Well, folks, we’re coming down to the wire. After much waiting, we finally got the call… the call that changes lives.
It wasn’t a great call, really. Sure, we know when to come to the hospital so they can do the procedure, but who really wants to check into the hospital at 6:15 in the morning?
It’s not like we’re taking a flight to Australia here (love the accent, btw). There’s no baggage check, no double-booking Caesareans with the same doctor in case one of the mothers decides to take a later surgery… so why the heck do we need to be there just after six?
Few people get up at six. The grocery store doesn’t open until eight. The pharmacy doesn’t open ’til nine. Even the garbage truck operator who lives across the way gets to sleep in.
Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I like my shut-eye to last ’til 7 or 7:30. Maybe I’m pre-cranky because I know no one will be getting much sleep in this house for the next 18 years (if we’re lucky).
I tell ya, there’s no bottle of warm milk big enough to cure my attitude about needing to get to the hospital so early, so hospital staff, obstetricians, everyone – thank you in advance for the kind, gentle manner in which you’ll treat my loving wife of eight years. Thank you in advance for the excellent job you’ll do. Please return her and our baby safe and sound to me after you’re finished. God bless.