But he was wrong.
The process took hours.
We were thankful for all the candles, because the power went out.
Though I was slowly regaining my strength, Jasmine seemed to be weakening and tiring. Angel couldn’t do a damn thing to help her yet for fear of causing harm to the baby. He wasn’t sure if it would treat the placenta, and in turn the baby, as something that needed to be removed and healed.
Knowing if things went to shit, he could help her didn’t ease my worry as I watched Jasmine on the verge of giving up. At the next contraction, she weakly cried, “I can’t do it anymore.”
“Yes, you can,” I told her. “You are the strongest woman I know, remember?”
“Jasmine,” Madame Laveaux said, “you will push and your baby will come.”
My wide eyes shifted to her, and I prayed Jasmine didn’t lose her shit on poor Madame Laveaux. Not that the older woman seemed fazed by any of Jasmine’s shouting over the last several hours. She had simply given Jasmine a serene smile.
To my surprise, Jasmine nodded, and I gently brushed her wet hair off her face.
At Madame Laveaux’s encouragement, Jasmine did indeed push, and our baby entered the world in a voodoo temple during the middle of a blizzard.
“It’s a girl,” Madame Laveaux announced as she gave her a cursory wipe down and laid her on Jasmine’s chest. During the extensive labor, she had removed Jasmine’s shirt and dropped a soft flannel blanket over her for modesty. Now I knew it was so she would be able to lay the baby skin to skin.
“It’s a girl,” Jasmine repeated in awe as she reverently checked her fingers and toes. Once she was content with our daughter’s digits and that everything was as it should be, she beamed at me.
“Do you want to hold her?” she asked, and I froze.
“I don’t….” I trailed off, unable to finish my sentence. The fear that the ritual didn’t work for the baby had my hands trembling as I curled them into fists. The temptation to reach for her was so strong, but still, I was nervous.
“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” she murmured as her hand cradled our baby’s back and head.
Swallowing with difficulty, I stared at the tiny dark-haired human in Jasmine’s arms. Finally, I nodded. Madame Laveaux finished up with the placenta and clamping the cord with a freaking cable tie she’d dipped in alcohol.
Jasmine wrapped the flannel around our crying baby and had Angel hand her over because her arms shook. With the flannel separating us, I grew more confident as I spoke softly to her. After a moment, her cries diminished to little shuddered breaths and she stared at me with dark, knowing eyes.
My fingers shook as I slowly reached out to stroke one tip along her balled-up fist. Nothing hit me except love unlike anything I’d experienced before. Yes, I loved Jasmine unconditionally, but the love I had for the tiny helpless human in my arms was otherworldly. In that moment, I knew I would do anything in my power to protect her and keep her safe.
“Fuck,” I muttered when I realized not only had I been wrong about her being a boy, but that I’d be beating the boys off for years to come. Because I had adaughter.
Heaven help me.