24 February 2013

And then we called the Delivery Nurse

Since Our Lady of Awesome and Awesome announced their pregnancy, which if you are not keeping score, will make the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I grandparents for the first time, we've gotten a lot of comments like, 'Oh they are young' or, more for our sake, 'Oh you two are too young to be grandparents. You must have started so young!'

I suppose to most people. except for those creepy Duggars and a lot of folks in Mormondom, we did start our family at a young age. We did and it has worked well for us. If all goes according to plan and no one comes helicoptering back, we will be true empty-nesters by 50. I'm good with that.

Being young parents, you do a lot of things because you don't know any better. Like dragging your wife, being great with child (as in eight months along), to a concert featuring these guys, America's favorite party band, the B-52's:
Yes, this really happened. In January 1990, eight months into her pregnancy, I decided it would be a good idea to drag my wife to the Marriott Center to see the B-52s. What could go wrong with that? Seriously?

We took our seats for the opening act, an act that was completely unremarkable, as I can't even remember who they were. I do remember what happened about three songs in though. They were all kinds of thumping on the bass. Thumping to the point that I thought we would be knocked out of our chairs. Being the 'concerned,' and ridiculously naive husband that I was, I looked at my wife and said, 'Do you think we should call the hospital to see if this is OK for the baby?' She concurred and so we went out to the banks of payphones (yes, payphones as it was pre-cell phone era) and called the birthing factory otherwise known as Utah Valley Regional Medical Center. We were put through to the Labor and Delivery nurses, who could barely hear us over the din of the crappy opening band. We literally shouted, 'Hey we are at the B52's concert and want to know if this bass will hurt our baby that's supposed to be born in a month.' We couldn't tell if they put us on hold or what, but soon enough the answer was that we were fine. I interpreted 'fine' to mean go directly to the pit when the B-52's come on, which is precisely what I did. I took my wife by the hand and marched her right into the proverbial belly of the beast as the real concert got underway. And it was awesome. If you were wondering, our first-born, Our Lady of Awesome, did not come out with an affinity for the music of the B-52's, much to my chagrin.

As a post-script to this story - a few days after the concert, we were at our OB-GYN's office for the weekly appointment as we were counting down to the big day. The nurse came in and started telling us about how she was on duty a few nights back in the L&D when they got a couple at a B52s concert wondering if it would hurt their baby. Oh how they laughed, she said. Glad we could make your night. Always glad to help.

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