Wishin' hopin' thinkin' prayin'

I am writing this on Karen's behalf because she is desperately hoping to have a child today. (So far, only an intense anger has been born.) I know things are getting close, as Karen is shifting from her normal use of contractions (don't, won't, can't shouldn't), to tightening her belly muscles in an effort to evict her third son from his cozy belly condo. Since most of you probably don't remember when your own mother evicted you (and assuming you're not reading this in utero), let me tell you what it seems to be like:getting out of a nice hot tub to roll in the snow.

My parents say that when I was born, I actually came out backward, spread eagle, with full claws extended in a futile attempt to stay lodged in my shrinking serenity. However, now that I am in the position of staring down the barrel of a third son, I think I am going to have to fault them for failing to mention the serenity (and sanity) that the parents give up. Seriously, they could have warned me about this. The only thing Dad told me when we got pregnant was 'you know they discovered what causes that.' (-Advice that would have been very helpful if were weren't trying and my wife was a light bulb.)

It is such a fitting irony that parents must suffer to enjoy the life of a child. With each of our first two sons, I can distinctly recall having inevitable thought (that probably comes to every parent) about 3:12 AM three weeks after birth- can't we put him back? But for all of the pain and hardship you go through, that genetic switch just flips in your head and the second he's born you just would not think twice about taking a bullet for that 7 pounds of screaming, eating, pooping, and (God-willing) sleeping baby boy.