Ah, yes, I remember it well. In a dazed and confused sort of way. Sitting in the little room by myself while they prepped Carroll for the cesarean. We had held off learning what gender the baby would be, because the both of us thought it would be wonderful to be surprised. The weeks leading up to the birth had everyone a little antsy and starting to make assumptions. “Oh, if you’re carrying the baby high, it’s going to be a boy.” If it does this it’s a girl, if it kicks a lot, it’s a boy. So much to the point that even Carroll and I started saying “he,” when referring to the baby.
So, there I was sitting in this little room with just my thoughts. If it’s a little boy, what do I teach him first. You know, beyond all that how to use the potty and don’t eat your boogers thing. Of course, there is a study out now that says that booger eating actually helps your immune system, so maybe I won’t harp on that one too much. But then I got to a point where I wondered, “What if it’s a girl? When is a good age to teach her about little boys and WHAT do I teach her?” At that precise instant, the nurse walks in and says that it’s time. Within two minutes my fears were realized and I had a baby girl staring me in the face. Well, I was staring, she didn’t have her eyes open yet. As I placed Lillian next to her Mama’s head where she could get a good look at her brand new baby girl, I looked at Carroll with fear in my eyes and said, “We’re in trouble.”
I miss you Carroll.
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