I Can’t Do This Without You (When You’ve Reached the End of Yourself)

I clutched the minivan door handle as if my life depended on it. A life was depending on it. The life of my unborn daughter—Baby Cinco, our Songbird. It was two weeks before her due date according to my calculations (three if you ask the Doc).

I was in active labor and the contractions weren’t letting up. In true tightly wound fashion, I told Adam to call the hospital and let them know we were on our way and to be ready. I was not going to wait around at registration to answer ridiculous que...