His mother, Leona, seemed just as excited.
She was sixty-four, the owner of Sheehan Medical Supply, a woman who wore a gold Cartier watch to the grocery store and carried a Hermès Birkin as if it were a lunch pail.
She picked out tiny outfits, helped paint the nursery a soft sage green, and called every week to ask how I was feeling.
Looking back, she asked some odd questions.
At twenty weeks, over coffee, she asked whether I knew my bl*od type.
At thirty-two weeks, she asked if I’d thought about banking the cord bl*od, “because it’s so modern, dear.”
I laughed and said we’d see.
We chose the name Antonia.
My labor began on a Thursday at midnight.
By 3:40 that morning, I was seven centimeters dilated and clutching the bed rail so hard my knuckles ached.
