Molly moaned.
“It’s intense now, isn’t it?” I said. “Your body knows what to do.”
“Can I push?” she gasped. “I want to push. I have to push.”
“You sure can,” I said. “Grab your leg or the bar here, and on the next contraction, take a deep breath and go for it, exhaling as you push. Don’t hold your breath.” I checked between Molly’s legs. The head was just starting to emerge. I got the mirror and positioned it so Molly could see.
“Oh, my God. There’s a baby in there,” she said, and Bridget laughed. I held a warm compress against her so the area would stretch more easily as the baby’s head crowned.
The next contraction came, and Molly leaned forward and pushed with all her might, growling with the force of her effort. The baby’s head came down another few centimeters.
“Great one!” I said. “Way to move that baby. Excellent job.”
She pushed three more times, that wonderful, guttural sound coming out of her as she made herself a mother.
And here it came. “Molly, reach down and be the first one to touch your baby,” I said, and she gave a sob and did so. Another contraction came, and she bore down.
“Beautiful, beautiful,” I said. “Great job. Deep breath now. Relax every muscle you don’t need.” She did. She’d taken classes with Wanda, and it showed. We were seeing more and more unmedicated births, less tearing and shorter labors. “Okay, here comes another contraction, so work with it, Molly. That’s right.”
“Keep going, keep going, the head is coming, oh, my God!” her sister said, and yes indeed, the crown of the baby’s head came out. Molly gave a squeak, her eyes wide, face pink with exertion.
“Holy jeesh!” she said.
“Okay, just relax now, Molly,” I said. “I know you want to push, but just relax. Relax your legs, relax your jaw. Slow, deep breaths.” The more slowly the baby came out, the less tearing there’d be. Her body would ease the head out.
This was the miracle. For nine months, Molly’s body had protected and grown this baby, and today, her body would deliver that baby. For the mom, though, this was the hardest and most intense part—waiting for the head to be delivered. Molly made a keening noise with the next contraction.
“Little pants now, Molly, and your baby will ease right out.” The black hair, covered in vernix, inched out more.
“Need an episiotomy?” Dr. Schneider stuck her head in the room.
I didn’t bother to answer. “Molly, amazing work. Almost done now.” Molly was whimpering, gripping the sheets in her fists. “I know, sweetheart. You’re a champion. Just a few more minutes, and you’ll be holding your baby.”
Her sister was already crying. “You’ve got this, sis!”
The baby’s head was coming, millimeter by millimeter. Lots of hair. When the forehead was visible, it was go time. “Whenever you’re ready, Molly. Just one more push on the next contraction, and the head will be completely out.” She pushed, silent, completely focused.
And then the baby’s head slid slowly out, purply white, a swirl of dark hair, squished-up little angel face. “Oh, my God, oh, my God,” Molly gasped.
I guided the baby’s head, looked up at Molly and said, “One more, honey.”
She pushed, and the infant slid into my hands, and I immediately slid her onto Molly’s bare chest.
“Oh, my God!” Molly cried, sobbing. “Oh, baby, I love you. I love you so much, baby!” She was sobbing, kissing her daughter’s head.
“Great job, Mama,” I said, crying a little myself. You’d have to be made of stone not to tear up. I put a blanket over the baby, rubbing her back a little. She gave a healthy cry, then settled right back down against her mother’s neck. Bridget was taking pictures, sobbing, touching her niece’s head as the infant turned pink through the power of her own breath.
“How much does she weigh?” Carline asked, still standing in the doorway like a turd in the punch bowl.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” I said.
“Bridget! You have a niece!” Molly said through her joyful tears. “Look at her. She’s so beautiful.” She looked at me with shining eyes. “Oh, Lillie, thank you.”
“You did it all,” I said. “I just caught her. You delivered her, and you were incredible.”
“You were. You are,” Bridget said. “Oh, my God, Molly! You did it!”