We pulled out of our garage at 12:45am. We had debated shortly about whether we should go or not. "It's too late; they're probably exhausted. And we're exhausted." "But they said they wanted us to come; and he needs his pajamas." Neither one of us pushed back very hard. We both wanted to go, no matter what time of night it was.
It had been a long day. We had been tirelessly chasing four busy children around in circles, trying to make sure they ate their meals, washing dog poop off a bare foot, blowing bubbles, coloring, breaking up argument after argument, dancing in the living room and surviving toddler tantrums. It had been a long day; and we waited and waited for the news to come. At long last, (11:25pm to be precise) we got the news. He was here; he was healthy, and he was here. It wasn't until 12:45am that we were relieved of our post. We had to get to church early the next day and we had meetings and obligations and responsibilities and all the things. But we couldn't not go meet our new nephew.
So 1am found us cruising down an abandoned interstate headed to the hospital. We talked about the busy day we just had and laughed remembering the kiddos' antics. The car was full of our conversation for the entire twenty minute drive. We parked in the empty parking lot and headed toward Admission. A man from one abandoned parking lot over yelled to us, "You gotta go through the ER this late at night!" The ER doors swished open and the doctors looked a little disappointed to learn that we were not in need of care. We were directed to the Maternity Ward and made our way down the hall.
It was a weird feeling: exhaustion and adrenaline. This is what we had been anticipating for months now. And he was finally here.
Through the doors of the Maternity Ward, the night nurse knowingly directed us to Room 102. The hall smelled like a hospital. That familiar scent of hospital food is enough to turn anyone's stomach. I was glad we were here for a joyous occasion.
When we cracked the door, we saw him there, nestled safely in his dad's arms. I hurried to her side and hugged her and said, "You did it, Sis!" Then, I found my way to him and gingerly pulled him into my arms. He was perfect. All the little details, all the tiny fingers, all the smooth skin. Perfect. I handed him to Cole (who, not inconsequentially, was able to calm him from the fit that, apparently, his aunt had set off) who studied and rocked and cooed at his nephew.
We chatted for a little while about the ins and outs of the delivery. And then we needed to go - we had an early morning, after all. So we hugged them goodbye and closed the door to Room 102 behind us. Back down the hallway, the night nurse bid us, "Congratulations!" And we walked back out of the Maternity Ward.
He held my hand down the hallway. I commented, "It feels kind of funny for her to be congratulating us." "Yeah," he agreed.
Back out to the lobby, we bypassed the ER and the disappointed doctors. Back out into the cold, empty parking lot, he helped me into the car. Back out to the abandoned interstate, he grabbed my hand.
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. And the air in the car felt heavy. It seemed that both of us were lost in thought and neither one of us wanted to be found. Save for his hand. We drove past the cows and the hop fields and the Safeway and the sleepy downtown and the gate at the end of our road - and still, he held my hand.
I blinked in the brightness of the light streaming from our garage as we pulled up to the house. He gave my hand one more squeeze and said in a shaky voice, "I really hope we get to do that someday." All I could choke out was, "Me too, babe."
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