I needed both hands on the wheel, even though I wanted to hold her hand. Her cries of pain and ritual concentration were too close together for comfort, especially when I know that we’re 19 minutes away from the birthing center–at best.
“Don’t worry, hun,” I say to my wife, with a squeeze to her thigh. “We’re going to make it. We’re going to make it.”
We’re not going to make it, I thought, frantic. She screamed again. This one was worse than before. We actually might not make it. Read the rest of this post …