“Shhh, you’re okay,” I told her, rocking back and forth, working through a contraction with her. “You’re okay.”

In fact, she was better than okay. I was impressed. Though I didn’t share my mother’s disdain of doctors and hospitals, there was something to admire about a woman’s determination to stick to her guns to have a natural home birth. She was certainly being tested. As I rocked back and forth with her, an unexpected feeling came over me. A feeling that I was an integral part of something. Something greater than myself.

“You’re amazing, Agnes.” Even as I spoke, the words sounded like they had come from someone else. “You’re doing it. Soon, the pain will be over, but you’ll have done something extraordinary. I’m very proud of you.”

It was an odd thing for a teenager to say to a woman in her twenties or thirties. But it just came out. Odder was the fact that she responded to it. She nodded. She believed me.

By the time Grace returned to the room, Agnes was feeling pressure in her pelvis.

“Looks like you’re ready to push your baby out, Agnes,” Grace said. “Let’s get you into position.”

To my surprise, Agnes looked at me. “Is it best to stand while I deliver too?”

“It’s best to be in whatever position feels right to you,” I said, not missing a beat. I felt Grace staring, but I didn’t break Agnes’s gaze. “So you tell us.”

She frowned as she thought. “I’d like to squat.”

When Agnes was in position, squatting over the end of the bed with her husband and me at each side, Grace raised her eyebrows at me. “Go ahead.”

“Really?” I mouthed.

Grace nodded. If she had any concerns, she kept them well hidden. It bolstered my confidence. Maybe, just maybe, I could do this. I paused, trying to think what to say. But when Agnes whimpered, the words just came.

“Try to blow while you push,” I said, kneeling by Grace’s side at Agnes’s feet. “We don’t want the baby to come too fast or it can cause a tear.”

Agnes did as I said. Grace moved to the side as the baby emerged, and I continued to guide Agnes, drawing on words of support that had obviously been buried deep in my subconscious. By the time the baby boy spilled into my arms, I knew. Women were warriors. And I wanted to be part of it.

*   *   *

Erin lay on the operating table, gripping her husband’s hand. She blinked up at me tearily. “What’s happening?”

I peeked over the curtain. Sean’s forehead was gently pinched in concentration. Beside him, Marion, a gossipy middle-aged nurse who for some reason I’d taken an instant disliking to upon meeting, stood, suction at the ready. Patrick was in the corner, whispering to Leila, a pediatric nurse, who was chuckling. Everyone was going about their business, and the atmosphere told me everything was well. Still, I knew the patients liked to hear it from the doctor’s mouth.

“How’s it going, Dr. Cleary?” I asked Sean.

“We’ll have this little one out in a minute,” he said. “The heart rate has stabilized.”

I squeezed Erin’s hand and smiled at her husband, Angus. “Did you hear that? You’re in good hands.”

“Very good hands,” Marion echoed. “Dr. Cleary is one of the best doctors in the country.”

Marion smiled preemptively at Sean. But when he kept his head down, her smile thinned. Marion made it her business to stay on the right side of doctors, if only to give the impression that she had more clout around the hospital than she actually did. It drove her crazy that Sean didn’t buy into it, particularly as he wasn’t opposed to a bit of hero worship. What she didn’t know was that he was a private person and his disdain for gossip took priority over his need to have his ego stroked. It was one of many things I liked about him.

On the operating table, Erin started to well up. “I just wanted so much to do this myself.”

I squatted down beside her. Erin’s two older sisters had delivered their children at the birthing center. Of all my clients, this family had perhaps been the most moved by the experience. Both sisters had raved about the transformative quality of natural birth, and about how afterwards, they’d felt superhuman. I knew Erin had hoped that she would experience this superhuman feeling today. And I was going to make sure that she did.

“I know. But Dr. Cleary said everything looks good. We’re lucky that we have access to expert medical attention when complications arise. The most important thing is that your baby is safe.”

A tear dripped onto the table. “But why did complications arise? What did I do?”

I felt a stab of resentment toward my mother and her bitter diatribe about doctors and hospitals. While I was a huge fan of a natural birth where it was possible, I was a huger fan of doing what was safest for mothers and babies. Some women chose to have a C-section, some needed one for their own, or their baby’s, health. Scaremongering and quoting intervention statistics did a lot more harm than good, in my opinion.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, okay?” I lowered my voice. “That superhuman feeling people describe? It has nothing to do with the way the baby comes out. It’s about what happens to the mother. You become superhuman. You’ll grow extra hands and legs to look after your baby. You’ll definitely grow an extra heart for all the love you’ll feel.” Erin was watching me intently. “The second you see this baby, you won’t care if it came out your stomach or your nose.” About this, I was certain. “You’ll feel it, I promise you. Just wait and see.”

“A nasal delivery?” Sean’s voice was loud and contemplative through the screen. “Is that what you midwives get up to in your birthing center? I always thought you lot were a little unorthodox.”

Erin’s lips curved up slightly. That was another thing I liked about Sean. He knew when and how to lighten a mood.

“Here we go,” he said, and a tiny cry came through the thin sheet. Erin sucked in a breath as a little face appeared over the top of the curtain. “No! Already?”

“It’s a boy!” Sean said with delight that was hard to feign. “Just a bit of cord around his middle. He’s fine.”

“A boy!” Erin cried. “Did you hear that, Angus? It’s a boy.”

I stood and peeked over the screen. Sean handed Patrick the baby and he carried him over to the baby warmer. “He’s a good size,” I said. “Looks perfectly healthy. The pediatrician and nurses are checking him out, but I’ll go hurry them along. We want him in your arms as soon as possible.”

“Oliver,” Erin said. “His name is Oliver.”

I nodded. “I’ll bring Oliver back as soon as I can.”

Leila, the pediatric nurse, was rubbing Oliver with a warm towel while Patrick did the suction. He was pinking up beautifully. “Looks good,” I said.

“Yes,” Patrick said. “Very good.”

“Making you broody, Dr. Johnson?” Marion said. “My daughter Josie is about your age, you know.”

My gaze bounced to Patrick’s, but I quickly looked away. What was I doing, getting territorial over Patrick? Just because he slept on my couch occasionally didn’t mean he was in my jurisdiction.

“If she’s a daughter of yours, Maz,” Patrick said, “she’s too good for a scoundrel like me.”

“Far too good,” Sean echoed.

“She could do worse, of course,” Patrick said. “Then again, Sean isn’t single.”

Both men had smiles in their voices, but there was truth in their words. How two people could be such good friends but be so competitive at the same time was beyond me.

“Now,” Patrick said to the baby, “let’s see how you are doing, little fella.”

As with Sean, Patrick’s delight in his job was obvious. As he checked Oliver over—testing reflexes, rotating his hips—he chatted continuously, telling the baby what he was going to do before he did it. He spoke in a natural voice, the kind he would use over a beer with an old friend. Leila stared unashamedly. Even I could admit, there was something sexy about a man who was comfortable with a baby.