My mother was very carefully trying not to say anything about the situation.  She was being good.  She couldn't have not noticed the color scheme--the fluid had tinges of brown, the baby's first signs of stress.  Even so, it was mostly water.  We paced the apartment, squatting, me saying, fuck, Jesus. Wow, did it feel great to curse at Jesus, like why didn't you warn me the cross sucked this badly?