Page 147 of Feels Like Home

“Thank God. Get her out,” Andy growls, his forehead resting against the place he justkissed.

Beside me, Lisa giggles, and I roll myeyes.

“It’s been a little while since you’ve done this, Christine, but nothing has changed. Remember to breathe through the contractions like you’ve been doing, bear down, curl your body into a C. Lisa and Andy will help hold your legs, and things will gosmoothly.”

“Smooth.Right.”

“We got this. She’s coming, and you’re amazing and beautiful and I love you more than I ever thought possible and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look sexier than you are in this moment, your eyes are blazing and skin flushed, you’re determined and sweatyand…”

“Now’s not the time,Andy!”

“Right. Okay, yeah. Doc? Just… don’t… I mean… please don’t hurt her. Either ofthem.”

“I’ll do my best, Andy. I promise.” Dr. Matthews throws me a wink, but I don’t have time to even smile my thanks for his calming words because another contraction hits, and this one is stronger than any of theothers.

“Aghhhhhhhhh!Andy!”

“Okay, Christine. You need topush.”

“Noshit?”

I curl my body like I learned in my Lamaze classes. It had been so long since either of us went through this that we decided to go to the classes again. And I’m glad I did. I had blissfully forgotten so many things aboutchildbirth.

Lisa starts counting to ten, and I suck in a breath before pushing for what feels like a hundred counts, blowing out a deep breath when I’m finished, collapsing back onto thebed.

“Good. Good. You’re doing really well,Christine.”

Lisa is right there with a damp washcloth, dabbing my forehead. Andy lifts our hands to his lips and kisses the back of mine softly, his eyes never straying fromme.

“You made some progress. You’re doing great,” Dr. Matthews says, shifting on his seat by myfeet.

I barely have time to relax before another contraction hits, and soon I’m pushing with everything I have inme.

Icurse.

Ipush.

Iscream.

Ipush.

Icurse.

A lot ofcursing.

Ipush.

A lot ofpushing.

A lot ofscreaming.

An hour. An entire freaking hour goes by before the doctor looks up at me with worry in his eyes. “Okay, the baby isn’t shifting. The shoulder keeps getting stuck on your pelvic bone. Right now, baby is doing fine, but we need to get things moving along. I need you to bear down with everything you have on your next contraction or I’m going to have to goin.”

“Goin?”

“Yes. We can’t have either of you going intodistress.”

“No.”

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