I can’t catch up with the roadtrip posts until I get the pics off my camera which I can’t do until I charge my battery which I can’t do until I remember to bring the charger in from the car because you know I am not making a special trip out to the car (up and down two flights of stairs) just for a camera charger. And I was going to wait on this and the next post until after I finished the roadtrip but I. Just. Cannot. Wait. Anymore.
The morning after the hubs and I return from our roadtrip, I get a text that says something like, “your sis is going to the hospital but don’t get all hyped up. Baby probably isn’t coming today.” (Remember my sister is pregnant but this is August 9. She’s not due until the 18). One hour later. A phone call, “you might want to come if you’re coming. This baby will be born by 5pm.” Frantic packing. Giving of shot. Emailing work. Calling weekend visitors.
I get in the car. Another text that says something like “baby coming sooner than thought. She’s dilated to 7!” I race–speed–to Iowa City. Normally a 4 plus hour drive from Chicago, I get there in 3.5 including a stop. (Stupid bladder). I pass my father on 80 and, after that moment of, “oh hey that’s my dad,” I leave him in my dust.
As I’m driving, I get a call from one of my sister’s friends. She says that while they wait, they are making baby guesses-height, weight, name, etc. and do I want to participate? She is in the process of taking my guesses and I hear my mom come in to the waiting room where these girls are and say, “she is about to start pushing!” At that moment, I really put the pedal to the medal. Iowa City. Mercy Hospital. Park. (Did I lock the doors? Doesn’t matter!) Run into info desk bewildering nice ladies, “how do I get to labor and delivery?” They look at me like, “you’re not in labor” and send me on my way. Hallways. Elevator. I make it to the waiting room. They take me to my sister’s door/curtain. Her husband and my mom are inside and I am denied access. Too far along in the process. One hour later, Baby J is born. I become an aunt for the first time in my family (I’m an aunt to two lovely gents-who probably would not like to be called lovely or gents-on the hubs’ side). My parents are grandparents. My sister is a mom.
I get to go in first with my dad (who made it despite his slow driving). I meet baby who had no name yet. I make sure my sis is ok. I cry a little and then take my first, of what I’m sure will be many many thousands, picture of my niece.
And I don’t Instagram it right away because the couple hasn’t even announced her yet (and won’t for almost 24 hours. They also don’t name her for almost 24 hours. Torture to new aunts and grandmas). I also hold her for the first time and tell her I love her for the first time. And hear her fart super loud for the first time. Which breaks the spell in the best possible way. My sister is a mom. But she and I can still giggle about a fart, especially when it comes out of such a tiny human.