Writing depends much on timing. I know. I do this for a living. That doesn’t mean though that I do it well; although, I do it well enough that I get paid; well enough that people (sort of) put up with my eccentricities and shortcomings. I can be a problematic writer sometimes. And time has been my main problem when writing, because there’s just never enough of it. When I write, I should be in the right mood, right place, and right state of mind, and these factors should meet in a particular moment at the same time.
Now, with the telling of this story, the timing is a bit off. I should have told it weeks ago but I never found the time. Work’s been hectic. Oddly though, now, while waiting for you to arrive, inside a hospital room at 3am, while you and your mom labored at the far end of the hallway from where I am, I feel like I have all the time in the world.
It was mid March, and wet mornings alternated with blistering afternoons. It was the start of summer but it already felt like the rainy weeks of June. It was always foolish to expect the outcome of the day’s weather; come to think of it, it’s always foolish to expect anything.
That march afternoon, I vividly remember when I picked up your mom from the office and she was unusually quiet, lost in a daze. It was obvious that she was at work building something inside her, it seems that she's retrofitting her resolve and putting-up support inside her heart where she would finally hold up her inner-strength. Her eyes were lost in deep thought, her chest was heavy, her lips had a forced smile, and something was stuck in her throat.
She just came from a check-up that time. I couldn’t come with her since I had an important meeting that day. I would have wanted to be with her. She could have leaned on me, and that could have made things easier when the doctor said that things would not go as planned with the pregnancy.
We had an ultra sound done on the fourth month. We found out that you were a girl and that you were in a breech position, which means that your feet are facing the exit route instead of your head. We were hoping for a normal delivery but it’s not advisable for a first time mother to normally deliver a breech baby. But it was only the fourth month and a lot could happen. You could still turn. The doctor said we had nothing to worry about.
We had another ultrasound done when you were seven months old inside the womb. We found out that you had ten fingers and ten toes, and you are perfectly healthy, but you’re still in a breech position. Still we kept our fingers crossed that you would turn.
On the eighth month, you’re still the wrong side up. The doctor said that you are already too big to turn. With little room to move, it’s just too late. The odds are you’ll have to come out through a slice in your mom’s tummy and not the normal way.
Your Mom and I had a talk. We figured that it doesn’t matter whichever way you come out as long as you do. And besides breech babies have special powers according to folklore. It’s just a matter of accepting what’s what.
They had us chose a date for delivery. We chose April 1. April fools day, a day of tricks and pranks. I imagine myself playing tricks on you on your birthday. And perhaps someday you’ll play tricks on us as well. I bet you would… you’re my daughter after all.
On the last week of your eighth month, we had our final ultrasound. We weren't hoping at this point but we were surprised to see that you have turned. Once more you’ve beaten the odds. The doctor said it was too late, but you turned anyway. I guess you’re just like me, turning in despite being a little too late.
April 1 came and passed. I guess, even if you’re still unborn, you already played a joke on us.
-0-
Yesterday, the bloody show happened, and when they checked your mom they said that you’d be probably coming out in three days. Once again, you defied expectations and assumptions. Now it’s 4:45 in the morning, a day after the bloody show, and I’ve been waiting for you. I've been here since 9PM, I don’t know where you are and what’s happening to your mom in the labor room. They just give me short updates every two hours. They estimated that you’d come out at around 7AM. It could be true. It doesn’t matter. Just take your time. You always do.
-0-
It's now 5:30. I asked to be with your mom inside the labor room. They wouldn't let me. They asked for my camera. I gave it to them. They said you'd be coming out any moment. For the first time tonight, my heart beats fast. You'll be coming any moment now, and I can't wait.
It's time.
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