It's been 7-hours and each hour the contractions have gotten worse and worse and closer and closer together. So far the foetal monitor has been normal. I know that some women would have qualms, but I'm a firm believer in the comforts of modern medicine as I accept small amounts of pain medication.

"You're 7 cm dilated, Bev. Just a little bit longer. We're going to start an IV with fluids just to be on the safe side."

"Mmm," I nod my head. Another contraction hits me and I can't do anything but lean back into the solid form of my husband. I try to focus on the soft circles he's rubbing on my back. I feel the heat radiating off of his chest and his breath on my neck. He holds out his hand to me and I grasp it in a death grip. The poor man's not going to have the use of his fingers after today; I'll have crushed every single one of them.

I barely feel the IV cannula enter my arm. "How much?" I croak out.

Hope looks up and smiles, "You're almost at the magic number – you're at 9.8 cm!"

I remember this part from my last pregnancy and thing's are progressing about the same. A dull pain sits in my lower back and I feel nauseated. I'm hot and I can feel beads of sweat trickle down my temples before Jean Luc smoothes the away. He kisses my forehead and tells me he loves me and that he's proud of me. I don't hear his exact words, but the sound of his voice is comforting.

"I need to push!" I grit out.

"Not yet! Beverly Don't push yet! Just a few more minutes. Just breathe."

I'm exceedingly frustrated. I've been given a mild painkiller, but I'm still in agony. I try breathing, but it's no use. I try squeezing my poor husband's bruised metacarpals, but nothing's helping.

"Okay, Bev!" Hope looks up from the bottom of the delivery table and smiles, "Push!"

I feel my husband press up against my back and I lean into the movement. It's hard work and I can tell that I'm crying. Giving birth is one of the most oxymoronic experiences that a woman will ever endure. It's incredibly beautiful and life affirming, but it's messy and slightly undignified. But I don't care. Not right now. I just want to meet this little human and get this over with!

Once I start pushing, I can feel the baby move down the birth canal. Since it's my second baby, the process is a little easier. The worst part is going to be the shoulders.

"I see the head!" I give out a small whimper of relief and collapse in exhaustion into my husband.

"Not yet, Bev. We're not done yet! Give me another big push."

I'm tired and I just want this to be over. My emotions are all over the place, "I can't," I whine.

"Yes you can," I hear the soft encouragement of my husband as he props me up and positions me for the next series of efforts. I muster what energy I have left and lean into the movement.

"Head's out! You're almost done, Bev. Give me one more."

I repeat the effort, mustering strength from an unknown source.

"Bev, if you give me one more big one then we can be done! The shoulders are in position."

The end is in sight and that in itself gives me the energy for one last monumental push. I feel a tugging and a wave of overwhelming discomfort as I cry out in pain. Once the shoulders are out, Hope guides the baby easily the rest of the way.

I collapse against Jean Luc in a combination of utter contentment and exhaustion. I look over at Hope as I hear a loud, lusty cry ring through the delivery room and it's then that I can't help but cry myself. I fear wet hot tears on my neck as I look up my husband. His eyes are bloodshot, wet, and completely puffy as his tears meander down his cheeks.

"Jean Luc, Beverly," Hope whispers as she brings over the crying infant, "meet your daughter."