Page 59 of The Catcher
Tanner let him go. “I paid you extra because youguaranteedyou were going to be here for her labor,” he said. “So you will be here for her labor.”
“All fucking right,” Dr. Jansen said irritably. “You know, some husbands faint during this part,” he added nastily.
“Not me,” my husband said grimly, coming up with my go bag and handing me a cup of the good ice to suck on.
He still had his baseball uniform on and he smelled like dirt and smoke and slick sweat, and I let out a sigh of relief.
Time seemed to move oddly, and my world narrowed to only
Pant-pant-blow
Pant-pant-blow
Pant-pant-blow
Pant-pant-blow
And the feel of my husband’s hand on me, the dirt from his fingers ground into my shoulder, the little grit and scrapes focusing my breathing.
I felt the low, painful pressure and an irresistible urge to push.
“That’s right, Mrs. Courtenay,” the doctor said. “You can push now.”
I pushed, crying and sobbing with each attempt, but I was so exhausted and weak.
It seemed like no matter how hard I pushed Dr. Jansen and the nurses said it wasn’t hard enough.
“You better push, Mrs. Courtenay,” Dr. Jansen said. “Or we are going to have to prep for a C-section.”
“I can’t,” I cried, “I can’t push any harder.”
Then I felt my husband’s hands on me, tightening on my shoulder.
“Yes, you can,” he said sternly. “Now, push on my count, Em. Push as hard as you can.”
Tanner counted to three, then he said:
Push
And it was my husband and it was Tanner Courtenay, and I did what he said, clutching his hand as hard as I could and bearing down until I didn’t recognize my own voice.
“Good job, baby girl,” Tanner said approvingly, and I pushed again, even harder, feeling my legs tremble and the pain sear through my body.
“That’s right, I can see the head!” Dr. Jansen yipped, but I was only listening to my husband’s deep voice.
“One more time, Em. Do it now.”
And I bore down and I felt a wet pop and then a relief so intense I gasped in joy.
“That was perfect, Mrs. Courtenay,” Tanner said, and he dropped a kiss on my sweaty forehead, moving to get our baby from the doctor and put her in my arms.
She looked perfect, head full of dark curls, and I snuggled her under my chin.
“God, she’s beautiful,” I cried, and I was delighted to see her little eyes open and they were a distinctive silver-gray. I rubbed my chin on her soft head as my husband bent down to put his arms protectively around both of us, growling “my good girl” and “my sweet breeder wife” over and over in my ears until I was shivering and laughing with joy.