House couldn't feel his legs.

He knew he was supposed to be doing something—there had been plans, explicit instructions. But for the first time in his life, his mind had gone completely blank.

Instead, he began randomly grabbing things from Cuddy's office—her coat, her purse. He momentarily grabbed a potted plant, stared at it, and then put it back down.

"What am I supposed to do?" he said, frantically.

He looked up at Cuddy.

She was on her phone.

"Right," she was saying calmly. "We'll meet you up there. Okay, bye-bye."

House kind of thrust the coat in her direction, to show that he had at least done something.

"House, I need you to focus," Cuddy said. "First, you're going to get a nurse to get me a wheelchair and you're going to wheel me up to obstetrics."

House nodded dumbly.

"Then you're going to call Julia and tell her to pick up Rachel and that overnight bag I packed."

House stared at her, blinked.

"Then you're going to call my mother."

House nodded, his eyes widening, but said nothing.

"Repeat it, House."

"I'm going to call Rachel and tell her to pick up your mother and Julia's overnight bag," he said.

"Close enough," Cuddy said, with a sigh.

#####

An hour later, House made his way to the DDx room, where his team was waiting for him.

"I thought you all might like to know that Cuddy is in labor," he announced.

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Taub said.

"What? You expect me to be one of those new age dads who brings a camcorder into the delivery room and cries over the miracle of childbirth?" House said.

"Well, at the very least I thought you'd be burning a hole in the rug in the waiting room," Taub said.

"Waiting rooms are for men who don't work at the hospital where their wife is giving birth," House said. "Catch me up on our patient."

The team exchanged looks, shrugged.

"Test came back negative for sarcoidosis," Chase said. "But there is increased inflammation in the lymph nodes."

"Hold that thought," House said.

He pulled out his cell phone, dialed.

From the delivery room, Dr. Gayle Newman, OB-GYN, received a page.

She looked at her phone.

"It's House," she said to Cuddy.

Cuddy smiled.

"Of course," she said.

"House, she's fine. Her contractions are five minutes apart now and everything is right on schedule."

"Okay, good," House said. "Keep me posted."

He turned back to his team.

"Theories?"

The team began batting around ideas about their patient's condition. Thirteen thought it was something viral, Foreman thought it was a cancer syndrome of some sort, Taub thought it was environmental.

"I hope Cuddy's labor is going better than this differential," House said. "Speaking of which. . . ."

He paged Gayle again.

His team watched him, amused.

"Nothing new to report since you last called 5 minutes ago," Gayle said.

"Keep me posted," House said again.

"Just a thought, pal," said Thirteen, when he got off the phone. "But maybe you want to be down there?"

"You do seem a little distracted," Foreman said.

"I'm fine," House said defensively. "I'm fully committed to this diagnosis. Have we considered sarcoidosis?"

"We told you that the test ruled it out," Chase said. "Remember?"

"Oh yeah. . .right," House said.

He began tapping a pencil against the table with a faraway look in his eyes.

"What's the normal duration of labor, for a first-time mother of a . . . certain age?" he asked.

Back in the delivery room, Gayle's pager went off again.

She looked down.

"House," she and Cuddy said in unison.

"Gimme," Cuddy said, gesturing with her hand.

Gayle handed her the phone.

"House, get your ass down here," Cuddy said.

"That's probably a good idea," House agreed.

#####

Charlie House was being stubborn.

Cuddy had been in labor for 14 hours and the little guy was refusing to come out.

Gayle said that if they went through the night without delivery, they might have to consider a C-section.

Cuddy was on the bed, strands of sweaty hair stuck to her forehead, out of breath, exhausted.

"C'mon baby, just push," House said her.

"Fuck you!" Cuddy screamed at him. "I've been pushing for 12 hours! You push!"

House gave Gayle an incredulous look.

"What's she yelling at me about?" he said.

"Don't worry," Gayle whispered, patting him on the arm. "It's completely normal. I'll be back in 15 minutes."

"I lied," Cuddy said to House when she left. "I don't want a natural childbirth. I want hard drugs. Now."

"Just say the word and I will steal Wilson's prescription pad," House said.

"Don't make me laugh," she said. "And if you say, 'I'm at your cervix' one more time, there will be a birth and a death in this room tonight."

"My bad," House said. He took Cuddy's hand. "C'mon girl. Just breath. Just like we, uh, never practiced together."

Cuddy breathed, gritted her teeth, gave another push.

Nothing.

"I know the problem," House said, when Gayle came back in the room. "It's this damn music."

Cuddy's iPod was hooked into a speakerset. The music was meant to help her relax. Right now Bach's Brandenburg Concerto was playing.

"May I?" House said.

He pulled out his own iPod, scrolled through the playlists.

Suddenly, a familiar rift and a duo of female voices came on the speakers.

Oooh baby, baby.

Oooh baby baby.

Ah, push it.

Push it good.

Push it real good.

"I told you not to make me laugh," Cuddy said, laughing.

"Let both Salt n Pepa be your guide," House said.

Cuddy closed her eyes, pushed again.

"I see his head!" Gayle said. "I see his head! Push, Lisa! Push!"

House got down low, banged on the bed, like a coach encouraging a runner to slide into third base.

"You got this Cuddy. You got this! Puuuuush!"

Cuddy let out a primal yell, pushed like she'd never pushed before, and the sound of a crying baby filled the room.

"Congratulations, mom and dad, you have a healthy baby son," Gayle said.

Cuddy collapsed back on the pillow, exhausted, looking spent but happy.

"Care to, Dr. House?" Gayle said, handing him the umbilical cord.

"It would be my pleasure," House said, cutting the cord.

He held the squirming baby in his hands.

"Cuddy, our baby is covered in goo," he said. "And he's got. . .three legs! Oh no. . . wait, that's just. . ."

"House," Cuddy warned.

The nurses weighed baby Charlie—a robust 7 pounds, 11 ounces—swaddled him a blue blanket, and handed him to Cuddy.

"He's beautiful," she sighed. It was true. Some babies came out of the womb smooshed and red and wrinkly. Charlie, however, was pink and smooth with enormous cobalt-blue eyes that were already wide open.

"Yeah," House said.

He looked at his wife—the love of his life—and his son, and felt his own eyes grow moist.

"Screw it," House said. "I'm that guy."

He took out his cell phone, took a picture.

"You did it," he said to Cuddy, kissing her, kissing baby Charlie.

"We did it," she said.

Charles Winston House had arrived.