Well it finally happened. Not what you're probably thinking: Jean is still quite in touch with her inner child. No, I finally had my first bout of – well, it wasn't panic, but it was more than concern about my soon-to-be baby. It was late last night, almost one o'clock, and I was just getting ready to go to bed. I'd just turned off Saturday Night Live, which I'd been watching to see the "Night at the Roxbury" guys scene (you know the one, with two morons bopping their heads over and over to a Steve Winwood song). The teaser ad for the show had a second where Dan Ackroyd and Steve Martin were there as "Two Wild and Crazy Guys." It turns out the ad was pretty much the extent of the scene, but it was still fun to see. Even in a rerun.
Anyway, I turned off the television and got the dogs into their cage for the night, when I suddenly felt this rush of a feeling run through me. It was like a quick burst of adrenaline washing through my body, the kind I only get when I suddenly realize something is horribly wrong because I forgot something. Out of nowhere I felt like I was dreadfully unprepared for my impending baby.
I instantly ran down my mental list of things we need done before the baby arrives. Crib: check. Day care: check. Pediatrician: check. Clothes, diapers, formula, bouncy seat: check. As I ran down my list, my brain became more comfortable, but my chest was still taut with concern. Maybe it's something Jean and I haven't even thought about yet. They'll be wheeling Jean out of the hospital, and put the baby in the car seat when they casually ask us some question. Jean and I will pause and stare at one another, horrified that we could have possibly forgotten to take care of whatever it is. The hospital people, aghast, wheel Jean back to her hospital room and put the baby back under the burger warmer while I run out as quickly as possible to take care of that thing, that inexcusably forgotten thing.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that we really have done all the stuff you should do before rushing off to the hospital. When I get to that point, when I know it's a mind versus emotion kind of thing, I'm generally pretty good at telling my emotions to get over it. Kind of like Kevin McAllister in Home Alone when he's in the basement of his house and the heater turns into a monster. One good "Shut up!" and it's over.
So it was for me last night. By the time I'd prepared to go to bed, I was back to my take-it-in-stride self. Last night and this morning I spoke with Jean about it, and she told me she was glad to hear that I do have my moments of worry, because she certainly does.
In a way, I can't believe that after Jean's forty-eight hours at the hospital they're really going to let us go, giving us this teeny little life to watch over. No scrutiny (other than "do you have a car seat?"), just "Here's your baby. Drive carefully and good luck!" and off we go. We sit in the car staring at each other (me in the driver's seat, Jean in the back with the baby), before we realize we have to get going. We drive home, which is no more than ten minutes, get out of the car, and bring The Baby Formerly Known as The Bump inside. We will be three.
We really are in for a ride.
A strong rain storm (one that I think touched off tornados elsewhere) passed through Richmond last night and this morning. By mid-day today, things were clearing up and tonight there's not a cloud in the sky. Temperatures have been warm but this storm may be bringing cooler days with it. Let's hope so!
listening: The Gershwins in Hollywood (Hollywood Bowl Orchestra); Gershwin Overtures (John McGlinn & The New Princess Theatre Orchestra)
reading: The Hobbit (Bumpy's Bedtime Book)
© 1999 Kevin J.T. Creamer