February 10, 2018
4:25am
I was asleep on the hard couch, lulled by the rhythm of his amplified heartbeat for a few hours when the nurse tapped my shoulder.
“You might wanna wake up, daddy,” she said in a buttery North Carolina drawl. “You’re about to have this baby.”
The couch was positioned alongside a window that ran the length of the room and I could see the darkness outside. The lights flickered in Chapel Hill as our leafy little university town stretched below us. The room hummed with activity as the nurse’s words settled into my brain.
“You’re about to have this baby.”
A million thoughts roared through my head, the first of which was how completely and absolutely unprepared I was to be a father.
All of the thoughts I had, the feelings I felt, the preparations Emily and I had made in the nine months leading up to this night flew out the room-length window and all I could think was how terrified I was by the nurse’s simple, declarative and very imminent statement.
“You’re about to have this baby.”
I’m not ready yet.
It didn’t matter because he was coming.
But I thought I was.
It didn’t matter because he was coming.
How on Earth were we going to take care of this baby?
It didn’t matter, because he was coming.
I have no clue what I’m doing.
It didn’t matter, because he was coming.
Couldn’t Emily just rest for a few more hours?
It didn’t matter, because he was coming.
I thought of my father, how elated he’d be to have a new grandson, and of Emily’s father, one building over in the psych lockdown, battling the demons that have plagued him for over a decade.
I thought of our mothers, both dead, and how this boy would never know a grandma’s love.
It didn’t matter, because he was coming.
I wondered how we might do this without their guidance. I wondered what would happen to all of the questions that only our mothers could remedy. I wondered what he might miss out on as a boy without grandmas.
But it didn’t matter, because he was coming.
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