“DO NOT SAY FLUIDS!” I shrieked.
The midwife, a woman named Carla with arms like tree trunks and a braided crown that screamed “I run this damn delivery room,” looked up from between my legs and gave them the look.
“You two,” she snapped. “Outside.”
“No!” they said in unison, clutching each of my hands like I was being exorcised.
“Then zip it and hold the legs.”
“She means metaphorically, right?” Robert whispered.
“She does not,” I growled.
Rett obediently grabbed my right thigh, Robert took the left, and both looked like they were holding onto live wires.
Carla turned back to me with a completely different expression—soft, focused, warm.
“Okay, Pauline. You’re doing amazing. Baby number one is right there. With your next contraction, I want a big push. Like you’re trying to launc
