I've decided the experts are wrong and from here on out, I'll continue with my Chick Midwifery.
I'm so fucking pissed. This morning at 6:45am Mr. Ashley told me I had a chick halfway out of its egg. I get up, check it, it's fine, doing great actually. Get little kid up and dressed, we check the chick again, it's fine. I start messing with my new coffee maker, check the chick again, see a piece of shell sort of dangling annoyingly and go grab my tweezers to pluck it off...and the chick was dead.
Within 5 minutes, with no wetness anywhere, a perfectly good chick that really only needed the shell hanging onto it removed in order to be "hatched" was dead. God damn it.
little kid was heartbroken and we had to have the garbage can fight again. When I told him the chick wasn't waking up he let out the saddest, "Ohhhh".
I did let him hold Chicka this morning. Last night he would say, "Mum, hug?" and wrap his arms around himself. No, Chicka is too little I'd reply. "Hold?" he'd ask, cupping his hands. So this morning, with my hands cupped carefully under his and over a soft mountain of pine shavings, I let him hold her.
Murphy and one cat have noticed Chicka and want to kiss her on the lips. Unsupervised visits are currently not allowed.
Anyway, be warned, I'm doing shit my own way from here on out. If it's a risk either way, I'm going to err on the side of playing doctor.