Couldn't sleep well last night. We've been so excited about this baby, but last night I thinking about my baby. Don't want her to go through the stuff. Can't we just pay an extra hundred bucks and go pick our grand-daughter up at the hospital's nursery? Weird thoughts throughout the night.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I prayed. Then I went back to concern. It of course is a very, very holy concern. I am a pastor after all.
Whoa, when they hooked her up and she started to feel the slightest tinge of a contraction, we all celebrated. But in the back of my mind I knew it had to get worse. Confirmed! Nurse says "My job is to get your contractions closer together and you less comfortable." Hey now, that's my daughter your talking about.
And she was the noble woman I anticipated as the pains became...well, pains. She is so beautiful laying there saying, "This is good, right?" Her way of kindly saying that pain equals progress. Crud. I hate pain.
When they broke her water, things were more intense. Then around 11:30 the anesthesiologist (yeah, I used spell-check) came in and put in the epidural. We had to leave for that.
So Shelly and I went to eat. I explained to her that our roles are reversed...Shelly's and mine. I could speak of nothing about the morning without feeling like a menopausal woman--weeping through smiles, and blubbering with every word I attempted about my brave daughter. Or about my future grand-daughter. Or, about the value menu at Wendy's.
Shelly, (nickname--"THE ROCK") reminded me that I am sensitive in a good way...blah, blah, blah. So I am. I feel manly, except when one of the beautiful women in my life is in the process of this most amazingly noble and beautiful miracle. Oooh, better go outside the room to sniff a few times.
Grace and peace to you, from a place of grace and wonder.