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“You’re doing fantastic,” I tell her. “Breathe, Eve. You’re doing great.”
“I know!” she yells, taking her frustration out on me. I’m more than happy to be her punching bag if that’s what she needs right now.
Even more of the baby’s head appears. I reach to support his skull, which is surprisingly soft and very slimy. But I’m a professional. If I were some average Joe, I’d probably be freaking out. This is all perfectly normal. Eve continues to push, and his whole head eventually comes into view.
His cheeks are a little blue, but I refrain from frowning. I don’t want Eve to freak out prematurely. Another push reveals that his umbilical cord is wrapped loosely around his neck. I immediately unwrap it, the biggest danger now behind us. Color quickly rushes into the child’s face.
Eve screams bloody murder as she pushes the boy’s shoulders out.
“That’s it, honey,” I cheer. “That’s the hardest part. One more big push!”
She does, the rest of the baby sliding right out. Arms, tummy, his legs, and finally his feet. Eve sighs in relief and lies down against the mountain of pillows I’ve placed behind her while I quickly wipe our son’s face clear of mucus with a clean towel.
He starts crying, gasping in a huge breath before wailing loudly. The sound is piercing, abrasive.
And the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Is he okay?” Eve cries.
I wrap him up as best I can in another fresh towel to give him to Eve, laying him down gently on her chest. His cheeks are bright pink now, a surprising amount of dark black hair already on his head. A sense of pride fills my chest, practically lifting me off the ground. I’m so elated I’m practically floating.
“Here he is,” I say, marveling the entire time. I can’t help but laugh. Our son’s just so small and wonderful and precious that I can hold him in one arm. “Ten fingers and ten toes, sweetheart. He’s got a real set of lungs on him.”
“And he’s okay? He’s all right?”
“He’s the epitome of a healthy baby.”
“Oh, thank god.”
There are tears in Eve’s eyes, though they seem to be the result of pure joy now. An exhausted laugh bubbles past her lips as she kisses our son on the top of his head. She cradles him in her arms and sniffles.
“Hello,” she giggles. “Hello, you.”
Mrs. McBrindle sniffles as well, smiling wide. “He’s such a handsome boy!”
The strong urge to hold him and comfort Eve comes over me, but I know we’re not finished yet. The child’s still attached to his umbilical cord, which needs cutting, but I don’t have any sterile tools on hand. We’re going to have to wait for the ambulance to arrive before proceeding, but there isn’t any need to take action just yet. There’s still one thing we have to do, however.
“Mrs. McBrindle, would you mind holding our baby for a quick second?” I ask.
Eve cradles the child close, frowning at me. “What? No, I just—”
“We’re not done yet, sweetheart. It’s only for a short while.”
“But why?”
“We have to get the placenta out of you. Just trust me, okay?”
With a reluctant sigh, Eve hands our newborn son over. Mrs. McBrindle takes him, rocking him gently. She remains at Eve’s side on the bed, the farthest she can go with our boy still attached. This isn’t like the movies or television. I’d cut the cord now, but I run the risk of causing damage. It’s better just to wait for the ambulance to arrive and let them take care of it.
I help Eve sit back up. I can feel her body trembling from the effort. She grips the sheets while I wipe the sweat off her brow.
“You’re going to continue to feel some contractions,” I explain to her. Eve’s clearly tired, but she looks at me attentively as I speak. “I need you to push with them, just like before.”
“Okay,” she says, voice all raspy. “Okay, okay.”
I want to scoop her up in my arms and hold her and our baby tight. But we’ve still got a bit of work to do.
She’s fatigued by the time we’re finished. The paramedics show up ten minutes later and help us take care of the umbilical cord. They even let me cut it.
They check Eve and our boy over to make sure they’re healthy. They inform us both mother and baby are fine, but that we need to stop by the nearest hospital to proceed with a thorough checkup. The paramedics get to setting up the stretcher, preparing to Eve and the little one in the back of their ambulance. I’ll have to hop into the car and drive right behind them to make sure we have a way to get home.
In the meantime, I lie next to Eve on the bed, my arm beneath her neck and slung over her shoulder. She holds our son close, smiling tiredly at his face. He’s got chubby cheeks, long and full eyelashes like his mother, a button nose, and the clingiest little hands I ever did see. I chuckle when he grips my finger tightly.
