I remember well this day in August, twenty-one years ago. I was at work and Hali called saying she was having contractions. “Couldn’t be”, I told her. I knew it just can’t be. The baby’s not due for two weeks. She calls a couple hours later, ” The contractions are getting stronger and closer together. GET HOME!!”
Long story short, I did get home, after mailing airline tickets to my mother-in-law with a brief note that said something like, “GET UP HERE!!”
Brought Hali into the hospital (after I had a plate of spaghetti) and sure enough, we were having a baby…soon! Three hours later, our little girl had arrived. Arrived, as if delivered in a little pink package.
It seemed so natural for me to be in that room with my brand new pink shirt: cutting cords, mopping floors, swaddling a baby. Me, a guy who faints when getting blood drawn, looking at gory scars, vaccinations(someone else’s). Somehow this was different. This was the “extension” of me that I was now going to take care of. My little girl.
Two weeks early? Dang, we didn’t even have a name yet. We were “required” to go back a few days later to submit a name. And the name came to us after watching rhythmic gymnastics during the 1992 Summer Olympics in Barcelona. A little girl competitor from Spain, Carmen.
Hurry, open it up!!
Good things DO come in pink boxes.
I love you. Well done, you’re 21!