I should have known better than to bring my sister into the delivery room with me. I don’t know what I was thinking. The situation is difficult enough without having to put up with a smartass like her.
I mean, really, I’m there doing what has to be the most difficult task of my life, with a audience of practical strangers. I’m thirsty, I’m tired and I am just about out of energy. I push, and it feels like nothing happens. Sure, maybe from the other end they could see some progress, but from my perspective it was all sweaty misery. I know there is joy in the end, I get that, but that middle part is NOT a party. Anyway, so I’m there, exhausted from my efforts and I kind of whimper pathetically ‘I just don’t think I can.’
I needed sympathy, you know? Maybe a cool cloth on my forehead, something like that.
Instead, I get Margaret. She leans forward so she takes up my whole field of vision and she says ‘Can’t do this? The hell you can’t. The kid can’t stay in there – there’s no room for the crib.’
I will swear to the end of my days that reaching up to slap her gave me the energy I needed to push that baby out.