I'm at the hospital right now, awaiting the birth of Meg & Phillip's baby. To be more specific, I'm hiding in the outer waiting room pretending that I've gone home, because Meg was worried that I'd be here too long and the weather is really terrible. But wild horses couldn't drag me away, so I'm sacked out surrounded by playing cards, my enormous nearly-finished afghan (I'm shooting for seven feet), Elizabeth Bishop, Seamus Heaney, T. S. Eliot, the Bible, the Catholic Catechism, a writing journal, a diary and a dying cell phone. I've written one bad sonnet, lost every game of solitaire, browsed through one poem, taken one pseudo-nap, made one phone call and two text messages.
Not that any of that is important. Meg's delivery is progressing very slowly, but still progressing, so there's a lot of excitement there. They're exhausted and I wish I could do something, but for the time being the best I can do is just wait to celebrate or to be useful, or both.
I'd share all, of course, but when she finally reads this, if she hasn't killed me already for not going home, she'll kill me for talking too much.
I'm going to be an auntie!!! She's going to be a mom!!! Phillip's going to be a dad!!!
My family is getting beautifully bigger. Here's to the miraculous fruition of love!
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Are you an auntie yet?! Keep us posted!
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