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“Exactly. So please leave the birthing theater to us women, because this is what we do. Right?” I peer down at Brooklynn as I rub her back.
“Right,” she grits out as another contraction starts to take hold of her. I stand her upright and drape her arms over my shoulders, letting her lean into me.
“Hum, Brooklynn,” I direct. “Humming helps with the pain. Relax your facial muscles and shoulders as much as you can. Visualize a warm, bright light on your body. See it. Hum to it all the way through your contraction.”
“Ah! It fucking hurts.”
“I know. I know it does. But visualize that light and hum to it. That light is warm and feels good. That’s it. Keep leaning on me. Bend your knees. You’ve got this.”
I glance over at Lenox, who is paler than I’ve ever seen him. “When her contraction stops, I’m going to check her. Now is the time to go.”
“Right. Just.” Brooklynn pants, clinging harder to me. “Be here when it’s time, Max.”
Max rises off the chair and comes to us. He takes her from me and cups her face in his hand so he can look directly into her eyes. “There is nowhere else I will be. I will be holding your hand or your leg or rubbing your back or whispering in your ear or whatever you need me to do. But I will be here every second of you birthing our son.” He blows out a breath. “But I’m so fucking glad Georgia is here too.”
Brooklynn presses her forehead to his. “Me too.”
“Great. Me three. So now Lenox is going to take you out of here for a few minutes. I promise to call you back when we’re done. Lenox, you’re on Max.”
Lenox hauls Max away from Brooklynn and drags him off to the kitchen. Now that Brooklynn’s contraction has subsided, I guide her over to the chaise part of their couch, that is already wisely without the back cushions and is lined with a plastic tarp and sheets over it. I kneel down beside her, cup her jaw in my hand, and drag her dark eyes to mine like Max just did.
“Hey, babe. You hanging in there?”
She swallows, and a tear tracks down her face. “I’m scared. I didn’t want to say it in front of Max, because he’s already losing it, but I really, really am.”
“I know. It’s okay to be scared, but we’ll get through this with each other’s help. Got it?”
She pushes some of her sweaty hair back from her face. “Yes.”
“Great. I have a doppler and some basics that my friend sent me, and I’m going to check your cervix. Okay?”
She nods, but she can’t mask the overwhelming fear in her eyes or the way she’s barely hanging on.
“Women have been doing this for centuries, and I’m more than trained. But what I need from you is honesty. I don’t have monitors or anything else, so I’m going to have to rely on your accurate description of how you’re feeling.”
“I promise.”
I give her a bright smile. “Alright. Let’s do this. Is there anything I should know about your pregnancy?”
“It’s been normal so far. Healthy.”
Thank God for that. “Great.” I snap on gloves and use a large dollop of Vaseline that I brought with me on her belly since I don’t have ultrasonic gel. The good news is the Vaseline will also help when it’s time for her to push. Taking the probe of the doppler in my hand, I smear it into the Vaseline.
Loud static fills the room as I slide it around, moving lower, lower, and then to the right, before we hear the loud woosh, woosh of the baby’s heartbeat.
“That sound never gets old. One fifty-two. He sounds good and strong.” I give her a reassuring smile, and more tears fall. “He’s low though,” I tell her, considering the diaphragm of the probe is a little above her pubic symphysis. “Do you remember his approximate weight on your last ultrasound?”
“Um. I think they said he was six pounds and three ounces.”
“Fantastic. That will make this easier. I’m going to check you now, okay? I’m also going to use some of the Vaseline on your opening. I know this is TMI, but you’re going to feel my fingers doing things down there, and I want you to know why I’m doing this. The Vaseline will help smooth the canal and make it easier for the skin of your vaginal opening to stretch. That will reduce the likelihood of tearing and make it easier for your little man to come out.”
“I like the sound of all of that. Georgia Monroe, you’re my hero.”
I bark out a laugh. “You just Ferris Buellered me.”
“I did. But ah!” She tenses up, her face pinching up, her eyes scrunching shut as she fists the sheet beneath her. “It’s… a lot. A lot of pressure.”
“Do you feel like you have to push?”
