Lighting a Fire

It was all smooth sailing from there until the eighth month mark of my pregnancy. I started to have early contractions and was rushed to the hospital. Marc was very worried about me and they had a game that night, so when my parents arrived, I shooed him to the game. They won in overtime, but Marc played terribly. He rushed right back to the hospital right after showering and nothing had changed from the time he left.
“Genna, we are going to release you, but you are on bed rest now. Don’t be on your feet for more than ten minutes at a time, and no that doesn’t mean you can get up for the ten minutes, sit down for one, and get right back up. It means up for ten, down for thirty at the very least. You need to slow down and get some rest otherwise you are going to wind up right back here.”
“Thank you,” I told her before Marc took me back to the apartment. I went straight to bed and Marc followed suit.
I went on maternity leave from the team the next day, much to my disappointment, but the team ended up losing their chance to the playoffs anyways. Their season was just as over as mine. Marc and I stayed in New York since he wouldn’t let me travel even though it was just over a day’s worth of driving to get back to Thunder Bay.
A few weeks went by very slowly since I was laid up in bed the entire time, but before I knew it I was back in the hospital going into labor. It was the most painful experience ever and I had a good pain tolerance. They gave me an epidural but it really didn’t help me. They told me to start pushing and that hurt ten times worse. I’m pretty sure I broke Marc’s hand and blew out his eardrums. The nurses and doctor had to hate it too.
But the hard work and screaming paid off when I heard the cry of my baby boy, Marc Staal Junior. He was cleaned up and placed in my arms. He stopped crying immediately and looked up at me. Marc kissed my gross forehead as we looked upon our miracle.
“He’s too precious,” I told my husband. He just squeezed my hand and we were the Rangers family.