“Puuuussshhhh, Shannon. Come on, honey. You can do this. One more good one and you’ll be holding that beautiful baby girl in your arms.”
“Tired, Izzy. Can’t.”
“Come on, sweet woman. You know we talked about this. It’s always hardest before the beauty arrives.” Izabel squeezed Shannon’s hand and leaned in with her best “doula” tone.
“Oh, cut the crap! Put yourself in my place and then tell me ‘It’s beauty.’ It feels like Farmer Ryan’s calf is trying to push its way out!”
“Now, Shannon honey, you know Farmer Ryan has the sweetest calves on the island,” Izabel purred. “Give us one more strong push, okay?” She stroked the laboring mother’s forehead, then bent over, wincing, as a rogue contraction gripped her own belly.
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