A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- push. This will be an excerpt from Twister Fate, my new WIP for a new romance contemporary.
In that moment like a funnel I pressed all my sadness and frustration pain tolerance and resolution into pushing my son into the world. I inhaled deeply before bearing down all I had into his arrival. I felt my hair matted to my forehead, drenched with my sweat. I felt the trail of tears pouring down my cheeks. I could see Garrett's face above me when we made love that gave our child life. I thought of his expression so intent and loving when he looked deep into my eyes penetrating my soul as well as my body. I ground again pushing, searing pain scoring my insides and thought of his face when he realized we were finally pregnant. His joy then translated to my heavy sadness right now and I used that emotion to give me strength.
My doctor encouraged me. "You're almost there- you're almost there. Pull it together and give me one more good push!"
Mom held my hand, and I squeezed her fingers clutched within my tightening fist. If it hurt she didn't complain. "Honey you're doing great! I love you so much. You doing such a great job. I'm so proud of you."
I bore down again gritting my teeth as I gave it all I had. I wanted to say it hurt, but I was tougher than that in that moment. I kept going, my focus driven in one direction- finishing this birth. My mind went into a tunnel, and I tuned out all the noise around me. I imagined the finish line, red tape blowing in an imaginary wind, waiting for me to run through it. I pushed again and suddenly I felt an emptiness. Where once was bulky, something filling my obstructed groin was now pleasantly light and unrestrained. I slumped backwards against the raised bed. My heart beat slowed to something less pounding in my ears. I breathed in air, slowing to a less frenetic pace of inhalations. A feeling of relaxation draped my shoulders, and I slumped them a little more. I felt like a wrung out dishrag, spent and empty. A small cry finally filled the air, and I opened my eyes.
"It's a boy!" My doctor gleefully announced, as if proclaiming a king.
Mom squeezed me in a half hug. "You've got a son... a beautiful little boy. I've got a grandson!"
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