Another contraction. Another push. She grinds her teeth and hisses, “Motherfucker!” at the ceiling.
Mary glances up, grinning. “Great job. We’re making progress. One more big push with the next one, Georgia. You’re almost there.”
Georgia spits out a curse, then looks at me, and for a split second, she’s terrified. I see it, raw and honest, and I want to take all the pain for her. I’d trade places in a heartbeat, but all I can do is hold her, count, and not fall apart.
I straighten myself up.Women are so much stronger than men.
The contraction reaches its peak. She screams, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I count, “One, two, three, four…”
Her grip goes from tight to completely inhuman, and I’m vaguely aware I’ll never use my left hand again.
However, Mary’s voice cuts in, controlled and certain. “I see the head, Georgia. Just a little more. You’re doing so well.”
“Don’t patronize me!” Georgia howls.
Mary just smiles, her grayish blonde hair pulled back tight in a bun. “I wouldn’t even think of it. Let’s go, Mama.”
Brody wipes Georgia’s brow with a fresh towel, voice steady. “You’re so strong. So goddamn strong.”
She shudders and digs in again, Emmett and me both leaning in, both talking, both saying the same words, “Almost, almost, almost there.”
And then, suddenly, Mary’s tone shifts. “There we go! The head’s out, Georgia. Deep breath, and let’s finish this. You ready?”
Georgia nods, teeth bared, and pushes one last time.
Georgia lets out one last groan, and Mary’s hands catch something blue and red and small. There’s a split second of silence, the world pausing mid-heartbeat.
Then the baby cries. Not a soft mewl, but a full-throated howl that shatters the last of my composure.
Mary sets the infant on Georgia’s chest. The baby looks like a perfect little alien—her skin flushed pink and streaked with white, a cap of dark, sticky hair plastered to her skull, fingers already splaying out and clutching at the air.
Georgia looks down, tears already streaking her cheeks. “Oh my god. Oh my god. She’s so beautiful.”
I feel my own tears streaming, can’t even pretend to stop them. Brody is weeping openly, his face buried in Georgia’s shoulder. Emmett lets out a laugh, high and wild, then kisses Georgia’s hair, then the baby’s tiny hand.
“She’s perfect,” I choke out.
Mary dries the baby off with a towel, then helps Georgia guide her to the breast. Instinct kicks in, and the baby starts rooting, mouth open and frantic. Georgia watches, dazed, as the tiny creature latches on, then winces at the first, awkward pull.
“Jesus, that hurts,” Georgia says, then starts laughing, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
The nurse comes over and hands me a pair of surgical scissors. “Dad, want to cut the cord?”
I hesitate, and Brody elbows me, eyes wet but steady. “Go on, Jameson. You can do the honors for all three of us.”
My hands are trembling, but I do as instructed, severing the cord with one clean snip. It feels momentous—like crossing some invisible line, leaving behind everything I was before this moment.
The doctor and nurse finish their clean-up, then slip out with a few quiet words about weights and Apgar and checking on the baby later. Afterward, it’s just the four of us and the baby, a huddle of bodies.
Brody pulls me into a one-armed hug, and Emmett ruffles my hair, voice thick. “You didn’t faint. I owe you fifty bucks.”
Georgia looks at me, and even in her exhaustion, her eyes are alive, burning. “Thank you,” she whispers. “All of you.”
Brody laughs, voice hoarse. “You did all the work, Georgie.”
Emmett leans over, kisses the baby’s head, then brushes his lips to Georgia’s brow. “I can’t believe we made a person. Like, a whole new person.”
