I read every Braille parenting book the shelf would spit at me, but I'm having difficulty remembering much of anything now. Shouldering the bag back onto the bed, I wander towards her, picking up the wet clothes and dumping them into the hamper before Zeus comes sniffing around.

"You're being very calm," I say, impressed. She's probably had a cooler head about this from the very start. I should follow her example, but the nerves of being a first-time parent keep my pulse fluttering in my throat. I just want to get her to the Clinic, to a doctor. Someone who knows what they're doing in case something goes wrong. "Do you need help?"