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FAMILY
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“We’re going to be parents,” I whispered.
For the next eight months, I imagined our future. I assembled the crib, painted the nursery a soft yellow, and bought tiny clothes that looked impossibly small.Study Biology
We argued playfully about names.
I wanted a boy named Michael after my grandfather.
Danielle preferred a girl named Grace.
We eventually agreed that we would wait until the birth to find out what we were having.
But as the delivery date approached, Danielle became increasingly anxious.
She asked me not to enter the delivery room.
At first, I felt hurt.
“Danielle, I’m the baby’s father. I want to be there for you.”Browse Reference
She took my hand.
“I know, Marcus. But I’m scared. I’ve been through so much during this pregnancy, and I need to do this part privately. Please trust me.”
I wanted to argue, but I remembered how many difficult days she had endured to reach that moment.
So I kissed her forehead and agreed.
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children
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On the morning our baby was due, I drove her to the hospital.
Before the nurses wheeled her away, she squeezed my hand.
“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.”
I smiled nervously.Get Parenting Tips
“Of course I know that.”
She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but the nurse called her name, and she disappeared through the double doors.
I waited.
One hour passed.
Then two.
I walked around the waiting room until my legs ached. I checked my phone, drank terrible coffee, and prayed that everything would be all right.
Finally, the delivery-room doors opened.Track Pregnancy
A doctor in blue scrubs stepped into the corridor.
“Mr. Johnson?”
I jumped to my feet.
