I started early labor on January 7th, with mildly painful contractions gradually getting closer together, but not strong enough to really move things along. This had happened with Luke and Lucy as well, and I'd spent two very long days waiting for "active labor" to begin with each of them.

Daryl didn't know what to do with himself as I paced and cleaned and bent over to ease the back ache when the contractions came. Eventually I went down to my parents' house so that he'd feel like I was taken care of and could distract himself with some work. I finished knitting another soft blanket for the baby, and looked again at the list of names I'd come up with. Daryl had shrugged when I asked his opinion, and said he didn't care - whatever I wanted was fine. I'd asked about using his mom's name if it was a girl, which was Marie, and he'd shaken his head but otherwise he had no preference.

I'd borrowed and laundered hand-me-down cloth diapers from my sisters' kids, as well as a few gender-neutral outfits. Daryl had crafted a three-sided bassinet that attached to our bed as a co-sleeper, something I'd used and loved with Lucy, so I felt fairly prepared. Herschel had left a large piece of washable waterproof sheeting at the cabin a few days before, and we had plenty of clean cloths set aside.

My water broke at exactly noon on January 8th while I was standing in the kitchen hugging Maggie, who had just found out she was also pregnant. We both looked down at the sound of water hitting the floor, and she jerked her head up with big eyes. "It's fine," I reassured her, "but maybe you could walk me up to the cabin, and then find Daryl."

Luke and Lucy's labor had really kicked in as soon as my water broke, and had last 6 and 8 hours, respectively, so I knew there would be plenty of time. We took the walk to the cabin slowly, pausing while I breathed through a contraction, but found Daryl splitting wood outside. "Her water broke!" Maggie blurted out, and he went slightly pale under his tan.

"Relax" I assured both of them calmly. "This isn't going to be over anytime soon. Maggie, can you let Jenny know to go notify the midwife? And maybe give your dad a heads up?" She nodded and left, somewhat eager to hand me over to Daryl.

I began pacing the cabin, stopping to bend over a chair or the bed and breathe through each contraction as they gradually built in intensity. After about 30 minutes they were painful enough that I was whimpering and Daryl, who had alternated been rubbing my back and hovering nervously by the door announced that he was going to go get Herschel. "Daryl," I said through gritted teeth, "this is going to go on for eight hours. Just sit down and get comfortable."

He rubbed his face and nodded, but didn't sit down, choosing instead to lean against the wall near the door and fidget with some bolts he'd been working on the night before. I continued pacing, occasionally resting on the bed between contractions as they continued to get more painful. Eventually I reached the dreaded vomiting stage, followed by intense dizziness and the feeling that I was going to pass out from pain.

Herschel arrived at some point, and informed me that Jenny hadn't been able to locate the midwife yet, but was still trying. I didn't particularly care right then - the vertigo had mercifully passed but the pain was intense enough that I was muffling guttural screams in my pillow at the height of each contraction.

My mom also arrived, and fussed over Daryl for a while, concerned that he was going to pass out himself. She'd been there for my other two births and was used to Raph's squeamishness but Daryl waved her off. He'd moved to a chair at the table, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, head bent most of the time. When I'd start screaming or sobbing through a contraction he'd look up as if he was forcing himself to watch.

I was so exhausted I couldn't keep walking, so my mom had stripped the bed and laid down the protective sheet, and they'd propped me up with pillows so I was mostly seated, trying to let gravity help. I was drenched in sweat, despite the cold weather, and stripped down to just one of Daryl's shirts, which I figured worked as well as a hospital gown.

After about five hours, Herschel examined me and announced that I was dilated to about 8 centimeters, which meant I was in transition, and nearing the end. I felt completely out of it, unable to focus on anything except the pain, which was basically constant, with almost no breaks between contractions. My voice was hoarse, and I was pretty sure I'd shocked my mother with all the 'fucks' I'd screamed.

A short time later I felt the overwhelming need to push, a feeling I remembered well from my previous babies. It's something I'd marveled at later, and reflected on as beautiful - your body takes over and does something you've never learned to do before, and you can't stop it. "I have to push" I gritted out breathlessly, and Herschel nodded, moving to the end of the bed. My mother shifted the pillows so I could be as upright as possible, and I braced my legs on the posts of the bed.

The noises one is capable of while pushing a baby's head out of their vagina are remarkable. There's a deep connectedness to your body, the earth, and all the other women who've gone through the same experience, in the midst of intense pain and pressure. I pushed, pulling the last of my strength from somewhere, and heard Herschel say he could see the head. I felt my muscles prepare to push again and reached out blindly to hold on to something, which ended up being Daryl's hand. I hadn't noticed that he was next to Herschel, but gripped him as hard as I could and pushed, sobbing. A sudden release of pressure, rush of fluid, and soft "there!" from my mother, and the baby was out.

I heard the familiar newborn wail, Daryl whisper, "Jesus fucking Christ" and I opened my eyes to see through the blur that Herschel was holding the baby, wiping it off gently while he examined it carefully, and then handed it to Daryl to cut the umbilical cord. I had let go of his hand and collapsed back on the pillows, unable to do anything but blink dazedly at the commotion. "A healthy baby girl" Herschel said, giving my mother a hug. "Thank fucking god" Daryl said quietly and Herschel didn't even reprimand him for his language.

Daryl finally looked away from the bundle in his arms and met my eyes, and I realized he had tears in his. I had the uncontrollable post-delivery tears too, mixed with sheer joy, though I was too exhausted to pay attention to anything except the figures in front of me. Daryl sat carefully on the edge of the bed and I peered at the tiny perfect face, scrunched up and red. She was still streaked with some blood and fluids but she was beautiful. I looked up at Daryl, who seemed mesmerized, and leaned my head against his shoulder, tired enough that my eyes drifted shut.

"What's her name?" I asked sleepily, and Daryl said without hesitation, "Grace. Grace Marie." It was one of the names from my list, which he'd apparently studied more than I'd realized. I looked up at him, still holding our perfect daughter, and shifted over so he could sit more fully next to me on the bed. Herschel and my mother had been cleaning me up, Herschel putting in a couple stitches that I hardly felt, and had moved away from us a bit, giving us some space.

Daryl set Grace down on the bed between us, and she squirmed, already rooting. "Hi Gracie-girl" I murmured, stroking her cheek. I unbuttoned my shirt and let her latch on, feeling the familiar sensation of milk letting down. My head rested on the pillow and I pulled Daryl's hand over both of us to rest on my hip, letting myself drift off in a light sleep wrapped in the security of having them both with me.