Driving On the Eve of My Nephew's Birthing Day

It's a short drive from my house to the hospital- not even two miles. And this Southern City of ours? It's a much nicer place to navigate after dark than during early morning rush hour. Everything sort of calms down: the temperature, the people, the traffic. The thick evening air is so blue that I feel more like I'm swimming than driving, brightly-colored lights darting about me like companionable fish. The handful of other drivers out right now are just as polite and law-abiding as I am (do they see the friendly fish, too?), and for the first time in my life I'm finding it actually pleasant to be driving downtown. Which is for the best since, under two miles or not, I still manage to take a few wrong turns before safely stashing my car in the correct parking garage.

I've been here a handful of times now, so I really ought to know my way- and I guess in my defense I do know my way- know it well enough to have recognized when I'd gone wrong, and to get back on track. And once I'm in the hospital itself my feet take me automatically through the correct doors, to the correct floors, down the long, long corridors until I'm getting less-than-helpful directions to my sister-in-law's room. But a few more moments of wandering/learning the way the numbering works (pay no attention to the large numbers on the doors- it's the little ones that guide the way) I find myself knocking hesitantly. The very last thing I want is to screw up some poor laboring woman's night by bursting in all creepy Stranger Danger style.

Fortunately I have, in fact, found the right room.

She's propped up in bed, and the lighting is such that it looks like she's on stage. But I guess that's appropriate, all things considered. Her belly is thrust upward toward the spotlight, and I think he knows he's almost on.