I feel Santino’s hands slide around my waist from behind, closing over my own hand. “Sorry, tesoro. I wish I could take the pain away.”
“It’s fine. You know I love carrying your babies.”
“Still. You should be pampered.”
“I hardly do anything, my dear husband,” I say, lifting up onto my toes to kiss his chin. “I love this scruff.”
“Maybe we should go inside, and you can show me how much you love it.”
“Now that’s a fabulous idea, Mr. Benedetti.” Before I can react, Santino swoops me up into his arms, cradling me as he marches back into the house. We make it through the door when his phone rings. “Give me one minute,” he growls, setting me down on the settee in the foyer.
“Hello, Mom,” he answers on speaker.
“Santino, you need to come quick. Michael cut himself and we need to take him to the hospital.” I’m off the settee, grabbing my purse. I have to get to my babies.
“Shit, we’re on our way. Call an ambulance,” he barks in fear. My heart starts jumping out of my chest and my stomach hurts. The pain is different and yet all too familiar. I hope we make it to the hospital before things accelerate into a full blown labor.
“I did.”
“Is it bad?” I shout over Santino’s arm as we run out of the house.
“He’s going to need stitches,” my mother-in-law says.
We get to the house in less than two minutes and they’re bringing Michael out. Santino scoops him up and sits on the porch to look at the cut on his leg. “How are you, my baby boy?”
He frowns and points to the bandage. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I wanted to be a big boy, but it hurts.” He sobs against Santino’s chest.
“It’s my fault. I went to help Carlotta with mixing the cookie dough and I turned my back for a minute.” She’s crying hysterically and Martin is carrying Carlotta outside. “Michael knocked the bowl down.” She’s crying too. We’re all a mess as we wait for the ambulance.
“Maybe we should just take him in ourselves,” I suggest, rubbing my hands together, wringing them while looking at the large grove of trees that lead to the main road. Damn it, where are they?
Seeing my panic-stricken face, Santino nods. “Yes, we’re going to take him in.” Just as he says it, the ambulance comes down the drive.
“What do we have here?”
“He broke Grandma’s favorite bowl and was punished for it,” Carlotta’s three-year-old mouth says. I close my eyes, hoping that they don’t take it like she hurt him intentionally.
“Oh, I know. Well, I cut myself two months ago. I leave the cooking to my wife,” he tells her.
“That’s smart,” she informs the medic.
“Okay, let’s see how bad this is.” They take off the bandage and the cut is pretty rough looking. “Well, it’s not as bad as it could be, but he’s going to need stitches. Do you want to ride in an ambulance?” he asks Michael.
“With my mommy and daddy?”
He looks at both of us and then notices my large belly. “I don’t think it’s very comfortable for your mommy, but maybe your dad could ride with you.”
“I’ll take them in the truck,” Martin says.
“Is that okay, tesoro?” Santino asks, staring into my eyes.
“Yes, please just get him to the hospital already so I can stop freaking out.”
Before we move away from the porch, they re-bandage his leg with fresh gauze. I go to give him a kiss, and a popping sound is heard, a flow of rushing water follows. “Oh no.”
“It looks like Mommy’s going to the hospital in the ambulance, but she’s going to need the bed. Is that okay?” Michael nods, trying to be a big, brave boy.
“Mommy’s peeing. Bad Mommy. That’s not good even outside. Especially for a girl.”
I double over, and Santino’s rubbing my back. The time has come for the next little Benedetti.
“We’ll follow you guys to the hospital with Carlotta.”
“Thank you.” They load us into the ambulance. Santino’s holding Michael while his leg rests on the edge of the stretcher. I’m lying on it in almost a sitting position. They call out to the hospital and inform them of the situation.
“How far along are you?”
“Thirty-eight weeks,” Santino answers as the first contraction hits me.
“It’s going to be okay, Mama.”
“Thank you, big boy.”
Santino
I want to be by Giada’s side, but I can’t leave Michael alone. Yet, the contractions are coming quick. Thankfully, they give Michael four stitches and then I carry him out to Grandma and Martin. “I have to go to Giada.” I kiss my kids’ foreheads and run back to the labor and delivery room.
I just make it inside to hold her hand for the most crucial moment. “I’m sorry. I love you so much, but I couldn’t leave Michael.”
“No, I know. You’re a wonderful husband and fatherrrr,” she cries out the last part as she pushes our son’s shoulders out. A loud wail from between her legs echoes in the room and causes my heart to squeeze. I love watching my babies come into this world by my queen.
“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Benedetti. You have a big baby boy with an apparently healthy set of lungs.”
They place Gio on Giada’s chest, and it never ceases to amaze me how lucky I am. “I have a feeling this one is going to give us trouble.”
“He’s definitely going to keep us on our toes.” They take Gio to clean him off. Smiling and watching them work, I add, “I’d have it no other way.” I kiss her lips, wondering if I should tell her that Carlotta told the whole ER that her mama peed on herself and needs a timeout.
“By the way, is Carlotta shouting out to everyone that I peed on myself?”
“How did you know?” The little girl’s a chatterbox with no off switch. I love her to pieces. She’s what I imagine Giada would have been
