Three

I perched myself snugly on the sink counter in the corner by the infant warmer, turned the monitor towards me and rested my feet on an open drawer. Waiting. Watching the tiny fluctuations in the baby’s heart rate as his mama breathed in and out, eyes tightly shut, lips pursed, hands gripping but body limp as she released control to the power of her contractions. His daddy knowing the time would come when she would need him most also waiting; distracting himself from her pain with a thick novel in the opposite corner. Plum sang hauntingly through the iPod dock…

“Waves will crash all around… But you will be safe…”

Then came the quickening in her breath, the grimace on her face and I knew she was close. My eyes asked the question and she nodded. I slipped on a glove and as the contraction mounted and told her I was going to help, gently, intentionally, guiding the cervix to the left as his head pushed through, there. Complete. “You’re ready,” I said. She knew it. 

I signaled out the door for them to make the call. “He’s on his way”, I assured her. “Don’t push.” She moaned, looking at me anxiously, sweating and shaking in the bed. I stood at the foot of it and placed my hands on her flexed knees, making my intentions clear. Looking at her trusting me is one of the most exhilarating and frightening things. “I need him to be here. Don’t push.”

It took everything. The contractions don’t wait. The pressure only grows. The urge becomes unbearable. He burst through the door, garbed his attire, I flew through the motions of prep and position and it all came together as she took that deep breath and gave in to the intensity of the moment… her baby’s head crowning through. 

Three pushes. And he was safe in her arms. Her third son. Looking just like his daddy. Eyes wide in wonder.