I sometimes am not even aware of speaking, but I usually find myself talking to it, saying, "Hello, baby! Welcome to the world! We've been waiting for you!" Cradling it in my arms, feeling it warm and sticky against my sterile gown, is amazing.
This moment is heady, sure, but the instants that come next are intoxicating. Twice, now, I've gotten to hand the baby directly to the mother, through her legs to a waiting blanket on her chest. I go from the main stage to side show immediately, and I love watching the mother's face when I give her her child.
The love is pouring out of her. If love were electromagnetic waves, and if our eyes had love-cones and love-rods, the moment when I hand over the child to the mother would be blinding. The dads, too, are radiating. He bends down over the woman and child, and the three of them form a perfect image. It's no wonder the Nativity was such an enthralling subject for tableaux; birth has always been a miracle.