Page 95 of Kicking Up Dust

“Colt, she’s right here. Feel her,” I whimper through a happy sob, but Colt stays firmly planted by my shoulder.

“That’s okay. I believe you,” he says, pale.

“Colton Dean if you pass out, I will disown you,” Mama hisses at him.

Dr. Abernathy speaks over them both.

“We’re going to go slower with pushing now, okay, Blair? The objective is to prevent tearing if we can.”

I’m even more focused now, the light at the end of the tunnel back in full force, almost blinding with how badly I want to get there.

My legs start to shake between contractions, exhausted from holding this position for so long, and one of the nurses helps me lie back a bit more before the next one hits.

“Head is out, stop pushing,” the doctor says quickly and I watch as his hands move quickly between my legs as he slips the umbilical cord from around my daughter’s neck without concern. “Alright, one more push, Blair.”

It’s an odd, slippery sensation. I’m pushing and it feels so, so hard and then, suddenly, she just slips right out, and the doctor catches her. She’s on my naked chest a second later and I’m sobbing as the nurses start rubbing her down and the doctor clamps and cuts the umbilical cord.

Colt kisses my forehead, tears rolling down his cheeks as we celebrate the birth of my daughter, but it’s mostly quiet in the room. Too quiet.

I look at the nurse’s face, checking for any sense of urgency as my stomach drops.

“Why isn’t she crying?” I ask, terrified to know the answer.

“She’s working on it, just give her a moment,” the nurse replies sweetly, but she pulls my daughter’s limp body off my chest and takes her away to the little bed. I grab Colt’s arm in fear.

“She’s fine,” Colt promises as Mama comes over to take my other hand in hers. I’d forgotten about her being here, as shitty as that sounds.

As the nurses and doctor all fawn over our daughter, all I can think about is how it was snowing on the way here.

FIFTY-TWO

COLT

“Why isn’t she crying?” Blair asks the nurse, watching her like a hawk. I feel immediately stupid for not wondering the same thing. I’d been so happy to see Blair smiling, to see our baby delivered, and Blair safe that it hadn’t even occurred to me the room was too quiet.

The nurse replies with a sweet tone I can tell she’s used to injecting into her voice, but it sounds almost distracted.

“She’s working on it, just give her a moment.”

She takes our daughter off Blair’s chest a moment later, straight to the little bed with the light over it. I’m tall enough to see over most of the nurses’ heads, even at this distance, as they rub her and use a bulb to suction out her mouth and nose. It all looks so… rough.

“She’s fine,” I tell Blair, though I have no clue if she is or not. All I can focus on is being strong for Blair.

“Come on, baby,” one of the nurses whispers as they flick her feet. Another one calls for more doctors to come in, while a third mentions that her heart rate is good. A small bit of hope flourishes in my stomach.

I pull Blair’s hand up to my lips to press a kiss to it, eyes still locked on the nurses.

“She’s okay. They said her heart rate is good,” I tell her again, not sure if she’s able to hear them or even focus on what they’re saying through her panic.

Another nurse is massaging Blair’s stomach, also attempting to reassure her.

“She’s just slow to transition. Some are.”

It feels like way too long has passed when I notice my daughter’s lips moving. I don’t even have time to update Blair when the shrillest cry pierces the room. Blair immediately sobs while the nurses coo and continue to rub the baby. I finally allow myself to stop being so strong, bending over the head of Blair’s bed to bury my face against her hair and cry.

That was so fucking scary.

“Hi, baby,” Blair coos as our daughter is returned to her chest, still screaming her little lungs off. I lift my head again to watch as Blair places her hands on our baby’s head and back, immediately thumbing through her sparse, black hair.