The Peregrine Journey

It's a little after 4:30. Thomas and I head to the car. He stops to flirt with a couple of nurses on the way out. I humor him for a couple minutes until he stumbles and falls over. That was the sign I was waiting for--he's ready to go back to bed. A kid can only be overstimulated for so long before they just drop.

Thomas is asleep. It's time to make the phone call I've dreaded for the past hour.

"Hey dad--sorry to wake you at this hour. Listen, Deb's at the emergency room. She's got some pretty serious cramps--"

~inaudible reply~

"Yeah, they have to do an ultrasound. We don't know what's happening. Can you get over here and watch the baby so I can get back to her?"

The baby sleeps. The mother waits. Still, she waits. Weariness finally overpowers me. I lay down, hoping for a moments solace, hoping sleep finds me, hoping, if only for a moment.

Swimming in my own thoughts, searching for peace, I hear Billy Joel echoing in my head. I see visions of Pete Scolari, and the ball bouncing out of his mitt, with Tom Hanks diving in, making the catch, and saving the day. He stands and tips his cap like a golfer who has just sank a 30-foot putt. God, I hope, somehow, I can make that catch.

The door opens. Deb's parents are here. Sleep will have to wait.