Routine

Apparently this is what you get the fourth time around:

Julie: As I left the doctor's office this morning, I made an appointment for the ultrasound on June 10 at....

Doug: I have a trial that day.

Julie: Well, I can reschedule it for another day if you want to come.

Doug: Not really.

Julie (in her best smarmy, scarcastic voice): So you're content to participate in conception and then wait 'til they're old enough to play baseball?

Obviously, Doug's never been one of those modern husbands who shows how supportive and involved he is by attending every medical appointment with me. Don't I need him while I sit in a waiting room reading baby magazines, pee in a cup, tell the midwife I have no questions (really, by now what else could there be to ask?), and make an appointment for another 4 weeks?

This most recent conversation, however, does have me a little worried about delivery.

When Andrew was born, we went to the hospital together and stayed 2 nights. Doug was kind enough to bring me take out from local restaurants, and he took a week off of work.

With Stephen, he actually attended my last appointment and convinced me that the midwife was right to send me to L & D right away. We stayed one night, returned home Wednesday, and he went into work on Friday.

And then there was Matthew. He was born late on a Tuesday afternoon. Early Thursday morning Doug appeared, hurrying my tired & sore body to get dressed, and tapping his foot while we waited for the discharge papers so that he could head out of town. He slowed down at the house long enough for me to jump (or crawl) out and grab the baby before taking off to Ohio. It was business as usual.

My only hope this time around is that the baby will be born on a Friday and the lure of college football on cable will force him to stick by my side a little longer.