Too Good to Be True(113)

I gave him a pointed look. “I’ll try to remember, Callahan. What about my pretty bathrobe? My hair’s going to be bad enough. At least I can look nice from the neck down.” I looked back at the list. “Don’t forget the camera, of course.”

“Got it, Grace. Come on, sweetheart. Let’s not have the baby in the hall here.”

“Cal, I’ve had two contractions. Relax.” He made a noise in the back of his throat, which I kindly ignored. “Did you remember the baby clothes? That little blue sleeper with the dog on it?”

“Yes, honey, please, I checked the list already. Think we can leave for the hospital before the kid turns three?”

“Oh, my focal point! Don’t forget that.” The birthing instructor had said to bring an object to concentrate on during the contractions, something I liked looking at.

“Got it.” He reached up over the front door and took down the focal point—my field hockey stick, which Cal had hung up the day we moved in. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s go meet our boy. Want me to carry you? It’s faster. I’ll do that. Just put your arm around my neck, honey. Come on. Let’s go.”

Nineteen and a half very impressive and memorable hours later, we learned several things. One, I could be very, very loud when the situation demanded it. Two, while Cal was pretty amazing during labor and delivery, he also tended to cry when his wife was in pain. (Just when you think you can’t love a guy any more…) And three, ultrasounds are still wrong once in a while.

Our boy was a girl.

We named her Scarlett.