“My doctor supposedly is making it in, so that’s good. I ju—” I didn’t get to keep the thought. The next pain hit and it was a doozy, making me moan out loud and lean forward in my chair, my fingers clasping my pajama’d knees. Devi sprang into action, just like we’d seen on the video, using the cadence of her voice to help me focus, to help me breathe through it. She put her hand on my forehead, not because she was checking me for fever, but because she was ice cold from being outside and she knew it’d feel good.

“You got this, Sara. You got this,” she crooned.

I nodded and waited for the cramping to stop. Devi watched the clock. It seemed interminable, but by the time I flopped back into my chair, my heart in my throat, she smiled at me. “Fifty seconds. You’re getting close, girl.” She paused. “And I won’t even hold it against you.”

“Hold what against me?” I managed, watching a nurse coming my way with a wheelchair and Mormor at her side.

“I can’t puke on you, but you can break your water all over my shoes? How’s that fair?”

I looked down.

I’d wet my pants.

And hers.

“Oh, crap,” I whispered.

“Yeah.” Devi gripped my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Yeaaaaah.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Wednesday the tenth of February, before my eighteenth birthday, I became a mom.

There are things I could tell you about the thirty-six hours it took to have my kid that’d possibly scar you for life. I could talk about walking around the hospital literally for miles hooked up to an IV pole, my mom, my best friend and my grandmother taking turns chatting my ear off to keep me entertained while I awaited the next round of pain. I could talk about hours of nausea and the relief of cup after cup of ice chips. I could talk about alternating between riding out contractions on my hands and knees because my back hurt that badly, to lying on my side in a hospital bed, a fetal monitor hooked up to me so they could watch Cass’s heartbeat and, eventually, issue my epidural so I hurt as little as possible.

I could talk about nurses checking on my dilation and saying encouraging things that were lost to the discomfort and whirlwind of giving birth. I could talk about exhaustion—not just mine, but my family’s and Devi’s, too, because Tuesday became Wednesday and night became day.

But I won’t go too far into any of that. Suffice to say, Mom was right. You care about a lot less than you think you will when you’re in the moment, launching life from your loins. There was no dignity and I didn’t care. I just wanted to get through it for me and my kid.