At any given time, the bell can ring and I will be up and off to the hospital with my about to pop pregnant wife. This isn’t like waiting for the cable guy or the mail. There isn’t a time of day when I’m eventually off the hook, as I sometimes catch myself thinking. I can’t relax at 10:30 at night, figuring today’s chances have expired. I must be ready at all times.

(Just killing time.)

Last night we had a false alarm. Turns out our daughter was just rehearsing her Stomp routine in my wife’s belly again. That was fun. The interesting thing about all of this is that it reveals once again that I Love Lucy lied to us. There was no race for the door in my pajamas and top coat comically holding a candelabra and our bag while forgetting a pregnant redhead in the living room. Despite the feeling of panic and urgency, the doctor told us this morning that even if it was the real thing, we would still want to wait at home for a few hours before coming into the hospital.

Well, that’s just wonderful. Man, I’m over all of this baby stuff. My next post will be totally un-baby related.