She is alone.

“Do you know how many calves are born each spring?” She has been asked by her mother. “Birthing is an every-female thing, women or animals all the same. Not some earth-shattering miracle. If you don’t want to suffer, don’t be born a woman.”

So with a farm to tend to, which is a daily dawn-to-dusk kind of job, her mother isn’t there with her.

Her husband is still working in the office. His workmates, all very traditional, have been giving him their opinions. Birthing is a woman’s business, what with the blood, screaming, crying, and God feces even! Men should avoid the birthing room, that dark womanly place. There are doctors and nurses. Avoid it if it can be helped.

So he settles with staying at work. Women crying and screaming also makes him angry although he tells that to no one.

Luckily for her the hospital is just at the other side of town. She manages to walk there as the contractions start.

Contractions are no joke but the militant head nurse gives her tell off: “what are you shouting for? You think you the first woman birthing a child? Be quiet!”

She is alone. No one is there to support her, or give the nurse a tell off back. So she grips hard on the handrail and tries to walk off the pain up and down the stairwell. Her pain is held to a quiet groan — uuuhmmm — like she is only trying to clear a ticklish throat. Down from inside her gown though, sweat is racing to the stairs. She quivers and convulses in pain, quietly, as she is told.

The pushing starts. Her nails dig into her palm, deep, then the skin breaks and blood comes out. No one notices. This really is messy business. She can’t believe how much pain. More than pain she can’t believe how lonely she feels. Do all women feel this lonely as they are becoming mothers? At last she cries out and screams.

Finally the baby comes. Dearie, not like a new born baby at all. Once washed up she is all smooth skin and delicate features, like she was carved by an artist! Even the head nurse smiles, “that is a beautiful baby.”

She asks for him. The nurse calls his office again. He asks right away, “boy or girl?” They don’t have ultrasound yet. It’s a reveal-at-birth kind of thing.

“Girl. A beaut…”

He hangs up the phone. He’s the first-born son. He must, must have a son. But now he will never hear the end of disappointments, because his worst nightmare comes true — a daughter.

She waits with the sleeping baby, famished. No one comes. At last the nurse brings her a cup of plain water, mixed with sugar. She drinks up. It is delicious.

Still, no one comes.