NCiR’ Pilin” On

The Birth of Our Second Son

Tagging-on to Wendy Scott’s fun poem, “The Birth of Baby Becky”

Photo by Dragos Gontariu on Unsplash

Our second son, a gorgeous guy,
my role was in conception.
It wasn’t me who carried him,
my wife’s job from inception.

We waited patiently— nine months,
morning labor pains were tame.
I said, “It’s time?” She said, “Not yet.”
So I finished my golf game.

I returned in the mid afternoon,
after shortened happy hour.
She greeted me with “it’s time” face.
“Be right with you. Got to shower.”

Fast forward to the hospital,
I was coaching “pant-pant-blow.”
A World Series playoff on TV,
home team headed for the show.

I could always multiprocess well,
Came in handy on this night.
I’m “Pant-pant-blow —it’s a hit, they won!”
It was also opera night.

I know because the Doc came in,
“If we hurry, I’ve got tickets.”
He checked, sure enough, she’s…