Lomar Undercroft Mk2 @tbgblr2 - Tumblr Blog

Lifestyles

Finally, a new story for the blog. One of my backlog that needed editing. First I have to acknowledge @allkindsofpreg for her usual contributions to my works, and I want to introduce @highlyrelevantnumber as well who has helped with editing this last piece. Many thanks to both of you, I would certainly not be anywhere near productive without you both! However, on with the story...

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"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to today's episode of "Lifestyles", the officially recorded highest rated show on air covering current affairs and entertainment. I'm your host, Gabby Sinclair, and today I'm joined by our special guest - celebrated author of the wonderful series of books entitled "Motherhood" Jessica Shallows."

The host had practiced polish to her style. I watched as she gave a few moments to allow for the canned clapping to be added by the mixer desk back in the office - in reality, we were in a room with the two of us, a camera operator, and the understanding that there would be a need for a whole lot of post-processing to go to get the show ready for the screen.

I felt uncomfortable in my seat. Truth be told, I was not really one for public spectacle. I was an author, a doula - and I felt most comfortable either behind a screen typing away, or in a delivery room holding a nervous mother-to-be's hand as she undertook a major journey in her life.

Another major reason for my lack of comfort was the fact that I was 9 months pregnant - and it was very obvious. The lady who had helped hundreds of babies be brought into the world was finally becoming a mother herself. With my enforced maternity leave, I had decided to put the finishing touches to my latest book so the proceeds could help smooth out the lack of money coming into the home.

My mind was on other things, though. 30 minutes ago I was in the dressing room getting my makeup done by the team, having a bit of small talk with Gabby - when I felt a twinge. I knew it was my first baby, and it would take time... but the twinges had seemed to become all the more noticeable when the cameras were pointing right at my face. I was struggling to decide if it was nerves… or something more.

"So, Jessica" asked Gabby - the show was underway - "You have a five-book series so far recounting the many births you have attended, and they have become best sellers all over the globe. Now you're readying for undertaking the same journey yourself. Tell me - how does it feel to be at the other end of the action, so to speak?"

I smiled as my hand moved to my bump as I felt another heave. I just hoped that I could get through this interview. I had plenty of time, I was sure of it.

“Well, it’s a beautiful experience, of course,” I said, waiting for her to nod in agreement, even though she didn’t have any kids. “If your idea of beauty includes constant nausea and the walking speed of a centenarian,” I added, hoping that it came off as humorous and relatable rather than bitter and exhausted.

She chuckled appropriately and watched as I shifted yet again in my chair. “Getting down to the finish line now, yeah? Any details on your own birth plan you want to share?”

I absolutely did not want to describe to however many thousands or millions of people that would see this all the intimate and vulnerable details of how I was intending to give birth, so I just said, “I’ve been witness to the process enough times to know that whatever plan I may have, babies tend to have plans of their own.”

As if to make a point, my belly tightened again, and my smile may have turned a bit tight as I attempted to hide a wince.

“Perhaps we’ll read all about it in your next book, then,” Gabby proposed, waiting until I gave a non-committal shrug before moving on. “Speaking of which… I’m sure most of our audience has heard of your work, but for anyone who might not know, why don’t you tell us a little about what your series is about and the reason you started writing it?”

I took another few seconds to catch my breath—maybe it just looked like I was composing my thoughts—and then recited the boiler plate answer I’d given dozens of times before. “Well, my mother was a midwife, and I realized at a very young age that the education I received about women’s bodies and experiences was vastly different from that of my peers. There was always so much fear and mystery and shame whenever these kinds of topics came up, and it didn’t make sense to innocent little Jessica who had seen and heard only the power and strength and beauty in it all.” A foot jutted out against the wall of my stomach, and I patted the spot, still somewhat in awe of what my body was capable of doing.

“So you wanted to show that the journey of becoming a mother is something to celebrate, not fear?”

A particularly stabbing pain wrapped around my lower back, and I arched against the chair with a small hiss, my very round stomach spilling even more gratuitously over my lap.

“Are you alright, Jessica?” Gabby asked, practiced professionalism slipping into genuine concern. “Maybe we can find you a pillow or something to make you more comfortable.”

I shook my head, not wanting to prolong the interview. “No, thank you. Just running out of room in there, you know?” She didn’t quite look like she believed me, but I continued, answering her earlier question. “I would say it’s less about celebration and more about normalization. There’s nothing especially dramatic or unique about the women in my books, but because we as a society don’t bring up things like placentas and episiotomies and cervixes in ‘polite’ conversation, I figured it would be less intimidating, less clinical, coming from actual lived experiences.”

“Kind of like regaining that tribal knowledge of womanhood.”

“Exactly!” My sudden excitement triggered another pain, somehow even worse than the last one, and I found it ironic that all that tribal knowledge seemed to be failing me now. Things were intensifying too much too quickly. I’d heard about precipitous labours but never attended one—the few opportunities had passed before I could even arrive.

I took a breath, willed myself to calm down. I had never actually been through labor before; maybe this was all normal. Maybe it wasn’t even labor. Surely, I was just jumping to conclusions…

"So do you have any fond memories of any particular births?" came the next question from Gabby.

"Let me think" I pondered a moment, my brain part-focused on the ache that had come back, once more, around my midsection.

"I know a good one" I added. "It was a young, first-time mother. Her pregnancy was an accident. But there was one thing evident in the room as she came in - she was strong. She was hard - knew a life of hard knocks. She suffered her labour like a champ - she hardly made a sound, thinking showing any weakness would be a failing for her. She knew she couldn't ride things out like that for the full duration of the labour. She asked permission to cry out. The girl felt she needed to be allowed to make noise and deal with something that pretty much every mother I have dealt with just allowed to come naturally."

I took a moment to reminisce. "When she finally got the head out, screaming like a banshee, really letting herself go, she reached down and felt the baby for the first time. It was right then I saw love in her eyes. As she took a moment to rest before she had to push out the shoulders and the body she told me, with tears in her eyes that this baby would be the love of her life. And it was - we still keep in touch. In fact, I hope to deliver her second baby after I get back from my maternity leave. She's married now and made a decent life for herself. A real star of the schools PTA it seems!"

My hand absentmindedly pressed into the side of my belly, as the tightening sensation drew across it once again. I blew out a small breath.

"Everything OK?" asked Gabby.

I nodded my head. "Just late-stage pregnancy. Not the easiest thing to sit still when junior wants to poke you in every internal crevice possible." I gave a weak laugh as my hand pressed harder against the aching band of tightening muscle around my middle.

"If it helps..." offered Gabby "we can stand. That's the beauty of our set, we can just move around to suit - we often chat in front of the screen when a guest wants to chat about a video or presentation."

"That would be lovely" I said, as I put my hands on the sides of the chair and pushed myself up to my feet, smoothing my dress down around my knees. I felt like I was a bit of a spectacle on camera trying to get up, but at least I managed it somewhat gracefully.

"Can you do some editing to make me look more graceful?" I asked Gabby as she stood up and moved next to me.

"Of course, my dear. One of the beauties of this not going out live - editing can solve a multitude of sins!" came the smiling voice of Gabby next to me.

It wasn’t a huge studio, and I had to take extra care around all the lights and camera equipment as my huge belly swung around, but moving around definitely helped alleviate some of the ache. Of course, instead it now felt like the baby’s head could just fall out at any moment, but rationally I knew it wouldn’t be that easy—no one would ever need my services if it was.

“So, Jessica—do you want to give us a sneak peek into this latest release?” Gabby asked, trying to move the interview along.

I paused to grip the back of a chair, channeling the tightness in my midsection into my grip. “Sure, yeah. It’s really a story of endurance.” I bowed my head, taking in a few puffs of air, and then straightened. “It was the longest birth I’d ever attended. This young mother was in labor for days.”

“And you stayed by her side that entire time?” she asked incredulously.

“Most of it, yeah,” I said, somewhat out of breath. “It helps everyone involved to know that the mother always has someone by her side to support and encourage her. Takes the pressure off and makes it a more enjoyable experience overall.”

I must not have been masking my wince very well because Gabby paused the interview yet again. “Are you sure you’re alright? We can schedule this for another time if you’re not feeling up for it.”

I shook my head—it had already taken almost a year to set up this time slot; if we tried to reschedule, I’d likely already be back to work with a nursing child to take care of. I swiped the bottle of water left out for guests on the side table and pointed to it. “Just need a little water and a lot of movement.”

Ever the professional, Gabby took what she was given and followed it down a new path. “Perfect! You can demonstrate some of the positions you describe in your book.”

“Most of them are doula-assisted and require another person…”

She raised her hand like the solution was obvious. “I’m another person.”

“Oh. Right.” It would be a little awkward, using myself as a test dummy with someone I’d only just met, but I had to admit I was curious. “Now I guess we’ll both be ‘on the other side of the action’,” I joked, echoing her own words back to her.

She smirked at that, seeming to like the challenge. “Alright, what do you want to try first?”

“Do you, by any chance, have something I can kneel on?” I asked, as my hands migrated around to my back and pressed, forcing me to jut out my belly in turn. The moment of relief felt like heaven.

“Let me see…” pondered Gabby. As she looked around, the cameraman pointed to the chairs we were previously on. “Oh yeah, we can just remove the cushion from the seat.”

I nodded. “That will be good. Is there anywhere sturdy I can lean against?”

Gabby’s eyes looked around the room once more. Aside from the two chairs and a table in between them, the rest of the room was mainly populated by electronics and lighting equipment. Nothing that anyone would classify as ‘sturdy.’

Whilst Gabby scanned the room, I did some mental arithmetic. It had only been an hour, and I was already at the point where contractions were established. I hadn’t been timing them, but they certainly felt 5 minutes apart at this point. I didn’t think it was sensible to get Gabby or the cameraman to do a cervical check to make certain, but I had to be prepared in case things took a rapid turn. I inwardly sighed. I had the choice to cancel and go home - if I could make it driving in my current state, or this could be an excellent marketing opportunity for the business. It would just mean giving birth on camera. That couldn’t be so bad, could it? The business didn’t have any similar promotional material as all the videos of births I’d attended were kept by the parents.

“Can I make a suggestion?” I spoke as Gabby gave up looking.

“Sure my dear, I’m always open to suggestions.”

“How about I call my husband? He’s certainly sturdy. Most of the time the labouring positions I recommend involve partners to be present anyway - the flow of oxytocin is helped when you feel loved and supported.”

Gabby nodded. “How far away is he? We’re not in any real rush as this is the only recording of the day, but I’m just thinking of practicalities here - how about using Matt, our cameraman - he’s here right now and I’m sure we could set the camera up to capture us all on the stage without him needing to move it?”

I panicked, causing the first word to come out much louder than expected. “No… please. I know he’s just down the road, we were going to get food after the recording. I’d feel more comfortable with him, some of these positions can get quite… intimate.”

Gabby nodded, and I heard Matt breathe a sigh of relief - he certainly didn’t want to be in front of the camera.

I scurried - well, waddled - out of the studio, giving a polite nod to the receptionist outside as I headed to the green room. Opening my purse to grab my phone, I texted the following:

“SOS. Baby coming? Get here.”

I had to take a moment to rest, the next contraction grabbing me in its grip before I had a chance to leave the room. By the time it had finished, my phone had buzzed.

“Shit. On my way. We going home?” I left that unanswered.

I headed back, pushing my phone down my bra so I could keep it with me, and told the receptionist to expect my husband in a few minutes.

As I stepped back into the room and gave Gabby a thumbs up gesture, I suggested “until he gets here, how about some upright movements, like slow dancing? That’s great for loosening the hips and stretching out some key muscles during the labour process.”

Gabby stood in front of me awkwardly as I placed her hands on my hips and put mine on her shoulders. “Now, I’m going to have you put gentle pressure on my hips, squeezing lightly where I have them placed.” She must have been nervous, as her grip tightened painfully, but relaxed when she noticed my wince. “There, that’s good,” I said when she’d found an appropriate pressure.

“It’s not too much?” she asked, just to make sure I wasn’t humoring her after her first attempt.

I shook my head. “No. But communication is key, especially in the earlier stages of labor while talking isn’t too difficult yet. Once it is, hopefully the supporting partners understand the mother well enough that they can recognize what her noises and movements mean and anticipate what she needs without having to verbalize everything.”

My fingers tightened slightly on Gabby’s shoulders as another contraction ramped up and my head dipped low between us—if we were more comfortable with each other, it would be resting on her chest as she helped support my weight.

“And what are you doing now?” she asked to the back of my head.

I tried to bite back any irritation—it’s not like Gabby knew this was anything more than a demonstration—and catch my breath enough to answer. Through gritted teeth I managed, “When a laboring mother is having a contraction, bending and swaying can take some of the pressure off her lower back and overall just makes it easier to breathe and focus.”

“Oh, so you’re ’having a contraction’ right now.” I could hear the air quotes in her tone, but nodded anyway. “Then would something like this maybe feel good for you?”

She repositioned her hands slightly, somehow both squeezing and massaging the tense muscles and I let out an obscene sound that probably belonged more in a barnyard than a television studio.

Gabby chuckled. “I guess so.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, slightly embarrassed now that the contraction was easing up, and looked up at her. “Baby’s pretty heavy. You’re sure you’ve never done this before? That was masterful.”

She beamed at the compliment. “I do like to think I have a way of observing and playing off of my guests honestly in the moment.”

I briefly detailed the anatomical flow of contractions and why what I was doing and what she did worked so well to take the edge off, but it wasn’t long before we returned to our previous positions. My noises were becoming a little too realistic, but before Gabby could comment there was the sound of a door being flung open.

“I guess my husband is here,” I said into Gabby’s chest.

She hummed in affirmation, but then asked, “Why does he look like he misplaced his child at an amusement park?”

I supposed I had my own lack of text response to blame for that.

Matt looked over to see who everyone was talking about. Stood framed in the doorway was a 6 foot 6 giant of a man, and then as he glanced back at me and my relatively tiny 5 foot 3 inch frame… his brain suddenly realised just why my pregnant belly was so, so big.

In the doorway the man stood with a baby carrier / car seat in one hand and a bag in the other.

Both Matt and Gabby recognised him immediately. Matt was the first to speak.

“Bruce Curtis… whoa man. I’m a major fan.”

Bruce was a well-known tennis player, but he was not one for public appearances and was very private. Up until this point the marriage of a world class sportsman and a celebrated childbirth professional and author had not been public knowledge.

“Hi. Thanks. Just here to see my wife” he announced, as he spotted me in Gabby's arms. “Got your birth bag Jess… don’t know what you would need.”

Before anyone could comment on the obvious reference of birth bag to question it, I moaned out loud, grasping hard onto Gabby’s clothing as the worst pain yet held on to my midsection, feeling something like I was being squeezed in every point at once.

It took a monumental effort to stay standing.

Gabby’s eyes went wide with shock as she suddenly spurted out “wait… this is real?”

I was left short of breath after the surprise contraction, but managed a hum to at least acknowledge the fact that yes, I was in labour.

Surprisingly Gabby’s eyes lit up and her lips parted with a grin. “This… is… amazing! Wait… you’re bringing your bag here… does that mean you aren’t heading off? Are we getting an exclusive first look at the newest addition to your family?”

I managed to raise my head enough to look Gabby in the eyes. I certainly hadn’t recovered from the last contraction and was mentally trying to figure out if I had gone insane, but I confirmed it.

“Yeah. I think I’m having a precipitous labor. In the last hour I’ve experienced things that often take 8… maybe 10 hours for a first-time mother. I don’t think I can make it back home in time. Please help me.” My tone was pleading as much as anything else, all semblance of hiding the truth now gone.

In between all of this, Bruce had placed the bag and baby carrier on the ground and made his way over to me, concern evident in his eyes. He took me in his arms as I turned away from Gabby and gave me an embrace that had his long arms wrapped tight around me, even with the large mound at my midsection taking up space between us.

“Here we go baby. Daddy’s here” he spoke softly to me. Gabby and Matt just looked at each other, shock and confusion stilling their movement. They were unsure what to do given the situation, it certainly wasn’t what they were expecting to happen at the start of the show.

I tried not to panic. The contractions were already right on top of each other and at this rate it likely wouldn’t be long before I was beyond words and coherent sentences.

“I’m sorry, precipitous labor?” Gabby said. “What does that mean? Is it dangerous? Do we need to call an ambulance?”

It was riskier, but this was happening right here right now one way or another, and I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“A precipitous labor is when labor and delivery happen very quickly, a couple hours from start to finish,” Bruce supplied, saving me from having to answer. Gabby and Matt must have worn some shocked expression because he added, “What? My wife likes to talk about her work.”

I could almost hear the two of them putting Bruce on an even loftier pedestal. But I couldn’t blame them—he was pretty perfect. Other than his genetics producing a freakishly large fetus that I would somehow now need to birth with very little time for my body to stretch and prepare.

“Alright, what can we do?” Gabby asked, fully on board with her unexpected involvement.

I gasped and buried my face into Bruce’s chest as he held up a finger to indicate that they would need to wait a minute for an answer. I tried to breathe and relax like I’d instructed so many mothers before me, but the pain and pressure had just gotten so intense so quickly. I just barely managed to keep from crying out as the wave crested and broke, but I wasn’t sure how much more I could endure calmly and collectedly.

My throat was hoarse, and I cleared it before turning to answer. “Once my water breaks, the baby’s head will descend quickly. The baby is big,” I looked accusatorially up at Bruce for the 11-12 pound range we were given as an estimate, “and I would like to open and prepare my body as much as possible to limit the possibility of complications.”

The next contraction snuck up on me, and I groaned, my knees bending as I leaned forward. Gabby instinctively held out her arms and I grabbed onto her forearms as I got down into a squat. But the position only increased the internal pressure and I yelped, shaking my head. She pulled me up, with Bruce’s help, and I went back to ‘slow dancing’ with her while Bruce held me from behind, lifting some of the weight of my massive belly from my spine.

I pointed at the chair and Bruce dragged it over to me. With some more assistance, I got one leg up onto the chair in an almost side lunge. It was a little awkward, but I loved how open it made me feel.

“Why do you keep changing positions? And why is this one good?” Gabby asked, and I wasn’t sure whether she was still in interview mode or just genuinely curious and invested now.

“This allows my pelvis to really open up, while also maintaining freedom of movement if I need to adjust. Baby needs to get into position too, and the more I move, the easier that is.”

Even this quick explanation was almost too much for me because now I was winded going into the next contraction. There really was no buildup for them, they just crashed full force into me, and I was sure I would’ve lost my balance if Bruce and Gabby didn’t have me on both sides.

Despite all my breath work and vocalizations, my body was pushing against something on its own and I cried out as it pressed behind and stretched my unprepared opening.

“What is it, baby?” Bruce asked softly, unfazed by my animalistic noises.

I panted in an attempt to keep my body’s instincts in check. “Need. Someone. To check,” I managed between puffs of air.

“I don’t suppose you’re okay with nudity on this show?” Bruce asked.

There was a pause, then Gabby said, “We can edit it in post.”

I hiked up my dress, gathering the fabric at the top of my oversized mound. As I waited for Gabby and Bruce to decide who would do the honors, I could only hope that it was just the intact amniotic sac and not the baby’s head.

I could tell Gabby was itching to get involved, but Bruce was the first to speak.

“Let’s get this leg down and get those knickers off” he said, almost playfully, considering the circumstances.

He tapped me on the raised knee which was perched on the chair for emphasis.

I groaned as I dropped my leg to the floor, but quick as a flash, Bruce had dragged my underwear to the floor, and bundled it up into a ball in his fist and stuffed it into his pocket.

“There we go. First step completed. Now onto the appetiser”. He was still smiling, completely unfazed, wiggling a finger in the air. “Let’s just hope we get some time to digest before it’s time for the main course!”

I cough-laughed, his lighthearted attitude helping alleviate the stress, as Gabby was caught giggling.

My leg got lifted onto the chair again as Bruce directed my hand onto his shoulder, and he got down to his knees. I suddenly felt the slip of 2 fingers enter into me as I grunted “contraction” and gripped tight hold of the polo top he was wearing.

His fingers continued to press in deeper, as my moan reached a crescendo, the contraction rapid and rough in its approach.

Suddenly there was a release, and water gushed down Bruce’s arm. I turned red, and let out a yelp at the unexpected sensation.

Bruce looked up apologetically. “Your waters were bulging. I might have been a bit rough. Sorry, baby!”

At the same time, Gabby flinched at the sight of the liquid pooling around my feet. “What’s that?” She asked.

I took a deep, steadying breath. Taking a moment longer I started, “It’s amniotic fluid. Think of it like a shock absorber around your baby. Keeps it safe in the womb.” Gabby had nodded, taking in the knowledge whilst staring at the pool which was now soaking into the carpet.

I continued. “It’s good that it’s clear. No sign of blood or meconium is positive.”

“And that is…?” Asked Gabby.

“Baby’s first poop” came the voice of Bruce as I responded by patting him on the shoulder, my fingers no longer clenched.

With the water bag burst, I felt Bruce’s probing fingers within me. I gave a little gasp as Bruce’s fingers slid out from between my legs and he announced “You’re about 7 or 8. Almost go time.”

My head shook “it’s too fast, it’s too fast.” My mantra got Gabby more than a little worried.

“What’s the problem?” She asked, nervously glancing up to Matt, her eyes giving a nonverbal ‘have we gotten in too deep here, is something going wrong?’ look.

I grit my teeth, knowing another contraction was ramping up. “8cm typically brings the transition phase. It can be the most demanding part before pushing, and most mothers tend to go inwards, be non-verbal at that time… I… I…”. That was all I could manage, the next sound out of my mouth was a haunting wail as my body forced me to bend to what it wanted at the time.

Bruce stood up, grabbing my hand from his shoulder and letting me squeeze his own hand as tight as I possibly could. He wrapped his other arm around my own shoulder and I pressed my head into his in return. I felt the press of wetness into his top. I wasn’t sure if I was sweating with how tough it had been for me so far, or if I was simply shedding tears.

Gabby came in behind me and tugged at my dress, slipping it back over my bump and watching it flow down to my legs once more.

Any relief I might have felt with the breaking of my waters was short-lived. The amniotic sac, at least, was filled with fluid and therefore more forgiving. Now that it was gone, I could feel the baby’s head descending at an alarming rate, and it was all huge unyielding skull.

The new weight settling deep into my pelvis sharpened the pain in my back and rectum. I twisted and squirmed into various positions and postures, but nothing seemed to alleviate the intensity of the pressure there. At one point, I ended up on my knees on the chair cushion that had been placed on the floor, sobbing into Bruce’s shoulder because there was no relief—if anything, it was only getting worse.

“Hurts. It hurts,” I mumbled over and over again into the wet fabric of his shirt.

“I know, baby,” he said softly, sympathetically, stroking my hair and kissing my temple. “What can I do?”

“My back. My, my s-sacrum,” I could barely get out the words. “Feels like I’m gonna break in two.” I cried out again as the contraction peaked and then rolled right into the next one with no break in between. “Counter-ngh-pressure.”

Bruce locked eyes with Gabby, then looked down at my back, then back up to her. He inclined his head to indicate that she could—and, in fact, should—be doing something to assist.

“Open your hand and press your palm flat against the base of her spine,” he instructed.

She touched me lightly, but it was more in the lumbar region and far too delicate to do anything against the strength of my contracting muscles.

“Lower,” I growled, and she startled a bit before adjusting her position. “And harder. Please,” I added in what I hoped was a less feral tone.

She put a good amount of body weight behind her hand and finally, finally, it didn’t feel like my coccyx was about to snap off. I whimpered, this time crying for even the smallest amount of relief, and Bruce gave her a thumbs up.

I wanted to move, but it felt impossible to close my legs even a fraction of an inch, so I settled for just shifting and circling my hips whenever I got twitchy. To her credit, Gabby followed my various cat/cows and figure 8s perfectly, and even started experimenting with pressure and position and kneading the muscles around my spine, paying attention to my reactions to continue with what worked and stop what didn’t.

It was maybe 20 minutes of nonstop contractions before no amount of movement or counterpressure could lessen the pain. Everything in my body was tightening, forcing the pressure in on itself and down through my core—a coiled spring ready to flip a switch in my brain that would force me to start pushing whether I was ready or not.

But I wasn’t ready. I was supposed to have a calm, leisurely home birth surrounded by professionals and people I trusted. I was supposed to have music and a bath and- and time. Most of all, I was supposed to have time.

“I- can’t- do- this-“ I half-panted, half-sobbed between gasping breaths. It was the same thing I’d heard from many laboring mothers before, but I never truly understood how true it must have felt for them until now. “I want an epidural. I want a c-section. Anything but this. I can’t- I can’t- I—“

My desperate pleas were cut off by a scream that left my body shaking and my throat raw and hoarse.

“How can I make this easier for you?” Bruce asked in that same infuriatingly calm tone.

It grated on my nerves and I snapped, “Push out your own big-headed fucking kid.” Then, feeling contrite, “Sorry, I’m- god, it just hurts so much.”

I could feel the chuckle behind his lips as he kissed me. “I’m a professional athlete—I’ve heard worse from 10 year olds on the internet. It’ll take a lot more than a jab from my beloved laboring wife to hurt my feelings.”

The urge to push slammed into me with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. I collapsed against Bruce’s chest as both my arms wrapped around my impossibly taut stomach. “Fuck, fuck, oh god, FUCK!” My profanities dissolved into an incoherent wail as I put every ounce of willpower into not pushing with the unbearable instinct.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Gabby’s frantic voice asked from behind me.

“If I had to guess,” Bruce said over my howling, “I’d say she’s hit 10 centimeters.”

“And what happens at 10 centimeters? I can guess… but humour me?” asked Gabby.

“I… I need to push. I gotta push!” came my wailing cry as if in response.

“Pretty much that” quipped Bruce. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, gently shifting me around so I was sat on my ass on the cushion. He wrapped his arms around my neck and over my shoulders, whispering close to my ear so that only I could hear it.

Affirmative words like ‘you can do it baby’ and ‘let it happen, you know you can do it’ came from his mouth into my ears and, despite every nerve in my body being on edge, I managed to relax into his wrapped arms.

I breathed out a calming mouthful of air, trying to regain my composure between contractions.

“I only have a few moments,” I managed, “then the next contraction will hit, and I’ll be pushing. This is the pushing phase, I have to get the head and body of the baby past my

lips…” I trailed off as I parted my legs, raising my knees, and groaned as my chin dipped down to my chest, making contact with Bruce’s hands pressed against my collarbone. My dress skirt was tented but still covered any view the camera may have had - right now the shot was of a dishevelled mother-to-be wrapped in the arms of her husband, sweat-matted hair plastered to her face.

“Lips…?” It was Matt to ask.

Bruce waggled his finger and pointed downwards, aimed squarely between my legs.

“Oh…” of course Matt knew how the process of birth happened, it’s just right here, right now with things happening in front of him, he was simply dumbstruck.

Gabby kneeled down in front of me, between my legs. “Can I help?” she enquired.

I couldn’t answer, right now I was pushing, and no force in the world was going to interrupt me from that task.

It was a good thing Bruce was able to infuse some of his calm energy into me because, as soon as the next contraction hit, the rest of the world faded away. The only thing I could hear was my own primal grunting; the only thing I could feel was the ballooning pressure spreading me wide from the inside out; the only thing I could think was ‘push, push, push’.

But I might as well have been trying to push over a concrete wall. The baby’s head was low and heavy and full, but my body was still adjusting to its presence and would not budge until it was ready to release. No matter how great the force of the instinct to bear down, the fact was that the enormous head still had to somehow fit through my narrow opening. Preferably without tearing me open.

“I need… gravity,” I panted out in the brief break between contractions.

Sitting directly on my tailbone was not helping the pressure in my hips and ass, but I was too exhausted to fully stand and kneeling would not open my hips wide enough to allow my giant of a husband’s baby to engage properly in the birth canal.

“Where do you want me?” Bruce asked, arms still around me ready to pull me into whatever position I requested.

“Chair. Behind,” I grunted as my stomach began to tighten again.

Despite the lack of cushion, he dutifully sat on the chair and pulled me up between his bent knees. Positioning myself toward the end of his thighs, I could use them to lean on as I got my feet under me in a very deep squat while still allowing my knees to flare out as far as they needed to in front of his shins.

The edge of my dress came up over my knees, but pooled and draped over my pussy, obscuring anything that might be going on between my legs as I pushed. My milk-filled breasts pooled over my heavy, dragging belly and it all felt too contained, too restrictive in these clothes that were never meant to give birth in. I wanted nothing more than to take them off, to let my natural naked body move and flow whatever way it wanted, but there was no way I could articulate that desire in any coherent way at the moment. Instead, it presented itself as a whine, an uncomfortable shifting of knees and hips and back, a throwing back of my head onto his knee as Bruce fanned my flushed face.

“You’re doing great, baby,” he praised, running his fingers through my tangled mess of hair and gently massaging my scalp.

“What can I do?” Gabby repeated once I had come back to myself. “Should I help coach you? Maybe count down from 10?”

I shook my head, not really having the energy to explain but desperate to dispel this clinical, controlled image of pushing. “They do that a lot in hospital settings, along with having the laboring mother lying on her back with her legs in stirrups, but that is for the doctor’s benefit, not the mother’s, and it often causes more harm than good.” I hummed, which turned into a moan as the baby’s head slipped down another millimeter. “Luckily, healthcare professionals are starting to recognize the benefits of mother-led labor and delivery, including spontaneous pushing.”

“No doubt in part due to the popularity of your books and the experiences of the women in those stories,” Gabby said, ever the interviewer.

I turned and whimpered into Bruce’s thigh, lightly tapping and squeezing his generous athletic muscles.

“I think that means ‘thank you, that’s very generous of you to say, but I’m also just one of many advocates working to raise awareness and empathy for this important issue’.” He leaned down to stage whisper to me, “How’d I do?”

I gave a thumbs up without bothering to lift my head, only half-listening to either of them, but Bruce had seen enough of my press junkets to know what I would say.

Feeling how tightly my fingers were digging into him, how tense and still I was, Bruce suggested, “Maybe we could try making the room a little more relaxing? Dim the lights, put on some music, tell her how good she’s doing.” Then, leaning down to me again, over my strained whine, “That’s right, mama. That’s my girl, opening up so good for our baby.”

Gabby cleared her throat. “Maybe I’ll leave that last one to you,” she said.

I heard her heels click and then the brightness behind my closed eyes darkened. When I opened them, the only light in the room was the lamp on the side table, normally just meant to add warmth and character to the set. More clicks, this time her nails against her phone, and some low-fi music began playing and she set the device in the background next to the lamp.

I finally lifted my head, wrapping an arm beneath my heavy belly and adjusting my stance with a wince and a deep, exhausted, exasperated puff of air. Bruce’s hands were kneading my shoulders, so I was surprised when I felt a gentle touch on my knee and found Gabby knelt down in front of me.

She used her other hand to cover mine where it rested on my stomach as she said, “You’re doing great, Jessica. Really.”

Tears flowed freely from my eyes now, the sensations were overwhelming, and the simple act of kindness and sincerity from Gabby pushed me over the edge.

Of course, my body had its own agenda, and within seconds I was once again pushing, grunting and groaning along with my body clenching within me, all towards its goal of expelling the child held within me.

I pressed Gabby’s hand into my belly, and she felt the skin of my midsection tighten as the contraction flowed through me, the belly shrinking until it seemed as if it wrapped tightly around the mass of baby inside.

My grunt as the contraction peaked turned into moans of pain - nothing unusual in that by now - but Gabby did notice the time I was making the most noise seemed to be getting longer and longer as each contraction passed.

Finally, it passed, and I was left panting for air. I managed a weak “this is tougher than I imagined it would be. No amount of seeing this happening prepares you.”

I took a few seconds to gather my breath and next, I spoke out, directing to no one in particular, “I have some puppy pads in the birth bag - can someone spread some of them out around the floor. There should be a plastic sheet too. I think it could get messy soon, and I don’t want to be responsible for cleaning this place.” I managed a weak laugh.

“I need to stand again, stretch my back” I advised, as between Bruce and Gabby they got me to my feet. Matt had left his post at the camera and grabbed the supplies I asked for, laying them out. It took a bit of stepping in and around him, but soon the floor was covered. I noted the cushion I had kneeled on earlier was underneath the plastic tarpaulin-like sheet now - making a mental note so I didn’t trip over the small hill it created.

I fell into Gabby’s arms as the next contraction hit me unexpectedly. I wasn’t prepared and could do nothing but wail. Bruce came in behind, kneading my lower back, but I swatted his hand away. I managed a growling command of “dress off, now” as Matt looked over at Gabby, who in turn shrugged.

Bruce pulled the fabric up over my ass, exposing my naked legs to the camera, shoved it over my head, and between Bruce and Gabby they moved one arm at a time until the dress fell to the floor between me and Gabby.

I was naked now except for my bra. And right now, I couldn’t care less. Right now I was cooled down, the studio air conditioning chilling my sweat-streaked back.

That was when I realised I was standing with my legs apart. My fingers dropped down and I felt my vulva. I was bulging. I finally felt progress!

The relief must have been evident on my face because Gabby asked, “Can you feel the head?”

Ohhh, could I feel it. But I knew that wasn’t what she meant. “Not exactly. I can feel the shape of the head stretching out behind the skin, but probably not visible yet.”

I thought I heard Matt mutter something to himself about that being a lot of work and noise for not even being able to see the baby yet, but Gabby was speaking over him. “Can I— I mean, would it be alright if I… you know, took a peek?” She pointed down between my legs, as if it wasn’t obvious where she was asking about.

Normally I would have shied away from allowing someone I barely knew down there, but we were short on hands in this scenario and I figured it was inevitable. I nodded, “Quickly,” and the grunting noises started again as my knees bent into a half squat. My huge globe of a belly shrank and tightened with the contraction, outlining the dips and hollows around the large baby still inside it.

Gabby knelt down on one knee to be able to see around my stomach, and I held onto her shoulders for stability as Bruce drove his knuckles into my bare back.

“Oh wow,” Gabby said as she watched the effects of my pushes. “The baby’s head must be right there; I can see it dome out between your legs whenever you push.” Then, after doing some quick mental math, she asked, “Are you sure… like, is it going to fit through there? That’s a big head; it doesn’t seem physically possible.”

It didn’t quite seem that way to me either at the moment, but it’s not like I had a choice. “It always—hoo—feels impossible—hngh—until it isn’t,” I managed between heaves and moans. The makeshift waterproofing on the floor kept sticking to my feet and pulling up anytime I moved and I kicked at it in frustration several times before concluding, “I need to sit.”

The cushion was trapped on the floor, but Bruce volunteered to be my seat. He positioned himself on the chair first and then I sat on his lap, draping my legs around the outside of his thighs while he kept his open enough to keep my pussy open and exposed. He was tall enough that he still towered over me, and his arms were able to wrap around my front, belly and all, and coming to rest on my inner thighs, spreading and gently kneading them in an attempt to get me to relax.

There was nothing left to the imagination anymore for the people in the room—if Matt lowered the camera a foot or two he’d have a front row view. As it was, he kept a more tasteful side profile at an elevated angle so that my stomach obscured any of the graphic bits. But if things had gone to plan, we would have had a birth photographer present in the room, and so I had Bruce slip Matt both our phones to set up to record the more closeup shots. My own phone was sweaty to the touch because of being stuffed in my bra against my overheated skin, so Matt had to give it a good wipedown on the fabric of his shirt upon receiving it.

“I’m gonna ask for a raise,” he said as he mounted the devices to some small tripods and adjusted them to an appropriate angle, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he zoomed in for one of the captures.

I chuckled and then gasped “Fuck!”, the suddenness and intensity of the next contraction somehow still managing to take me by surprise. I threw my head back against Bruce’s solid chest and he kissed my temple as I pushed, my fingers digging into his forearms where they rested on my thighs while his hands moved to my center to gently coax back the emerging volcano forming between my legs. His thumb brushed against my clit and I gasped again, and this time it was my turn to go red.

I knew arousal was an effective pain management technique, but most clients were always too self-conscious to actually try it out in the delivery room surrounded by people. Despite knowing it was nothing to be ashamed of, I still tried to muffle my noises any time he grazed the sensitive nub.

I leaned forward, my breaths heaving, and gave a guttural cry as the instinct to bear down overwhelmed everything else and the first hints of burning teased my opening.

“I think- yes, I see the head!” Gabby exclaimed.

I managed to punctuate my grunting pushes with a small nod as I took in Gabby’s words. I knew myself she was about to get a rude awakening into the process of birth, but couldn’t get the words out. I knew I’d have a chance to explain but finally as the contraction relented I heard her give a disappointed cry as she exclaimed “where did it go” a few moments later.

I was hoarse and needed a drink. It was evident in my voice, I was raspy. I soldiered on, however, and explained, “Think of it like waves. They slosh forward and then draw back. Like the tides, eventually the high tide comes in and you’re up to your ankles in seawater.”

Gabby looked a bit confused at that analogy and asked, “So, the baby doesn’t just keep on coming stretching you wider and wider until it pops out?”

I shook my head. “No. It pokes out a bit, goes back in, pushes out a little more. Eventually it won’t retreat anymore and will be there permanently. Eventually it pokes out to its widest point…”

I was cut short by the next contraction, and I closed my mouth, trying not to irritate my throat further. Closed-lip pushing did not feel like it was giving me anywhere near enough air flow, and I frustratingly gave up, back to an open-mouthed moan.

However, because it was different to my previous pushes, Gabby thought it was just me taking a breath. She continued “and what happens then?” That’s when she saw the peeling back of my lips, the top of baby’s scalp showing once more and then following that, my moan coming through. She shut up and placed a hand on my ankle giving it a gentle pat. She stared as the head once more retreated.

“Crowning,” I finally replied as I caught my breath. “And the ring of fire.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” Gabby gave a worried look into my eyes.

“It’s not, but it only lasts moments. I’ve heard it’s a rite of passage. I’m certainly not looking forward to it,” I managed. Finally, I asked: “can I get some water, please? My throat feels like it’s burning.”

Gabby apologised, realising just how bad my voice sounded. She was too intensely focused on the action between my legs. She dashed out of the studio, and suddenly it was just us two and Matt, who was doing his best to have a camera as a shield between himself and the messy situation developing between my legs.

“So… err… anything else you guys need?” he asked. Bruce smiled and looked up. “I guess an epidural is out of the question?”

“Sorry all out of those” Matt gave a grin back as the humour helped lighten the tension in the room a little.

I was soon pushing again, hands digging into Bruce’s thighs as I grunted “that’s OK I wanted it to be natural anyway”. The end syllable elongated into a ‘aaaaaaaaay’ noise as the contraction did what it had to do and once more, at least for 30 seconds or so, I was overcome by my natural instincts and lost all sense of the world around me.

When I regained my composure again, I found Gabby standing next to me, glass of water in hand - and she’d remembered a straw to make it easier to sip it.

After a pull on the straw, my smile was evident. “Thanks, that feels so good.”

The exhaustion caught up with me then, the immediate need to quench my thirst satiated enough for me to really feel just how tired my body was. It made sense—it was working overtime to condense days’ worth of effort into just a couple hours. And, even though the instinct to push was strong, progress was slow, and my mind was beginning to doubt.

“I need to rest for a bit,” I announced, untangling myself from Bruce’s limbs to put my feet flat on the floor.

Both Matt and Gabby looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “How are you possibly going to do that?” she asked.

“Wanna lie down on my side.” The cushion was still there on the floor, if slightly buried, and I looked between it and Bruce pleadingly.

“Am I to be your pillow then?” he guessed, and I nodded.

“Please.”

He kissed my neck and gave my thigh a gentle squeeze. “Anything for you, love.” Then, Bruce got down on the floor above the cushion, helping me down before sprawling out to be used however I needed.

My hip rested on the cushion while my top half splayed across Bruce’s considerable mass. My belly spilled out over his body and we both had a hand rested on it, while one leg rested on the floor to give some stability. The other leg was bent up with my knee toward the ceiling in an attempt to keep my hips open, but it wasn’t quite enough and so my foot just kind of dangled helplessly in the air until Gabby took hold of it.

“Want me to hold your leg up?” she offered.

“You’re a saint,” I breathed, glad to have found purchase.

She grinned and hooked my knee over her shoulder, leaning back and settling herself on the floor next to me once we’d found a good position where I could rest even as my body continued to work.

I let the next several contractions just roll over me, through me, pushing if I needed to but not trying to force anything to move quicker than it naturally wanted to—the tippy top of the baby’s head might have breached my opening, but there was still a long way to go before the rest of it would fit through there and I didn’t want to exhaust myself before the effort truly began.

The back and forth peekaboo game would have been maddening were it not for Bruce and Gabby’s gentle touches and whispers of encouragement. Bruce told me how beautiful and amazing and strong I was while Gabby gave a play by play of everything happening between my legs—first a dime size peek, then a quarter; then she ran out of coin analogies and switched to a golf ball, a tennis ball, a baseball. Every time my opening got wider, the head pushing out further, but every time I stopped pushing it would get sucked back into the depths of my tight folds.

“I need to move again,” I huffed as I felt the head slip back in for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Rest time over?” Gabby asked, and I almost scoffed because how could I have possibly thought I could rest when the baby was so close to being born.

“Something like that,” I said with a bit of bitterness. “Hands and knees, please.”

Because Bruce was still under me, Gabby and Matt helped pull me to a more seated position and I hissed at the added pressure that put on the baby lodged deep in my hips. But I transitioned quickly, now kneeling on the cushion over Bruce’s body, still using him as a pillow.

My legs widened until my pussy was just a few inches above the floor and everything felt so much more open like this. It was as if something shifted, just a millimeter or two, as the next contraction barreled through my core, the head shooting forward as I pushed, the pressure and burning nearly unbearable. I howled, the sound only slightly muffled against Bruce’s clothes, releasing the push and taking frantic breaths, waiting, desperate for the relief of the head retreating back inside, but the terrible stretch remained.

The head was staying put.

Gabby sounded frantic. “Are you ok? That sounded painful.” I blew out a breath, trying to regain composure. The exhale lasted for a good 5 or 6 seconds, which to me didn’t seem to help much but to those looking in, seemed to last a long time. I shook my head, clearing away the cobwebs, and explained the situation.

“Think of it like trying to squeeze your hand into a very tight glove… but in reverse. You’re the glove.” My hand patted Bruce as a way to keep my mind focused. “If you get it so far in, and let go, you’ll feel it squeeze you tight but it won’t… hurt, per se… but if you pull on it you’ll feel it tugging your skin. Right now my skin is being pulled… tight… when the contraction pushes the baby out of from between my legs. And to be blunt, it hurts like hell.”

Gabby let out a nervous chuckle. “That does not sound fun. Is this position you’re in comfortable?”

I shook my head, not wanting to point out the obvious. “Nothing is comfortable, but this allows me to widen my hips, giving more room for the head to emerge.” I felt the next contraction build and let out an apology as I grasped tight onto Bruce’s arms and once again let out a yowling groan, internally counting to 10, taking a breath, then going again.

Gabby got down to her hands and knees, and then lay on the floor, trying to get a good view of the emerging head from underneath me. She let out a frustrated ‘fuck’ - completely forgetting the fact she was on recorded television.

I leaned forward, ass in the air as I panted against Bruce following the aftermath of the contraction, when Gabby gave a little cough.

I turned my head to look at her, not saying anything, but my look suggested she should speak.

“I know I’m not in any sort of position to ask this, but could you flip back over? I can’t see anything in the position you are in.” She sounded genuine, and certainly interested in seeing how things would pan out.

I gave a groan. “Normally I’d berate you. You should never tell a mother-to-be how best to give birth as it should be an entirely mother-led affair. But I appreciate this is a learning experience and a little different to the norm…”

I looked up into Bruce’s eyes. “Can you give me a hand up?”

The next few minutes consisted of a lot of rolling around, getting picked up off the ground, Bruce and Gabby holding me tightly as I stood wide-legged, trying not to close tightly on the emerging head, and a 30-second pause as the next contraction worked its way through me – my head buried into Gabby’s shoulder as I muffled my yowl as a result.

“I need… need to take off my bra. It’s constricting” I whispered to Gabby. Part of me had a moment where I figured whilst I was wearing a bra I wasn’t ‘naked’ and felt that this was a final breaking point where I finally gave in to my base instincts and let the pregnancy take over. I had seen this moment dozens of times with mothers I had helped. It was always the first-timers. Another rite of passage I must go through, I figured.

Gabby didn’t hesitate. Her arms reached behind me, wiggled on the snaps and suddenly the fabric slid off my breasts, sliding down my belly and landing with a plop in front of me.

I stood up in front of Gabby and she couldn’t help but give a little involuntary blink at the sight in front of her. She pictured her own breasts from her shower this morning. Perky, pink-tipped things with tiny nipples. Mine, in comparison, had dark brown-ringed areole, long, puffy nipples almost the size of the end portion of her little finger… and they had stretch marks. She refused to comment, but this was one more physical change she noted was an after effect of the pregnancy.

Another push came upon me, my hands finding Gabby’s shoulders to hold as I dipped into a squatting position, which could be best described as a wide-stanced plié from ballet – my knees bending and my hips dropping low.

My head met her chest, and my groan reverberated through her. As it passed through me, I blew out a breath and looked up at Gabby. “Think I’m ready? Can you help me get down to the floor?”

As Bruce retook his position to give me somewhere to rest against, Gabby held my hands and lowered me down to his thighs. I settled into place as he found the gap between my breasts and belly to hug me close as Gabby got down onto her knees in front of me. She was almost at eye level with my waist and could see all the intimate details of my pussy stretched against the head poking its way out of me.

“It’s starting again” I gave a grunt as my feet found Gabby’s shoulders, using her almost as stirrups, Gabby in turn grabbing my ankles to help brace herself. Bruce changed the position of his hold so he was crossed arms, his left hand grasping my right breast and vice versa. I felt his thumb and forefinger of each hand find my nipples as the sensation caused me to groan, lightning sensations from my sensitive nubs coursing through my body and, somehow, finding their way between my legs.

Gabby sat wide-eyed as the white, compressed head between my tight lips moved a fraction wider as my eyes scrunched tight and tendons on my neck bulged as I gritted my teeth. She had a front and centre view as Matt had brought the camera around to get a straight on view of me all from above her head. I knew the head must have been almost out, the burning sensation had been growing and growing with each contraction since I had been on my hands and knees.

“How much- of the head- is out?” I managed between panted breaths, trying to focus on the pleasure of Bruce’s hands in the brief respite between contractions.

Gabby formed her hands into a circle that was far smaller than it had any right to be. “About this much.” She studied the remaining bulge behind the visible ring. “Still looks like there’s a lot left to go.”

An annoyed growl rumbled through me and Bruce soothed me with his touch. I wasn’t upset with Gabby, per se, more at my own ineffectiveness. Maybe it was silly, but part of me really believed that I would be better at this, that it would be easier for me because of what

I did and what I knew. But nothing was happening like it was supposed to, and as quick as the labor had been, the second stage seemed to be taking an eternity.

I knew I’d agreed to it, but this position was really not doing me any favors. My hips were pressed awkwardly into the ground and, the full weight of my stomach adding to the painful pressure despite the buried cushion. My feet on Gabby’s shoulders helped keep me open wide, but she was unpracticed and the angle wasn’t always quite right—she leaned forward as I bore down, pushed my knees so far up and out that they were pinned on either side of my belly, emphasizing the enormity of its curve.

“Wow, you are really working hard,” Gabby said suddenly, temporarily removing one of her hands from my ankle to lay on the surface of my tight stomach as I pushed. “You can actually see your whole stomach move up and down as you push.”

Matt moved the camera in closer, changing the angle slightly to better capture the way my belly scrunched up, its peak becoming sharper and higher even as the whole thing moved further down my body. It must have been quite a sight, getting every primal feminine bump—belly, breasts, and pussy—on full display, each heavy and full and straining with the process of giving birth.

Gravity was not on my side, and I could feel myself working harder than before to make any kind of progress. If the head had already truly crowned it would have been easier, but there was still a bit more stretching to do.

“Come on, girl, you’ve got this,” Gabby said, giving my ankles an encouraging rub even as I whined in frustration.

I reached down between my legs as I pushed again, pressing lightly against my distended clit as it stretched around the baby’s massive head. “Need help stretching,” I realized after several contractions with no progress.

“Wha- how?” Gabby asked, quickly going from confused to eager.

I moved my hand lower, tracing the outline of my stretched lips. “Here. If you can-“ I didn’t know how to explain, so I demonstrated the delicate motion that would push the thin skin further around the bulge.

“Doesn’t that… hurt?” she asked when I winced and hissed.

“Only a bit,” I lied, biting my lip to keep from crying out. This was necessary, and she might hesitate if she knew how much it fucking hurt. “I can’t reach with both hands.”

Gabby still looked skeptical, but I grabbed her hands and guided them to my opening. “Good thing I keep my nails trimmed short,” she commented, testing the give in my skin around the head and surprised that there was still any give.

I groaned, indicating that the next contraction was starting. I positioned Bruce’s hands back to cup my breasts, silently communicating my needs, before reaching back behind my head to grab onto Bruce’s shoulders in an imitation of how I might be holding onto our headboard if I was giving birth at home in our bed.

With the first brush of Bruce’s fingers against my nipples, the pain of the contraction skyrocketed, and I couldn’t stop the wail that came up my throat.

Bruce’s touches turned gentle, coaxing, as he instructed Gabby to, “Keep going, that means it’s working.”

I could’ve kissed him if I didn’t also want to strangle him—childbirth was complicated. Because Gabby’s hands were otherwise occupied, Bruce took over keeping my legs pulled back as I curled around my contracting stomach, face turning red and veins popping as I threw everything I had into the push. The burning stretch was almost so intense that the pain was numbed—almost—and finally I could feel when it crested as I reached a full crown.

I took a couple desperate breaths, but refused to lose the momentum. If I was still on my hands and knees, the rest of the head might have slipped out easily. As it was, it took several more long, hard pushes to get past the eyes, nose, mouth, and then finally the chin. Gabby’s cheers mixed with my cries as a gush of fluids erupted from between my legs. The floor, at least, was mostly waterproofed. Gabby, not so much. But she was all smiles as she cupped the newborn head in her hands.

The relief from the pressure and pain may have felt better than any orgasm, right there and then, at that minute. My head sank back into Bruce and I revelled in the success for just a brief moment.

There was still the shoulders and the body, I reminded myself. Not over yet.

I tuned back into the room as Gabby was making all sorts of celebratory noises to the room in general, and I felt the soft touches of her fingers probing around at the head between my legs.

“Feel for the cord” I announced, though my voice likely came out a lot quieter than expected in the general ruckus of the room.

“Come again?” Asked Gabby, her eyes and focus back on my face rather than my lower half.

“Check for the umbilical cord, should be nice and loose, not trapped. Baby still gets oxygen from my placenta until he’s fully out and he takes his first breath,” my voice recovered and explained - admittedly punctuated with heavy breathing, trying to recover from my ordeal.

Gabby gave a nod as I felt her fingers press deeper into my sore opening, to around the baby’s neck. I felt her finger hook over the cord and give a tug. The sensation felt completely alien to having it all happen with me rather than my acting on it externally, but I felt a warmth by the fact that I felt the cord pull away, suggesting it wasn’t caught tight.

“Seems to be loose” Gabby said. “Though I don’t know how much I should pull?”

“No… no, that’s enough” I gave a smile as response, which was soon replaced by a wincing grunt as the next contraction built up on me.

I pressed down into my hips, splaying my pelvic opening wide as I did an experimental push, feeling the shoulders press me from the inside. I reached down with a hand and felt the head, my fingers brushing against Gabby, who seemed reluctant to let go.

I pushed, harder than I expected if I was going to be honest with myself, and felt a popping sensation as the baby’s lower shoulder slipped out from between my legs.

My hand felt the baby’s chest fill it as it slid out, and I maintained the pressure of the push. The second shoulder gave a slick sound as it slid out of me, and suddenly I had half a baby out of me.

“Do I pull? Do you push?” Gabby was flustered, however I was unable to answer. I shook my head, a gesture that meant nothing in the context of what she just asked, but when she didn’t act on her own accord, I doubled down, taking a breath and pushing again as I felt the baby’s belly widening my opening until a strange slithering sensation followed as the baby’s long legs and feet slipped past my lips.

Suddenly it was all over. I was breathing hard, stunned into silence. Holding a hand onto my baby’s belly as Gabby did the manual handling work and lifted my baby up to my belly. My hand was suddenly clutching the wriggling form tight to my skin as a gurgling sound was soon followed by a piercing wail as the baby took its first breaths.

Gabby suddenly burst into tears - and both me and Bruce soon followed, the emotion of the moment taking over any sensible training I may have previously considered should the roles be reversed.

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