November and New Babies

 “Come back,” I called, “You must foam your hands before you go into the room.” 

I had to repeat it three times. “Come back here.”

Two days ago, Husband had nearly pushed me aside as he opened the door at the Birthing Center.

Finally he turned toward me in irritation. “Who says I have to?”

Accustomed to his ADHD oppositional defiance, I merely pointed to the many signs posted on the wall of the Center, and he reluctantly complied.

“I’ve got to meet Keaton and hold him,”  Husband called over his shoulder. His grandnephew was less than two hours old. “He’s three days shy of being born on his sister’s third birthday. I’m eager to see him and her with him.”

Oldest Daughter will celebrate her birthday a few days from now, and the births of these precious children bring back memories of her November birth.

We didn’t foam in and out in those days. Before we were allowed to hold our own baby, we had to open a handy wipe and wash our hands in front of the nurse. Can you believe it?

The night Oldest Daughter was born, Husband left me in the recovery room (things have changed a lot since then) and went straight to the receiving nursery. Soon he came back with her on his shoulder.

Naturally, I reached for my child, and he drew back with her.

“You carried her for nine months. I get to hold her,” he declared.

“But that’s my baby,” I protested.

“Mine, too,” he countered, and he continued to hang on to her tiny body.

The first morning after we came home from the hospital, I woke to find her crib empty, and in my panic ran to find her with her daddy.

Husband held her on his left arm with her feet securely tucked next to his chest. With his right hand, he guided his shaver over his face.

“She wanted to be with her daddy,” he said as I leaned against the door frame with relief and a little disbelief.

Seeing Husband with the new baby this week flooded my mind with memories of him with all three of our children.

“You are so good with babies,” I told him.

“I know,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m a natural with them.”

“You know I consciously comment on your strengths,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, what about it,” he quizzed.

“It keeps me from obsessing about the things you don’t do.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t get me started. Let’s just say that seeing how tender and sweet you are with babies counters the fact I have to remind you to clean out the cat box.”

“What does a cat box have to do with new babies?”

“Precisely,” I told him.

I could see he did not make the connection.  To use his maxim, I may need to use a fat crayon and Big Chief tablet to draw him an explanation.