The Day She Was Born

At 37 weeks pregnant,  I'm finishing up the final coat of paint on BB's room.   BB...for Baby Barnum, our nickname for the first member of the triple threat.  And don't worry.  I know what you're thinking.  I took the necessary precautions with the painting.  Closing all windows and doors in the room, before I even picked up a brush.  To prevent a tumble onto the lawn or down the stairs.  The furniture is huddled into the middle of the room.  I am covered in paint, in desperate need of a shower, and haven't eaten all day, except for the paint chips. There are no bags packed, no car seat installed, and baby daddy is at the bar.  Watching hockey.


Sean is sluggin' beers stuck on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge.  We live on the western shore. A fifteen minute ride across the bridge.   Without the bridge, a three hour journey, up and around the Chesapeake Bay.  There is a tragic accident, the entire bridge  shut down.  We have just gotten off the phone, he is spending the night at the bar waiting for the bridge to reopen.  I sit down at the computer.  And feel something shoot across my lower back.  It feels weird.  Then it comes.  The gush.  Of water.  All over the computer chair.  And the floor.  Then on all three levels of the house as I wander from the basement to the top floor.  No real destination in mind.  Finn trailing me all the way.  Don't bark about me never refilling your water dish.

I call the bar and call the doctor.  Sean starts searching for boats...at the bar.  I tell the doctor I will wait for Sean to get home.  He doesn't like the boat theory.  I get in the shower.  There's a knock at the door.  It's an ambulance.  The whole boat thing must have fallen through.  Sean has called for backup.  I welcome in the paramedics wearing an ill fitting bathrobe with a towel on my head.  Can I get you something?  A baby perhaps?  I tell them I won't be needing their services this evening.  I am just fine.  Just showering actually.  Don't mind that puddle lake.  Aren't you all supposed to come prepared?  Where are your galoshes?  Can you take a look at my smoke detectors while you're here?  And do you know how to correctly install one of those damn car seats?  They walk out the door.  Then knock again.  I have to sign a paper.  Acknowledging that I am crazy refusing services. 

I decide I should pack a bag.  My mother in law calls.  Then my mom calls, twice.  Sean calls, four times.  The neighbors begin banging on the door.  Then the doctor calls, I have 30 minutes to waddle my ass in there.  It's a circus.  An early warning sign.  Of the circus that is yet to come.   I continue to shove full sized bath towels down my pants.  I grab my keys.  My mother in law calls again.  Threatening bodily harm if I drive myself to the hospital.  She's pretty scary.  I pick up my pillow, packed bag, what's left of our towels, and knock on the door of the only neighbor that hasn't yet come knocking on mine.  The nurse.  Everyone should have one of those neighbor's.  It was a prerequisite before we bought our current home.  Nurse neighbor is out at dinner, will be home any minute, the babysitter tells me.  I have a seat in her kitchen and decide to wait.  Sorry about the mess.  You should definitely be paid time and a half.

We all make it to the hospital.  No boats involved.  BB eventually arrives.  And it's not by boat.

Happy birth day. Lillian Marie Barnum, 7.1 pounds, 18 inches.  Small, spunky, sassy, and ours.  Forever.

We survived.  Three under five, and still alive.  The adventure continues.

And I just couldn't resist, who could?  Some Bee Gees to set the mood, Stayin' Alive.

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