Epilogue
“One more push,” the doctor calls out and I grit my teeth.
“It was one more push five fuckin’ pushes ago,” I say, bearing down and pushing. I’ve been in labor for twenty-six hours and pushing for the last three and I swear to god I’m about to call it a day and just let this baby live inside me for the rest of my life.
“You’re doing so good, sugar.” I whip my head to the side and narrow my eyes at my husband. His face blanches.
“You,” I seethe, breathing hard. “You did this to me.” He grins, not feeling the least bit bad about it, and shrugs his shoulder.
“We make good babies,” he says, unapologetically. He’s not wrong, we do make good babies. I should know, this is the fifth one I’ve carried. Everly was first, our angel baby. Then came River, who was the world's best baby and is now the world’s rowdiest six-year-old. After that was Eliza Jean, my sweet four-year-old who just wants everyone to love her and takes no shit. She is the sassiest thing and Dean swears she gets that from me even though he’s obviously wrong. After that came Davey June, who despite her boyish name, is the epitome of a sweet baby girl. She’s fourteen months old and has her daddy wrapped around her chubby little finger. Apparently, Dean’s vasectomy was a total fail, we aren’t even sure that the doctor did anything he said he did. Serves him right for going to some backwoods clinic in North Dakota.
“I know it feels like you’ve been pushing forever, Whitley, but the baby is breech. I need another real big push.” We’ve waited to know the sex of the baby, wanting it to be a surprise. It didn’t matter anyways, as long as he or she is healthy, but this has by far been my hardest pregnancy. The contractions started about four months into it and the doctor said because of my age and the number of pregnancies I’ve had; this one was considered high risk. He put me on strict bed rest, which if you can imagine was next to impossible with three kids running around. Mama and Darla have been incredible helping and Dean is almost always home now that we have a good team at the bar.
Dean squeezes my hand and presses a kiss to my temple. I bear down one more time, pushing with everything I have, but nothing happens. I drop my head back against the bed, my emotions getting the best of me.
“I can’t, Dean. I’m too tired,” I sob out, tears streaming down my cheeks. He drops my hand and tips my chin up so that he can look in my eyes.
“You’re the strongest person I know, Whitley Jean, and you’re so close.” I shake my head, but he keeps talking. “Yes, baby. You can do this. You’re beautiful and brave and the best momma this little one and all those other babies could ever have.” I inhale a shaky breath.
“Whitley, I need you to push,” the doctor says, and I growl at him. Dean grabs my right leg, and the nurse grabs my left and I push with everything I have, collapsing against the bed just as my baby lets out its first cry. A sob escapes me.
“It’s a boy!” The doctor calls out before having Dean cut the umbilical cord and handing him off to a nurse, who wipes him off and places him on my chest. Skin to skin is incredible and it’s somet
hin’ I’ve done with all of my babies right after birth, even with Everly.
“You did so good,” Dean says, pressing a kiss to my cheek and gazing down at our sweet baby boy. We sit like that for a short time before the nurse swoops in and takes him to clean him up and weigh and measure him. It’s hours later, after all of our friends and family have come to get in their baby snuggles and give their congratulations. Dean is sitting in the chair next to my hospital bed and he looks so handsome with his shirt off, doing his own skin to skin contact with the baby.
“I think I decided on a name,” I announce, shoving another french fry in my mouth. Dean hits me with that lopsided grin.
“Oh yeah? Lemme hear it.”
“Axel James Anderson.” I say to him and his face softens at the middle name, in honor of his old friend Jim. He looks down at the baby and back at me.
“It’s perfect.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my hormones racketing up and making me cry again. “For giving me this big, beautiful life. You’re the most amazing dad and husband.” He stands and climbs carefully into the bed with me, with the baby still in his arms.
“Lovin’ you is easy, Whitley Jean. Been doin’ it for more than half of my life.”
Bonus Epilogue
Two years later
“Axel James Anderson, if you don’t get out of that tree right now, I’m gonna tan your hide!” I holler out the back door and my little daredevil leaps out of the tree, landing on his feet before taking off towards his siblings. I’m not sure I’ll survive raising this boy. He’s wild and wonderful and gives me gray hairs. I slide the patio door shut, going back to my task at the counter, chopping up vegetables for dinner in front of the window, where I can still keep an eye on the kids.
It’s been an insane couple of years. After we had Axel, we decided to sell Jim’s house in Colorado. We spent many family vacations there but with our lives getting more chaotic, the upkeep was starting to take its toll. We put it up for sale and it wasn’t a few months later we had a full price offer. We still own and run our bar, but much more hands off. I haven’t worked a shift in months since we hired a general manager. We’ve got a full staff and there’s really no need for either of us to be in there unless there’s an emergency.
Our group of friends has grown immensely, not only by adults but by children. We get together often, hence the reason I’m chopping up an entire garden of vegetables, and it’s always a blast. This month we’re hosting dinner at our house. We take turns each month, last month was Lainey’s house and next month is Jaxson’s.
The garage door opens, and my husband walks in from his run to the grocery store, carrying in cases of beer, the kids trailing behind him with grocery bags. Once the bags are dropped, they all run right back out the yard. I don’t worry much about keeping too close of an eye on Axel, Eliza is quite the mother hen and she will keep him in check. Dean saddles up next to me to start foil wrapping all the veggies.
“Axel was in the tree again,” I say and Dean chuckles.
“You’d think he would have learned when he broke his arm the first time,” he says, referring to six months ago when Axel fell out of that same exact tree and we had to rush him to the emergency room. I sigh.
“He will never learn, especially not with the older ones encouragin’ his bad behavior.” The little shits, they think it’s hilarious to get him to do bad things and then watch him get into trouble. Last week, River told him it would be funny to fill the toilet with toilet paper. He flooded the entire bathroom. River’s still certain the madness that ensued was worth the month he earned without his tablet.
“Probably not,” Dean agrees, and he drops the box of foil he’s using and rests his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me.