This is Love

I take a breather in the hospital car park where a four wheel drive has dropped to one side on its slashed tyres and the black easterly blows through the sheoaks. The coffee guy near Emergency impresses on me his work on the coalface of humanity. "Sometimes I'm not sure which Tiny Teddy biscuit to give customers. The ones with the legs broken off? Or half an ear missing? What happens if I give the wrong someone a Tiny Teddy with a sad face?"

At night the place is deserted. It's a still, quiet break for me. I wouldn't get that break if I were the one in labour and my daughter has been in labour for fourteen hours now. I go inside again. It's after midnight and I come up against a closed door.  The night nurse bails me up to ask me my business.
"I'm nearly, nearly a Grandma," I say, as I hoppityskip across the industrial carpet and he grins at me as he pings open the door.

"I can't do it!" she screams.
"But you are doing it!" I say.
The midwives at her feet are looking and nodding. "Yes, you are doing it fine, there's plenty of time .... now ... Go."
"I can't! I can't do it."
(Push)
"You are. You're doing it. You are doing it, darling."
(Push)