It’s Monday April 1st, or as every knows it, Opening Day. Okay, okay, maybe just us baseball nerds, everyone else knows this day as April Fools. Today is not a good day for a baby to be born. The poor boy would be known a fool and we couldn’t announce it without a bit of suspicion. Which of course means that it will be the day.
I go to work feeling weird. I mean I wasn’t supposed to be here this week, I should be at home with a baby boy. As I sit in my cube, I get a semi-steady stream of co-workers stopping by to ask if I’m a dad two times over. “No, not yet,” I’d meekly say, “he’s taking his time.”
I came home for lunch to eat with Steph. Her spring break has now started, and instead of bonding with a new baby she’s doing laundry and fretting about 900 things. She is emotionally drained from the ups and downs of the last couple of weeks, and this lunch is no different. By the end of lunch, plans are made again to go to the hospital at night. While that could be good news, this is somewhat distressing as just two nights prior the same events happened and they obliterated our functionality through the next day.
After an afternoon of work, I head home. I watch some Opening Day baseball to keep my mind at ease. Steph is sitting on the couch with her shoulders in her ears. I massage them a bit to relax them, but a minute will go by, her cell will beep with a new message, and the shoulders are in her ears once again.
This night is already better than Saturday. We convince our birth mother to go in slightly earlier, and our sitter has arrived in plenty of time so no need to fret. We say our goodbyes, and head off to the hospital. I tag along this time as support.
We arrive at the same hospital that Eva was born in, and they take birthmom to triage. Steph is her support person, so she gets to go back with them while I sit in the lobby and wait.
With Eva, every moment was magical and I wanted to remember it all. This time, with my emotions turned off I’m sitting in the lobby in same manner as I would at Jiffy Lube. I’m listening to a Planet Money podcast on how LeBron James is underpaid and playing Ticket to Ride on my phone. I fully expected Steph to come back out and say that they were done and we’d be heading home soon.
Steph comes out, and tells me that they are keeping her.
So now I’m thinking about the next few steps, but Steph is not done. Her doctor is on call tommorrow (the most likely time of birth), but down at the sister hospital. We are going to be on the move.
By now, our birthmother’s dad and brother have arrived, and they will take her down to the hospital, and will follow us there. So we pile in our cars and head down.
I’m initially sad that he won’t be born in the same hospital as his sister, but that saddness is allieviated once we arrive at Miami Valley South. Where as parking in the ramp cost $3 (multiplied by the number of times we leave to get food, see Eva, etc.), parking here is free. The facility is new, and the maternity ward is only 7 months old.
They check us in, and we walk back to the room. Have you ever watched the show House? Their rooms had these glass sliding doors that I’d never seen in a hospital before…now.
The bathroom mirror is lit.
The room is roomy.
This may be a bit of serendipity. While the facilities are beautiful, and the hospitality of the staff was amazing, I watched as the clock ticked to midnight and hoped that tomorrow I’d be holding my son and that it would be just as magical as the day we met Eva.