New baby

Here we go again. This appears to be the second installment in a series of "My Wife Went into Labor Without any Thought or Consideration of Weekly Newspaper Deadlines" column.

As was the case a little over one year ago I'll miss a deadline thanks to childbirth (I'm not actually the one giving birth). Obviously, this family situation comes before job responsibilities and concerns. But it would be nice if the baby picked another day other than Monday or Tuesday to put the wheels of childbirth in motion. I'm a weekly newspaper editor for crying out loud. The news doesn't stop for my babies.

Last year I missed a deadline because my wife's water broke on Tuesday evening and our daughter was born Wednesday afternoon. I was somewhat prepared then and had a considerable amount of that week's paper finished. My colleagues at the Herald and Perham EB took care of the rest, and did a fine job despite my dumping more work on them at the last minute.

This time around the waterworks started Monday afternoon - catching us extremely off guard. We were still seven weeks from the due date and so far away from being prepared it might as well have been the first week of the pregnancy. Birth seemed like a galaxy far, far away. So when my wife called Monday afternoon and said she was going into labor I rushed home, scooped her up, gathered some clothes and hit the road.

Here's where the fun started. We had to get to the hospital in Detroit Lakes, and in a hurry. Given the emergency situation, I knowingly and willingly far exceeded the speed limit the 30 miles from Mills to DL. I had the hazards flashing, repeatedly flicked the headlights at every vehicle I approached and weaved in and out of traffic like Danica Patrick. I expected everyone to drop their lives for a few seconds, pull over and let us through. Most didn't, but we made it to DL in record time anyway, which is about my only contribution to this fiasco we call childbirth.

The Stork must have been looking out for me since I saw four law enforcement vehicles along the way and they must not have had the radar clicked on. And for that I am grateful.

Cut to the chase. We're now at a Fargo hospital, my wife is stabilized and we're waiting for delivery. Since we're only in the 33rd week of the pregnancy the doctors want to hold off the rest of the week and let the little guy (or girl) develop a bit longer. Apparently, doctors have little tricks to hold off the birth a few days in this situation.

Now we play the waiting game. I feel like a rancher staring at his cows, waiting as his spring calves take their sweet old time. I appreciate the fact this hospital made a concerted effort to make the rooms comfortable. They actually resemble hotel rooms, except for the monitors, goofy looking tub and funky bed. The problem for a guy like me in this situation is, despite all the advances in this hotel-like atmosphere, there's still the fold-out chair for us guys. You'd think in going the extra mile to provide a little more comfort hospitals would come up with a better design for the classic fold-out chair, a design that has gone unchanged for decades. It was either the 37th or 38th time I woke up during the first night I realized sleeping in a duck boat would have been more comfortable.

I'll have a stiff back after a few nights in the chair but given the circumstances I don't think I'll complain too much (maybe a little to my mommy). I don't think I'd get much sympathy outside of dear old mom.

The waiting is the hardest part. My wife got the cool drugs that made her hallucinate in the night. She claimed the vents were coming out of the ceiling and the walls were floating across the room. Cool.

I get stuck on a padded crate with a pillow not much larger than a postage stamp.

After a couple days of doctors, nurses, monitors, fold-out chairs and waiting I went outside the hospital perimeter for lunch. After my performance on Highway 10 a couple days earlier, and just as I thought I was above the law, the law caught up to me. On the way back to the hospital I was pulled over for speeding. I got mine, I guess. Thanks Stork.

Apparently that Fargo police officer didn't get the message that when my wife is in labor the rest of the world should pull over and stop.

By next issue I'll have a new baby boy or girl - much smaller than we expected - but a fighter I'm sure.