I got the call in court at about 12:15. Karla's distressed voice asking if I could scoot from work and pick up Katie from preschool. Mom was at the doctor's with Karla, and they wanted to do some follow up ultrasound because our little pending daughter was not exhibiting very spirited respiratory action. The last thing I heard was something about them admitting Karla to the hospital and inducing labor...
When the call came, I had just finished two pleas and an arraignment, and I hastily ducked into a conference room to grab the phone. When I emerged, the judge and my legal assistant both asked what "the word" was, knowing the general situation. I said Karla said something about respiratory distress and admitting her, and before I could finish my thought or even process the words coming out of my mouth, the judge (in all his wisdom) uttered the wise pronouncement: "Go!"
Like something maybe God would've said to Moses in the Old Testament. As in, do not ask, but do as I have told ye. In so many words, get your ass in gear and get to your wife, Wilson. Why was I standing there talking to them????
So, here I was again, for the second time in 3 years nearly sprinting down Salisbury Street to my free parking spot 5 blocks from the courthouse (I could have paid to park across the street), ripping off tie and jacket in my haste.
I flew down the road to Katie's preschool. When I peeked through the window of Katie's class, there she was, arms out, knees bent doing the Katie Dance to "I've Been Workin' on the Railroad". Again, why was I pausing to take this in? I stood riveted to the spot, watching my oldest (man, that sounds weird) have a blast on her own, without Karla or myself there to instigate or encourage.
Finally, as if God himself had prodded my sorry behind again, I sheepishly opened the door and stuck my torso inside the classroom. Still, I was being bashful. "Um, I hate to interrupt your terribly important class of 2 year olds dancing, but I have to grab my child and head to the hospital BECAUSE MY WIFE IS HAVING A BABY". Finally, the teachers, having more sense than me, saw the dazed look in my eye and, with their womanly wisdom, must've gathered that the idiot before them needed to recollect his daughter because his darling wife was about to birth another.
They asked, I mustered an answer in the affirmative, they wished good luck, and I finally got Katie to the car. Not before we paused again as Katie pointed out her bird drawing pinned to the wall. I must say the execution was a little raw, but I liked the blue and red color scheme.
Finally on my way, I was once again detoured by the realization that the car I was driving, that my mom would have to drive home, was nearly out of gas. Several bone dry gas stations later, I was (at last!) in sight of the hospital. Katie was handed over to Mom smoothly, and I went to be with Karla.
After a horrific hour in a curtained triage (involving one clumsy nurse who damn near drove a needle through Karla's forearm and an awkward and emotional unintentional eavesdropping on a young hispanic couple experiencing a scary pre-term labor) the unthinkable happened: everything went PERFECTLY. That's right.
Karla was started on pitocin to kickstart contractions, the doctor broke her water, her epidural was hooked up quickly and worked perfectly, she dilated fully and by 7:45 PM she was pushing. 7 pushes in, baby Maggie was here, weighing in at 7 lbs, 7 oz. Lucky 7s I suppose...
A pregnancy through the Dad's eyes, I am sure, is quite different than the view of the mother. There are so many moments of anxiety. Of utter helplessness. A false positive test leading to genetic counseling for the possibility of Down's Syndrome, concerns about respiratory inactivity. What on earth could I possibly do, but stand by and hold Karla's hand through it all? So much joy and hope placed in a pregnancy, a little ball of cells that grows into life. A life we are tasked with, and gladly so, shepherding through the early years of development. Such a fragile thing, such a difficult path fraught with peril and heartache for so many.
I was blessed to see my second daughter arrive today in all the elegance and effortless grace of the unfolding of a flower as it blooms. Margaret Josephine uncurled her limbs without so much as a faint whimper to let us know she was alive. She immediately took to Karla without fuss, fed to her heart's content, and fell into a purring slumber in dad's arms.
The name Margaret Josephine is a family name. Margaret is a common name in my father's family tree. Josephine is the name of my mother's mother. Beyond that significance, the roots of the words hold true. Margaret is Greek for "pearl", and Josephine Hebrew for "He (the Lord) shall provide".
The Lord truly has blessed us again. For all the things that could have gone wrong, all the doubts and uncertainties that cloud our hearts and minds as we deal with life's great expectations and responsibilities, God truly has miraculous ways of reminding us of His scheme of life and love. I saw it firsthand in the ease and perfection in His plan for the birth of my daughter, in the peace I saw in her angelic face. I am sure I can speak for Karla in saying today we are grateful and overjoyed to have our own little "pearl" on loan from above, and thankful we have friends and family with whom to share our joy.
