"Father of the Bride 2." Available on Amazon.com.
My wife is nine months pregnant and due any day. But as I sit here typing this, I feel like I’m living in a movie—“Father of the Bride 2” to be precise. The other day I went upstairs to the bedroom and I discovered that global warming must be true because all the cold air was in our house. My wife was laying in bed, no covers, complaining that it was hot, while I stood there, fully dressed, wondering where my winter coat and scarf were stored. I could have sworn that there were icicles hanging off the light. Travelocity and Expedia called asking about group rates for polar bear vacations in our bedroom. The high temperature outside that day: near 100; in our house: sub-zero.
Tonight we sit in the hospital, waiting to hear the inevitable “go home” because what Olivia’s feeling is not full labor. As we pulled out of the housing, I thought to myself, “Which route is better at 10 PM? Taking I-35W or McCart? Which stoplights are the longest?” I didn’t have a chart drawn out on a board, but I had one going through my head. All sorts of factors were considered: stoplights, traffic, right vs. left turns, location of hospital, speed bumps, etc. I chose McCart.
The good news is this: my daughter isn’t pregnant at the same time (she’s 8). But otherwise, call me George Banks.
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