a fighter pilot’s wife before; I knew the score. But I didn’t understand it. Still. And if I were really honest, there was always a tiny piece of myself I kept ruthlessly locked away, that knew I’d never understand it.
Now I did.
It’s a moment—a kiss at bedtime, a mumbled “I love you” in sleep, the sight of boots in your entryway, a much-awaited homecoming, a text in the middle of the day, a hug when you need it most. It’s a million, tiny infinitesimal moments that fill your heart, that get you up in the morning and push you through the stupid fights, the nights filled with worry, the stress of daily life.
It’s rolling the die and hanging everything you are, everything you have, everything you want on a moment, on love. It’s having the courage to stand when you’ve fallen, and finding someone who will walk beside you, your hand tucked in theirs, when you do. It’s the hope that pushes you through.
It’s everything.
I’ll never understand exactly what it is they find in the air, the adrenaline rush they chase every single time they go up, but I understand the why of it now, the passion that drives you to keep on, even when all your losses are stacked against you. I understand the risks they take, the terrifying, daunting risks for one moment of perfection—
For a little girl with chubby cheeks, copper-colored hair, and her father’s blue eyes. For a man who loves you with every fiber of his being, who risks his life day after day for the things he believes in, for you. For a dream you clutch in your palm and protect at all costs—
I’m happiest with my feet planted firmly on the ground. But my heart—
It flies.