Page 62 of Convincing Carrie
“Okay, that’s it. Thatcher, either sit your ass down or go to the cafeteria,” Carrie’s dad Jack said. “You’re making me so anxious I can barely stand it.”
I gaped at him. “I’m so sorry. It’s just hard to stand still…”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear, son. You’re banned from this waiting room if you don’t sit down right now.”
I looked around and noticed that everyone in the waiting room seemed grateful Jack had said something.
I was heading to the waiting room door, about to leave, when the door opened. Our doctor walked in and smiled warmly. “Crenshaw and Caldwell families?”
We all headed over.
“Come with me, please.” We stepped out in the hall. “Mother and baby are doing great. Mom is still in recovery for a bit longer, but you can come and see the baby.”
I didn’t like hearing that Carrie wasn’t out of recovery, but I wanted to sprint down the hall to see my baby.
“Oh my God,” I whispered as I stared into the crib with ‘Baby Caldwell’ on it.
“I can have two of you at a time come back to meet him.”
“Him?” I asked, tears bubbling up again. I was never a crier until the past year or so. All of the pain and drama with Carrie and the divorce, finding out we’d be new parents who weren’t together anymore, and then labor and delivery. It was a lot.
“Him,” confirmed the nurse with a smile. “Don’t pick him up, but after you wash your hands very good at the sink over there, you can touch him and let him grip your fingers.”
I’m not sure my hands had ever been cleaner than they were that day. I stood there forever, not even caring that I was hogging my turn with my son. I stroked his tiny little hands, and he gripped my finger and wouldn’t let go. He stared at me as if trying to figure out who I was.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, “we’re going to have a lot of great adventures together.”
He blinked at me, and from the serious look on his face I could have sworn he understood me.
Later, I was finally able to go in and see Carrie and the baby once she was out of recovery and in a regular room.
I was overwhelmed seeing her holding him. It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen up to that point in my life. I had to will myself not to cry again.
“Hey,” I whispered.
Carrie looked up at me and smiled. The pure joy on her face took my breath away. “We have a boy, Thatch. Isn’t that amazing?”
“It is,” I nodded. “How are you feeling?”
She made a face. “It hurts pretty bad. All these women told me to try and get a C-section. I’m not sure they realize how bad getting cut open and put back together feels. But the morphine is doing the trick right now. Mostly.”
I winced. I didn’t even want to imagine it. “Did you name him yet?”
She glanced up at me. “Of course not. I waited for you. I have a couple of ideas, but I wanted to have your opinion.”
“What are your ideas?”
“Well, for the first name I like Theo or Ben. Those were my grandfather’s names. For the middle name, I think we should use Thatcher.”
“Yeah?” I breathed, barely able to believe it.
She nodded. “And for the last name I’m thinking Caldwell. Crenshaw-Caldwell is just such a mouthful. I’m not wild about having a different last name than my son, but I think it would be better for him.”
I had to restrain myself from talking about us getting back together again. I’d learned my lesson. That wasn’t going to happen. The sooner I accepted it, at least to some extent, the better it would be for everyone.
“I like Theo,” I admitted.
She grinned. “Theodore Thatcher Caldwell. That has a nice ring to it. But we’ll call him Theo, of course.”
