holding the flashlight

Today I was splashed by a baby.

She didn't mean to splash me. It just happened. This beautiful little girl was too busy being pushed out of her mommy to even notice me. But I noticed her.

I first met her when the doctor asked me to reposition the overhead light. It was only the very top of her curly-haired head, wet with fluids and mineral oil the nurse had poured to help the delivery, but it was her. Mom cries, "Pleeeease just pull her out of me! Please!" We tell her she's doing great, that the baby's almost here. The next contraction comes. Mom grabs my shirt and almost pulls me onto the table. I give mom my hand, plant my feet and help her hold her leg up.

Push! The little girl's head pops out, this time for a few seconds before retreating back into mom. Grandma and sister and aunt are cheering. Dad, looking a bit faint, is fanning mom with a bandage. "Push again! We're almost there!" the doctor yells. Mom screams, "Mama!", puts Grandma in a headlock (no kidding), and becomes a mom with one final push. And then, the little girl splashed me.

With one final mighty push from her mother, this little marvel of life enters the world in a storm of fluid and blood and squeals and you can just feel the love and oh my god she's here and I'm here and wow and the baby looks good and give her to mom and dad needs to sit down and the baby's crying and we like that and where's that nipple and Grandma says "That's (grandchild) number 13!" and sister's taking pictures and I'm standing there watching the placenta come out of the mommy and up to the baby and give dad the scissors and he's not really sure what to do and snip!

that's one cute baby girl.

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