wrong?” Mark flung back the curtain and stepped forward, just as the nurse was removing her gloves. “That was quick, Juliet. You’re almost eight centimeters dilated.”
“What’s that mean?” Mark asked.
“It means I’m in transition,” Juliet said. “And it’s too late for an epidural.”
“It also means her labor is progressing faster than usual, especially for a first baby. I’d better call Dr. Hart. It could be a quick delivery.”
Mark’s heart dropped to the floor. The baby was coming?
Now?
The nurse hadn’t seemed too worried, but then she was probably trained to stay calm in front of patients. But before Mark could give the scary situation much thought, Dr. Hart entered the room and things began happening at a pretty good clip.
He probably ought to slip out during the hubbub and let everyone do their job, but a particularly hard contraction struck, and Juliet’s pain-filled gaze latched onto him like a drowning woman grasping for lifeline.
Mark couldn’t move, couldn’t leave. As if having a mind of their own, his feet slowly made their way to her bedside. “Hang on, honey. You’re doing great. The baby will be here soon.”
That ought to be a comfort for her, but it brought on another flurry of anxiety for Mark. Would the baby be okay? Would it have all its fingers and toes? Would they whisk it away to some baby ICU?
He didn’t know how much time had passed. It didn’t seem like very long to him. All he knew was that Juliet didn’t appear to be hurting as bad.
“I feel like I have to push,” she said.
“Hold on a minute.” Dr. Hart prepared for delivery, then glanced at Mark. “Are you going to stay in here?”
“Who me?” Mark asked.
“I’d…like you…to stay,” Juliet said, her voice coming out in huffs and puffs. “If you’re…okay with it.”
Hell, he ought to escape while he had a chance. But he’d been with her throughout this ordeal. And he’d never been one to cut out in the last ten minutes of a movie—especially one that kept the audience on the edge of their seats.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll stay.”
Beth Ann got on one side of Juliet and asked Mark to stand on the other. “We’re going to help her push.”
Help her push? What in the hell had he gotten himself into?
“I’ll show you how.” The nurse watched the doctor, like a runner on second looked at the third base coach.
“All right,” Dr. Hart said. “Let’s go.”
Mark wasn’t sure what was happening, but he stayed by Juliet’s side, holding her legs, helping her push and strain. Before long, he could see the dark hair of a little head emerging, and his pulse surged with excitement. “Good job, honey.”
About four contractions and a whole lot of pushing later, a tiny baby girl slid into the doctor’s hands. She was kind of purple, and her head was misshapen—a scary mess, in Mark’s opinion. He thought they ought to hide it from Juliet, but everyone was oohing and aahing, like everything was just the way it was supposed to be.
When the baby let out an angry wail, Mark realized he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. Nor one that was more precious.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, assuming that it was, since everyone continued to smile and make light of the baby’s color and the shape of her head.
“They’re doing fine.” Dr. Hart laid the naked infant on Juliet’s stomach. “Do you want to cut the cord, Mark?”
He glanced at Juliet, saw her beaming like a blessed Madonna. He couldn’t very well pass on what appeared to be a special opportunity. “Sure.”
The doctor handed him scissors, indicating where to cut, and Mark snipped the cord, freeing the tiny baby and making her an individual.
“Time?” Dr. Hart asked, as she continued to work on Juliet.
“Nineteen twenty-eight,” another nurse said.
It was enough to make a grown man choke up. God, had he ever felt so blessed to be a part of something so special?
Beth Ann whisked the baby to a little bassinette-type bed. All the while, the little one screamed.
Mark made his way to the infant’s side, just to make sure she was all right. Not that he could be of any help, but he wanted to see for himself.
After suctioning out the little mouth, Beth Ann went to work, listening to the tiny chest, among other things. Then she placed the baby on a scale. “Four pounds, eleven ounces.”
Was that big enough? Mark wondered. She looked awfully tiny to him.
Beth Ann took a paper tape measure and stretched out the poor little girl, making Mark think of Popeye and Bluto tugging on Olive Oyl as they fought over her.
“Seventeen and a half inches long,” Beth Ann said.
“She’s petite,” Dr. Hart said. “But she sounds spunky.”
“Like her mother,” Mark said, admiring the tiny head of thick dark hair, the button nose, the rosebud lips. What a precious little face.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, marveling at the baby girl, while making sure she had just the right number of fingers and toes. But he remained long enough for the doctor to finish tending Juliet and for another nurse to put the room back in order, just like there’d never been a delivery.
A young woman with auburn hair entered the room and introduced herself to Juliet as Dr. Hodsman, a pediatrician. Then she proceeded to flip the newborn around like a rag doll, or so it seemed to Mark. He wondered if he ought to say something, tell the doctor to be more careful.
Weren’t people supposed to hold a baby’s head and neck? Watch out for soft spots? Not that he was an expert.
The pediatrician listened to the little girl’s heart and lungs, then bent her legs at the knees and hips. The baby continued to fuss, and Mark couldn’t help thinking the doctor might break a bone or pop a joint out of the socket.
“She may be nearly five weeks premature,” the pediatrician said, “but her lungs are fully developed. She does have a little foot that turns in, probably because of the way she was curled up in the womb.”
Something was wrong with her little foot?
Mark peered into the clear plastic bassinette where the baby lay naked, legs and arms reaching out for someone. Her mom. Or him. But no one seemed to notice.
Her right ankle turned in. Was Juliet’s baby going to be crippled? Would she need surgery to correct it?
“It’s
