Squirrel Socks In The Waiting Room
It’s 9:48pm, September 28, 2016 on the 6th floor waiting room of Cape Canaveral Hospital. Thunder is steadily cracking, re-runs of The Big Bang Theory are playing on the overhead TV and nine family members are impatiently awaiting the arrival of the tenth and newest family member, my brother’s son Deegan Jameson Weldon.
Exactly two years ago today, September 28, 2014, and at about this exact hour of the night, Rob and I were driving the darkened streets of Tucson in our airport rental car while searching for Marriott’s TownePlace Suites. We excitedly pointed at In-N-Out Burger and agreed we would return the next day for a Double Double, commented on how empty the streets were and discussed our plans for the following day when we would meet Ellie Harper who was born that morning.
After checking in and unpacking, Rob hopped in the shower after a whirlwind day of travel while I blissfully sought the perfect spot to stage a surprise I had for him … a baby bag that I’d had custom-embroidered with UCF’s logo. It was filled with a UCF burp cloth, 2 UCF bibs, a LifeFactory bottle, newborn Honest diapers and a custom-made onesie that read “Baby Divided” with both the UCF and UGA logos.
It was an exciting day. The following day, September 29, was not. We found UPS and shipped home baby bags, tiny socks and diapers, the car seat we’d brought. We arranged to keep our rental car and left Tucson for a two-week road-trip and time of reflection while we came to terms with accepting our adoption had failed and that Ellie Harper would have the name we gave her and the mother who birthed her.
Exactly two years later, September 29, 2016, will be a happier day. My brother Daniel and his wife Shawn, along with the arrival of Deegan Jameson, have unknowingly created positive moments to recollect going forward.
Funny how things work out.
And even more proof that time heals all wounds, I only yesterday realized the timing of Deegan’s birth. I’d like to sarcastically offer a big fat thanks to Facebook for throwing up those memories in my newsfeed, but truthfully I offer thanks without sarcasm. I’m glad for the timing. Going forward, September 29 will bring birthday parties, celebrations and milestones and the gathering of family and friends.
I haven’t reminded Rob of the date. I’d like to think he doesn’t remember (especially since just this week he forgot my bicycle was a Christmas gift from him when he asked, “How much did you pay for your bike?”), but I’m betting Facebook didn’t deprive him of similar newsfeed delights (yes sarcasm, but not).
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It’s now 1:37am, September 29, 2016 on the 6th floor waiting room of Cape Canaveral Hospital. Eyes are heavy, heads are nodding, re-runs abound and yet still nine family members wait, each certain that a coffee-run will be the moment when Deegan decides to grace the world.
Pacing, stretching legs, searching social media for even one story we haven’t already seen … I mean, who’s posting new or interesting stories and pics at this hour? Come on, Pitocin. It’s time.
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2:04am. 9 centimeters. The Last Boy Scout on the waiting room TV. Contacts screaming to be removed.
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2:36am. I discovered crayons and a Finding Dori coloring book in the drawer beneath the magazines. Stayed inside the lines on a red and pink sting ray surrounded by blue and green coral.
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2:53am. No news in the waiting room. We wonder if both Daniel and Shawn are fast asleep in room 608 while we all fret and take turns snoring. Feeling nauseated from forcing myself awake. Contacts are sticking to my eyes.
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3:15am. Just took a stroll through the floors searching for a hot vending machine … hot chocolate, coffee, hot water, something. Nada. Seriously. Only cold sodas, chips and candy. Sadly returned to the 6th floor waiting room empty handed. Stupid blue chair has an impression of my butt.
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4:35am. The baby nurses recognized our despair. They made a few cups of coffee in their super-secret coffee pots in their break rooms and brought them out. Now we’re all watching America’s Funniest Videos and cackling at groin-hits and kids running into glass doors, suddenly alive with caffeine.
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4:57am. Texted report from room 608 to the breakfast club in the waiting room: “She’s pushing. We’ll see.”
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5:13am. The elevator across from the waiting room opened with a woman crying out and sweating like mad while being pushed in a wheel chair. The nurse escorting her firmly said on the security phone while requesting entrance into the birth floor, “No, but her water has broke and she’s bleeding. Let me in now.” I’m guessing Deegan might be moved to second in line while this emergency is handled. I hope everything is ok.
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6:01am. Still pushing. The cafeteria opens at 7. A second countdown begins. Oh, dear hot chocolate, how I long for thee.
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6:15am. The man who accompanied the crying woman just joined us in the waiting room. His wife is undergoing a cesarean at the moment. Prayers.
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6:18am in the 6th floor waiting room. It’s a boy. 9lbs, 9oz. Daniel just texted a photo of a chub ball demonstrating his lung capacity. Grandmas are crying, Grandads are pacing, stomachs are growling and I’m honestly most excited to know that bed is a soon reality (is that wrong?).
(Pictures of Deegan Jameson to come soon!)













