Baby Coming

"Mom?"


"What's going on?" I spoke into the phone with carefully practiced calm. I had been to a weekend meditation workshop with Pema. I was chill.


"Something's different."


"Different how?" I asked. I gripped the phone and mimed a state of joy to those in the room.


"I've been having pretty strong cramps about 4 minutes apart."


"Hm," I said.


"Should I call the doctor? I probably should call the doctor. I'll call the doctor. I'll just go ahead and call the doctor."


"Sounds like a good idea," I said. "Then call me back."


"Is this IT?" my friend Jane squealed. "This is IT, right?" A burgeoning ebullience lit her face from to grin to eyebrows. "I knew it!" (She always knows it.) "And you're here! Isn't that completely amazing?" She meant that there I was, about to participate - well, if not actually in the delivery room at the end of things, so to speak - in one of the most beautiful experiences ever, and there I was with her. My friend.


"She's going to have a baby girl tonight!" she stated.


"Not necessarily," I said. 


"You got 20 bucks?"


After Katherine had spoken with the doctor, and called her husband Ty, she decided to pack a bag just in case, and sort of putter at home and sort of time contractions. 


"Just come over," she requested.


I nearly drove over Jane backing up out of the driveway, but I was totally present. I swear.

*

"Oops, there goes another one," Katherine said, rubbing her belly and wincing. "What time is it?" 


"7:15."


"Write it down."


"Do you have a pen?" I wrote "7:15" carefully at the top of a white legal pad, feeling terribly important.


Upstairs in the nursery, we looked at all the tiny baby clothes packed neatly away in the built-in bureau painted white. Blankets had been folded and stored beneath the changing table. There were oodles of onesies. A bucket of spackle and a can of paint were under the window. Goodnight Moon was in the bookshelf. A little cow-ish rocking toy stood in the corner. Two little outfits for taking Baby C home from the hospital lay in the crib.


"I know... the paint and spackle cans, but, the baby won't be in here -- ooh, what time is it?"


"7:19."


"Mark it down."


"I'll clean everything," I said. "Don't worry about a thing."


"What do you think?" Ty asked when he arrived home.


"I don't know, I guess this could be it," I shrugged.


"He's asking me, Mom, ooh, another one. What time is it?"


"7:30." Ty said, looking around. "By the kitchen clock."


"7:25." I said simultaneously, checking my watch.


"What does it say on the TV?" Katherine demanded.


"The TV? It doesn't say anything on the TV," I said.


"You two are retarded. Can't you even tell time?"


At the hospital, things were light, joyous, edged with a touch of anxious humor.


"You're going to be so much fun," the admitting nurse proclaimed. "Labor and Delivery is upstairs around the blahdeblah elevator around the blahdeblah corner," I heard. 


Upon exiting the elevator, I went South, Ty went East, and Katherine strode West.


But, we found it, and a young nurse placed a blue disk like a laundry pellet upon Katherine's mountainous belly. We tracked Baby C's heartbeat chugachugging on the computer screen and watched a little rounded hump of a curve marking a contraction. 


"Oo," Katherine breathed.


"That's it, Sweetie, you're doing great," I croaked. Ty's legs danced and jumped. I had no saliva.


But, after a quick examination from the MD on call, it proved to be a non-starter. We checked out.


"Keep the phone by your ear," directed my daughter. "I have a feeling we'll be going back later. Oh, that was a strong one."


I called Will.


"It's started," I said.


"Uh huh."


"She's in labor!"


"Uh huh."


"She's not quite a centimeter dilated and her cervix is 90%..."


"Whoa! Whoa! Hold on!"


"Oh, come on, Will. This is a fact of life. You'll be dealing with this yourself someday," I giggled.


"This is my sister, all right? There are certain things I don't need to know. Boy or girl, niece or nephew,
that's it."


"Oh, for Pete's sake! I'll call you when things get going."


"I love you. Oh, sorry I didn't call you back on Mother's Day. I didn't have my phone."


As I reached for my cell about 6 a.m this morning, it rang.


"We're back in the hospital," Katherine said, sounding exhausted. "It's definitely today."


"Oh, boy," I said. "Or girl."


"Don't rush, but come over," she said.


"Okay."


"Oh, and that breathing thing you were teaching me? They don't do that anymore. You're supposed to go hehehehe now."


"Oh," I said. Note to self: No more suggestions. Just be there.


Then I called Jane. "I win," I said.