The Surrogate Ch. 03

Something I had read or heard before ran through my mind. I thought and then it came back to me. My cousin, the greatest single male influence in my life during those formative pubescent years, and I had been talking about sex, pregnancy, and childbirth. I don't remember why. But he had said, and this is pretty close to a direct quote, "Trust me Whistledick (he called me Whistledick when were were talking about women), you do NOT want to see the baby come out."

Looking, now, at Gloria, laying back like that, her legs spread, her labia open because of the way her cervix was pushing at them, I thought this was the most beautiful way a woman could ever be and my cousin, wherever he is these days, was an idiot.

And Dr. Jim blew into the room again.

"I hear you're wanting to push, Gloria," he said, casually.

"YES!" she yelled, doing the breathing thing.

"Well, what the hell, go ahead if you need to," he said. "You might tear something but it's not like you're going to get knocked up. I'll stitch you up if you do tear something."

He looked over at Chester.

"Whattya think, Chet, a couple of extra stitches for fun?" he said with a grin.

Chester laughed.

"Why not," he said, but his attention was on Nancy who was doing that breathing thing again.

"David," Dr. Jim said, "Move around her and get ready to catch."

So I did, standing at the foot of the bed, bent over, close to her, watching.

"OOOOOOOOOOkay," he said, kind of chuckling as he said it, "You go ahead and push to your little heart's content."

I could see her bearing down, her face turning red, a vein on her forehead bulging out, and she was panting through a wide open mouth.

She screamed.

And nothing happened.

The contraction passed and she relaxed although collapsed might be a better word.

"Oh, God, I can't," she said weakly and she was crying.

"Now will you listen?" he asked.

"Yes," she said weakly.

And then she cried out with another contraction.

Gloria delivered about a half hour later. By then she was approaching physical exhaustion. Her breathing was labored. Sweat made a sheen on her face and her body. Her nose was running and when she opened her mouth thick strings of mucus-laden saliva connected her upper and lower lips. She was crying, well, she was bawling really, repeating over and over, "I can't, I can't."

And I, of course, kept telling her she was fine. She was doing well. She was beautiful.

That last was no lie. God, she WAS beautiful right then. She was woman, not "a woman," she was woman incarnate doing what all women are born to do. She was stunning. She was gorgeous. When she strained and her face contorted, red and wrinkled, tears wetting her cheeks and snot wetting her upper lip, she was WOMAN and she was beautiful.

The delivery, in the end, was sudden. I watched as the head crowned, showing thick black hair.

By then Dr. Jim was paying his attention to Nancy where a real baby was about to enter the world, so it was up to me to coach Gloria through.

"You're so close to done, Baby," I said, "I can see the head, one more push now."

And she did and it came squirting out like a damn otter.

And it was big. Jesus, it looked ready to walk. Later we weighed it and it was 12 pounds, 9 ounces. It was the faux baby and, obviously, Chester and Gloria had wanted her to be as big as possible. And it worked.

And it looked so damn realistic I half expected it to start crying. It was a boy with a tiny erection and that made me chuckle.

It worked, but at a cost.

I watched as the skin tore with that final push. I had been warned about this so I didn't panic. Hell, by then I was so far into the birth that I found it sexy.

Since it was a faux baby there was no umbilical cord or afterbirth to deal with, but there was the lochia, the thick uterine lining promoted by the hormones her system had been flooded with over the last nine months.

She grunted and pushed and it got messy. The scent was strong and earthy. Not unpleasant but not something you'd want to have in the air all the time.

I brushed her hair back, caressed her cheeks, and told her what a good job she had done, and how beautiful she was.

I was so focused on her that I was surprised when I heard a baby cry.

I watched as Dr. Jim and another nurse whose name I had yet to catch were doing something, saying numbers, using a squeeze bulb thing, and then, with a flourish, the nurse brought over the baby looking clean and cute with a head full of very dark hair, and offered her to Gloria.

"Meet your daughter," she said.

Gloria was crying. Hell, I was crying when Dr. Jim tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Go tend your wife, David, let Chester take over here."

So I went to Nancy, laid back, smiling, looking happy.

The great roundness of her belly was gone but she had only lost about nine pounds so she still had most of the weight and she looked so goddam beautiful I wanted her right then.

"God, you are so damn sexy, I want you right NOW!" I said.

"We've got to get her put together first," Dr. Jim said.

"Huh?" I said.

He lifted the sheet and I damn near fainted. Between her legs, it looked like she had given birth to a very pink, deflated football.

"What?" I asked and stopped then, kind of at a loss for how to formulate the rest of the question.

"Your bride," he said, but he was smiling so I didn't worry, "has delivered seven babies now and the muscles in the floor of her belly have done more work than most women ever will."

He paused, letting that sink in for a minute.

"She prolapsed when she delivered," he said and stopped again.

"That's her uterus you're seeing there," he said, "Go ahead and hold it, support it while she relaxes."

I was afraid I'd hurt her somehow but I eased my fingers under it. It was soft and wrinkled and very pink.

She was smiling.

"Are you disgusted, David?" she asked.

"You're kidding, right?" I replied.

"Most men would be put off," she said.

"Then most men are idiots," I said, "You are beautiful and your womb is beautiful and I LOVE holding it for you."

"Womb?" she said and giggled, "God, I am keeping you out of those literature classes."

"Okay, lovebirds," Dr. Bob said, "Get a room."

Nancy giggled and I chuckled.

"But first," he said, "you need to help her get everything back where it belongs. Now, support her like you're doing," he said and then took my left hand and guided it until my fingers were laying low on the soft, stretch-marked apron of her belly, flabby now without the baby in there, "and massage here. Gently but enough pressure to help her relax."

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm," Nancy hummed as I began doing as I had been directed.

I could feel hardness under the softness. Not a bone, but muscular cramps. So I pressed, very gently at first, and then harder until I felt her start to respond. As the hardness eased what I held in my hand started to retract into her body.

And that is how I ended my first day as a married man, massaging my beautiful wife's belly and helping to get her uterus back in place.

It was a beautiful first day.