Judy Baer - Oh, Baby!

“Is Dr. Reynolds here?” Brenda wondered impatiently. “I thought he would have been in to check on me by now.” Ever the professional, she had no doubt worked out a schedule of her own. I just hope she hasn’t made any appointments for tomorrow.

“He’s in the building.”

“Don’t you just love him?” she asked as another contraction subsided. “He is so adorable.”

“Adorable?” I’d never heard him described like that. Abhor-able, maybe, or just plain horrible. Never adorable.

“Actually, I’ve never worked with him before. Bradshaw General hasn’t seen as many doulas as some of the other hospitals.” Although Bradshaw is one of the smaller private hospitals in the city, it is also one of the best. “Usually Dr. Reynolds doesn’t recommend doulas to his patients.”

Brenda waved a dismissive hand. “That’s only because he’s so protective of us. He says he doesn’t want anyone around who might disrupt the labor and delivery. My friend Sheila had a baby here last month, and she couldn’t say enough good things about him. He’s a bit of a fanatic about it, but I told him that there’d be no labor and delivery at this hospital for me if I couldn’t have you, so he gave in.”

So that’s how I’d gotten here. It wouldn’t make me any more welcome in Dr. Reynolds’s eyes, I’m afraid. I might as well add to my business card

Molly Cassidy, Certified Doula,

Nuisance, Troublemaker and

Unwelcome Guest.

Oh, well, women have crossed picket lines, gone to the North Pole in dogsleds, climbed Mount Everest and flown into outer space. I can certainly attempt to convince Dr. Reynolds that he is mistaken not to welcome doulas. Of course, heroic things always come at a cost.

Feeling very much like Amelia Earhart leading the way for other women and well aware I might crash and burn for the sake of those who followed, I offered Brenda a massage and hoped this baby would be born so smoothly and quickly that Dr. Reynolds didn’t have time to notice me.

That was, of course, not to be.

At 2:00 p.m. Brenda’s husband, Grant, arrived from the airport. He’d taken the first plane he could catch from Madrid where he’d been shepherding a group of students from a local Spanish immersion school. He came in looking tired but excited.

“Did I make it?”

His wife gave him a don’t-you-ever-speak-to-me-again look and started her choo-choo-train imitation again.

“Just in time. Her contractions are coming close together.”

He flopped onto the chair. “We were scheduled to leave Madrid tomorrow but I was lucky to catch an early plane back.”

His wife was mumbling under her breath. I didn’t tell him that she was muttering things like “should have stayed in Spain” and “you’ll never touch me again.” That’s another wonderful thing about childbirth. It’s energetic, strenuous, exhausting, painful—and completely forgettable once you have a baby in your arms. He would be back in her good graces again when they heard that first beautiful cry.

Within moments of Brenda’s husband’s appearance and her wishing a plague upon his head—which many women seem to do in the last stages of birth—Dr. Reynolds arrived.

He entered so regally and with so much confidence that I almost stood up and saluted.

I’ve always thought a doctor in a tie and lab coat is attractive, and Dr. Reynolds is no exception. In fact, he may be the standard to which other docs should aspire. His tailored trousers were navy, his shirt white, crisply starched. His dark hair has a natural curl but was combed into submission except for a naughty cowlick at the crown of his head. His eyes are a deep, devastating blue and fringed with short black lashes. A charming smile, too. It’s no wonder women drive many miles to his office. The scenery alone is worth the trip.

Then my attention fell on his tie. I blinked twice, thinking my eyes were deceiving me. But no, there was actually a sea of little faces staring back at me.

Brenda noticed, too. “Your tie, it’s…full of babies.”

He glanced down at his chest. “My former nurse made it. She used to give me one for Christmas every year. It’s a collage of pictures of babies I’ve delivered. She had the photos transferred onto fabric.”

Aww… How can I be upset with a man who loves babies enough to wear a tie like that?

“I see things are progressing nicely.”

Brenda stared fixedly at the lollipop and panted heavily. “Nicely for who?” she muttered through gritted teeth. I turned away to hide the grin teasing the corners of my mouth.

Grant reached out to pat his wife’s hand. Her eyes widened. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped. “Only Molly touches me.” It wasn’t so much a statement as a snarl.

I winced as everyone’s attention turned to me. So much for staying in the background and not causing trouble.

Those blue eyes were suddenly cold as the polar ice cap.

“So this is the doula.” Dr. Reynolds’s voice was flat and hostile. He might as well have said, “So this is the virus you’ve been talking about.”

“Ms….” He waited for me to fill in the blank.

Our previous encounters hadn’t even registered with him. Maybe I can dislike a guy secure enough to wear babies on his tie.

“Cassidy, Molly Cassidy. How do you do, Dr. Reynolds. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” He looked at me frostily. “Well, just as long as you stay out of the way.” Then he dismissed me completely despite the fact that Brenda was hanging on to my hand for dear life.

That went swimmingly, I thought, and turned back to Brenda, praying that not only would this birth be smooth and successful, but also that the chilly Dr. Reynolds wouldn’t toss me out on my ear.

“Why is this taking so long?” Brenda whined a half hour later. Everything seemed to have ground to a halt laborwise. “Doesn’t this child have any sense of time?”

“They usually don’t come out with a degree in time management,” Dr. Reynolds said calmly. “Or even a wristwatch.” He’d remained surprisingly close to the labor room, even staying to talk football with Grant and baby names with Brenda.

“Make something happen, will you?” Brenda, like many lawyers, was not accustomed to letting nature takes its course.

“It is happening,” Reynolds said with composure as he studied the printout from the fetal monitor. “Just more slowly than you’d like.” His unruffled presence spoke volumes. Even though he didn’t want me here, I felt better knowing that Brenda was in his hands. He is an approach/avoidance kind of guy—babies on his tie and fire in his eyes.

She cast her gaze around the room and it landed on me. “Then you do something, Molly.”

“I can read to you.”

Brenda’s expression grew peevish. “Sing.”

“You have got to be kidding!” her husband, Grant, bleated, but she stared him down.

Dr. Reynolds turned away and I could see the smirk on his otherwise gorgeous features.

“Show tunes.”

My mouth worked but nothing came out.

“Brenda,” I finally managed, “I don’t know any show tunes.”

“You’re a doula,” Dr. Reynolds interrupted. “I thought you do ‘anything’ for a client.”

“That’s not what I meant….”

They both stared at me. Brenda looked expectant; Reynolds, maddeningly amused.

If I did it, I’d make a fool of myself. If I didn’t, well, Brenda would be unhappy and Reynolds would have more fuel for the fire.

Never let it be said I don’t stand up to a challenge. Unfortunately I’ve never been one to actually memorize all the words to any song except for a couple, and they weren’t show tunes.

“‘The farmer in the dell, the farmer in the dell, hi-ho, the dairy-o…’”