Today is Reese’s birthday. He’s four years old today and for some reason my wife thought it’d be a good idea to give him his very own drum set. I didn’t have a blog when he was born, but I did send out an e-mail or two at the time. I thought that I’d post them (with some editing at my wife’s insistence).

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This weekend was OPERATION: INDUCE. The plan was to try every wives tale (castor oil), rumor (Don Pablo’s, White Castle’s), doctor’s recommendation (doing a lot of what married couples are supposed to do), or advice from recent mothers (walking). Or bizarre speculation (one friend, neither a mother nor married, said that he once heard that either a full moon or new moon was supposed to have an effect, he just couldn’t remember which. he may have been yanking my chain, but i tonight i may roll sally out under the moon, just in case). This went against my policy of not listening to unsolicited advice [a policy that comes back into effect when the baby is actually born and the breast feeding Nazis and the “raising kids God’s way” crowd–I had to quit referring to their program as ‘beating kids God’s way’–come out to play.]

That was the plan as of Friday.

All day Saturday, after working our way through half our list, she’d been having pretty severe contractions. This was probably initiated with the White Castle outing of Friday night that led to a very uncomfortable night of bathroom time reminiscent of the ‘night of a thousand vomits’. This, however, didn’t stop her from going garage sale-ing, and thus squeeze in another round of walking; nor us from having lunch at Don Pablos.

At 2:30 a.m. we had to go to the hospital. The contractions were so bad that I couldn’t sleep. What did they have us do? A whole lot of nothing. At 4:00 in the morning, they made us walk for an hour. Afterward, she got to lay in bed and I was forced to flip channels. There was nothing on tv except The Byron Allen Show. BYRON ALLEN. (from Real People. He had a talk show that started the same time as Arsenio). I didn’t know he was even still alive, much less had a career that justified him being on television. Come 6:00, we were walking again. By 8:30 a.m. they finally said to go home and take two Tylenol. Two Tylenol. They could’ve told us that on the phone. Heck, I could’ve rolled over and told her that. At least have the decency to prescribe us something (they did eventually give us two sleeping pills. I guess they were for her, but if she does too much more moaning, I’m popping one).

By the way, I love nurses that treat husbands like extraneous furniture, if they acknowledge their exist at all. This one wouldn’t even talk directly too me. She’d tell my wife what she’d want me to know. If she looked at me, it was with this ‘you did this to her’ look. I have no idea why she didn’t take to my charm; I was basically there to pull up the car (I guess she really didn’t like my ‘her legs aren’t broke, she can make it to the car’ comment) and hold her purse.

At 4 this afternoon, my mom showed up. A grand perk of this whole pregnancy thing is that people can’t resist bringing us food. Our neighbors brought us dinner last night. A friend dropped off food earlier this week. And my mom brought lunch. On Mother’s Day (it was part of my grand plan to have the kid on Mother’s Day and get me out of having to buy a card or something for my mom).

[Then came a unique bit of wife-mother bonding that my wife has insisted be deleted this time around.]

Then again, why complain. The contractions are now five minutes apart. The hospital just told us to come in. I’m well rested and am now in full, obnoxious, I mean, support mode.

to be continued…