“Oh, God, How long is it going to be?” Pete said on his umpteenth traversal of the fathers’ waiting room. “She was almost six centimeters dilated, and the contractions were coming every five minutes when I was last in there.”
Sam winced. He didn’t want the details, but Pete and Billy had—with Zack’s encouragement—attended all Beth’s Lamaze classes. The past few months had seen endless discussions about birthing techniques, the right time to push and pant. Choice of temperature, position…Sam shook his head.
“Maybe I should go back in there,” Pete said.
“Uh, didn’t she scream at you and tell you that you were a f*****g pansy-assed wimp and to never come within a hundred yards of her ever again?” Sam pointed out, quite reasonably he thought.
“She’s just stressed because of the labor.”
S
